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Updated: May 24, 2025
Macartney caught the splayed-out envelope from my hand, so sharply that the flap I didn't know I held tore away, and stayed in my fist as he gazed on the rest of the reversed envelope with his set-eyed stare. "'Take care, Macartney! Gold, life, everything in danger!" he read out blankly. "Why, it's some kind of a crazy warning to me!
And Dudley's hard-boiled egg face never changed with one word of it. "So that was how it was worked," he reflected quite composedly. "And Macartney thinks it was I Marcia found! Well, it wasn't though I daresay it was my coat, all right, just as it was my cap Paulette picked up by the road.
Once his last letter was written and posted under cover from Caraquet to be reposted to Dudley from Montreal by some unknown hand, Macartney had no more use for Thompson, and a screen against betrayal on two sides: either by his own men, or that chance finding of Thompson's body that had actually happened; for Thompson's own letter would clear his murderer. As for Thompson's envelope!
"There, you see," Dudley crowed triumphantly. "Paulette's no fool: it's facts she and I are after, Macartney. Why, you take the history of crimes generally murders jewel robberies kidnapping for money half of them with not nearly so much to them as this thing about Thompson they're always found out!" "If you're going to talk this rubbish, I'm going to bed," Marcia burst out wrathfully.
Rooted juniper hung down over it in an impervious curtain, as it hung everywhere from the rocks at La Chance. Collins pushed it aside, and the two of us were out out of Thompson's stope, where Macartney had meant me to lie till I died! For two breaths I did not know where I was. It was still snowing, and the night was wild, such a night as we might not have again for weeks.
The latch lifted just as usual, and I walked in. The long passage through the shack was dark; and, after the storm outside, dead silent. It was empty, too, as the living room was empty; but what I thought of was my dream girl's door. That was open a foot-wide space, and somebody inside it sobbed sickeningly. But if Macartney were there he was not speaking.
I've been pretty wild, tied up here with this snow. But" sharply "where the devil's Marcia?" "Hidden away from Macartney, with Charliet to look after her." It was all I could bring myself to say, except that she thought Dudley was dead. "Does Macartney think so too?" the corpse demanded. "He worked hard enough to feel safe in thinking it," I returned bitterly, and came out with the whole story.
So you're acquainted with my mother? And how was she?" "No, thank you, I don't drink spirits. Yes; your mother was well when I saw her." "GOD be praised! It's a mighty long time since I seen the ould craythur." "Fifteen years," said I. I looked at Mr. Macartney as I said it, but he had evasive eyes, and they wandered to the doorway.
"One hour's conversation," cried he, "will, I hope, compose your spirits, and confirm my happiness. When, then, may I hope to see you alone?-shall you walk in the garden to-morrow before breakfast?" "No, no, my Lord; you must not, a second time, reproach me with making an appointment." "Do you then," said he, laughing, "reserve that honour only for Mr. Macartney?" "Mr.
Macartney-Hutton drew a gun the day we had the row he lied to you about, and I guess we just legged it out of Thompson's stope by the front way! in time to make the bush with our lives on us. Macartney thought he'd scared us, and we'd lit for Caraquet; but we lit back again after dark. We crawled in here by our back entrance you haven't seen yet, and here we've been ever since!
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