I had spoken only the truth. There was no sin against living or dead in what I had urged Roger to do. Yet the bare thought of it was so grim that I felt like an up-to-date Lady Macbeth.
I had forgotten to beg that he would come back and tell of his success or—failure. But I was sure he would come, sooner or later, whatever happened, and I sat quite still—waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, to see the handle turn, or gazed at my little travelling clock to watch the dragging moments. I longed for news. Yet I was glad when time went on without a sign. The quick coming back of Roger would have meant that he had failed—that all hope was ended.
Twenty minutes; thirty; forty; fifty, passed, seeming endless. But when with the sixtieth minute came the faint tap I awaited, down sank my heart. Roger could not have finished his double task in an hour!
I dashed to the door, and the light from my cabin showed the man's face, ashy pale. Yet I did not read despair on it.
Without a word I dragged him into the room once more; and only when the door was closed did I dare to whisper "Well?"
CHAPTER VIII
THE GREAT SURPRISE
"There was no body in the coffin," Roger said.
"Empty?" I gasped.