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Updated: June 18, 2025
The sun had set some time before; my boat glided in a sort of winding ditch between two low grassy banks; on both sides of me was the flatness of the Essex marsh, perfectly still. All I saw moving was a heron; he was flying low, and disappeared in the murk. Before I had gone half a mile, I was up with the building the roof of which I had seen from the river. It looked like a small barn.
"If my enemies merely wanted to hang a murder charge on me, as you have suggested, I think they would have planned better and would have made the evidence against me more conclusive. It would mean that there would be a lot of persons in the secret; the men who plan murder do not like to take the entire town into confidence about it." "Well, that sounds reasonable," Murk admitted.
They started toward the door, and Prale and Murk followed them, watched them until they started away, and then turned back to bathe their faces and hands. Then Prale got a taxicab, and drove to the office of a physician, who did his best to make the countenances of Prale and Murk presentable. It was an hour later when Jim Farland called Prale by telephone at the hotel.
Two men stood there. Murk flinched when he saw them. He did not know either of them, but he knew them immediately for what they were. Murk was a man of experience. "Mr. Prale in?" one of them asked. "Yes, sir." Without asking permission, the two men stepped inside, and one of them closed the door. Prale dropped the newspaper and turned around to face them.
And his hearing was so keen, he told himself, no breath could have been drawn in that time without his having knowledge of it. Still, he knew he was not alone. Somewhere in that encompassing murk an alien and inimical intelligence skulked.
Sidney Prale sensed that they were fighting for money, that they were being paid for this attack, and he realized that, but for the presence of Murk, he would have had no chance whatever, and probably would be a senseless, bleeding thing now. None of them knew that the fight had attracted attention, but it had.
It creates a draft, I am sure, and Mr. Coadley already has cold feet!" The attorney glared at Prale, and then got up and walked quickly across to the door, which the grinning Murk held open to let him pass out. Coadley had not gone for more than an hour when Detective Jim Farland arrived at the hotel and made his way immediately to Sidney Prale's suite.
The firemen worked like gnomes in the murk and smoke, and Shelby and Bolivar seemed to be everywhere, saving everything possible to save, with many willing hands from the neighborhood to help them. And some funny enough rescues were made.
"That woman was Kate Gilbert." "Then I'll know her whenever I see her again, sir." Prale hurried on down the path. Murk kept pace with him, a short distance behind. Kate Gilbert had been walking swiftly. She had reached the street, and, as Prale watched, she crossed it. Prale followed. The girl did not look behind. She came to the middle of the block and ran up the steps of an apartment house.
He pulled his arm up across his face, trying to shield his eyes from the blast which thickened steadily, gasping for air to breathe. And the wind voiced a howl which arose as alarmingly as the stallions’ screaming. Stallions! Drew clawed his way up to his knees. But there was no seeing through that murk to where Shiloh had been.
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