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At seven Mercer came with his supper. A little gleam of disappointment shot into his pale eyes when he found the last cigar gone from the box. Kent saw the expression and tried to grin good-humoredly. "I'm going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in the morning, Mercer," he said. "That is, if I can get hold of him." "You probably can," snapped Mercer.
He had expected, first of all, to talk with Kedsty as man to man. And yet it was the Law. He realized this as his eyes traveled from Kedsty's rock-like face to the expressionless immobility of his old friends, Constables Pelly and Brant. If there was sympathy, it was hidden except in the faces of Cardigan and Father Layonne.
The missioner remained in the doorway, hesitating, as if at the last moment a great fear held him back. For an interval the eyes of the two men rested upon each other in a silence that was like the grip of a living thing. Then Father Layonne came quietly into the room and closed the door behind him. Kent drew a deep breath and tried to grin. "You woke me out of a dream," he said, "a day-dream.
They'll listen to you and please shove my cot a little nearer the window before you go." Father Layonne performed the service in silence. Then at last the yearning overcame him to have the soul speak out, that his God might be more merciful, and he said: "My boy, you are sorry? You repent that you killed John Barkley?" "No, I'm not sorry. It had to be done.
From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had made for himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of a hand at his door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He had read young Mercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the increased tightening of the thing in his chest had given him warning. The thing was going to happen soon, and Father Layonne had come.
And Father Layonne is coming to see you at any moment." "Much obliged," nodded Kent, calmly beginning his second egg. "And, by the way, what did you think of the young lady?" "Ripping, positively ripping!" exclaimed Mercer. "That's the word," agreed Kent. "Ripping. It sounds like the calico counter in a dry-goods store, but means a lot.
From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had made for himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of a hand at his door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He had read young Mercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the increased tightening of the thing in his chest had given him warning. The thing was going to happen soon, and Father Layonne had come.
He saw Father Layonne again, with his white, tense face and eyes in which were still seated the fear and the horror he had seen in the doorway. It was not until then that he gripped fully at the truth. "I I see," he said. "You and Cardigan think it would have been better if I had died!" The missioner was still holding his hand. "I don't know, Jimmy, I don't know. What has happened is terrible."
It was an hour later when he returned, just in time to see Kent's door open again. Doctor Cardigan and Father Layonne reappeared first, followed in turn by the blonde stenographer, the magistrate, and Constables Pelly and Brant. Then the door closed.
He had knocked loudly on the door, but there was no answer. Where was Fingers? Kent shook his head, feigning an anxious questioning, but inside him his heart was leaping. He knew! He told Father Layonne he was afraid all Fingers' knowledge of the law could do him but little good, that Fingers had told him as much, and the little missioner went away considerably depressed.
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