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Updated: June 28, 2025
And then she added in a low voice that struck his heart cold, "I shall remain to pay Kedsty the price which he will ask for what has happened tonight." "Good God!" he cried. "Marette!" She turned on him swiftly. "No, no, I don't mean that he will hurt me," she cried, a fierce little note in her voice. "I would kill him before that! I'm sorry I told you. But you must not question me.
Kent, she loved you and you will never know how her heart bled when she let you think she had killed Kedsty. She has told me everything. It was her fear for Donald, her desire to keep all possible suspicion from him until he was safe, that compelled her not to confide even in you. Later, when she knew that Donald must be safe, she was going to tell you. And then you were separated at the Chute."
Because you thought I had killed a man made no difference You came just the same. And you came ready to kill, if necessary for me. I'm not trying to tell myself WHY! But you did. You were ready to kill. And I am ready to kill tonight for you! I haven't got time to think about Kedsty. I'm thinking about you. If you killed him, I'm just telling myself there was a mighty good reason for it.
And Kedsty wasn't expecting her, was he? If he had been, that first sight of her wouldn't have shattered every nerve in his body. That's why the big hunch won't let loose of me, Kent. From the moment he saw her, he was a different man. His attitude toward you changed instantly.
If Kedsty " "If Kedsty does not do what I told him to do to-night, I shall kill him!" she said. The quietness of her words, the steadiness of her eyes, held him speechless. Again it seemed to him, as it had seemed to him in his room at Cardigan's place, that it was a child who was looking at him and speaking to him.
Watching the shores, looking ahead, listening for sound that might come from behind at times possessed of the exquisite thrills of children in their happiness Kent and Marette found the gulf of strangeness passing swiftly away from between them. They did not speak of Kedsty, or the tragedy, or again of the death of John Barkley.
Marette shrugged her slim shoulders the slightest bit and nodded for him to look upon what she knew he had already seen, her room. "It is not uncomfortable," she said. "I have been here for a number of weeks, and nothing has happened to me. I am quite safe. Inspector Kedsty has not looked inside that door since the day your big red-headed friend saw me down in the poplars.
In spite of his almost superhuman effort to keep the picture away from him, Kent saw it vividly the swift turning to the table, the inspiration of the scissors, the clipping of the long tress of hair, the choking to death of Kedsty as he regained consciousness. Over and over again he whispered to himself the impossibility of it, the absurdity of it, the utter incongruity of it.
He had seen his hands grip at the arms of the chair he sat in until the cords stood out on them as if about to burst. He had never seen Kedsty sweat until now. Twice the Inspector had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He was no longer Minisak "The Rock" a name given to him by the Crees. The armor that no shaft had ever penetrated seemed to have dropped from him.
Each moment added to his conviction that Marette was in danger. It was not physical violence he feared. He did not believe Kedsty capable of perpetrating that upon a woman. It was fear that he would take her to barracks. The fact that Marette had told him there was a powerful reason why Kedsty would not do this failed to assure him.
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