II
A white moth fluttered around the storm lantern hanging from a beam in the centre of the room, and cast an enormous shadow on the floor. It zoomed away from the light, fluttered rather helplessly round the room, and, as it passed Joe, he reached out, slapped it to the floor and put his foot on it
I didn’t pay any attention to what he was doing. I was looking at Mary Jerome; the last person I expected to find in this cabin.
She was wearing a red-and-yellow cowboy shirt, a pair of canary-coloured corduroy slacks, and her dark hair was hidden under a red silk bandana. She was paler and more fine-drawn since last I saw her, but she was still lovely to look at.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘You may not believe it, but I’ve been hunting all over for you.’
‘Pipe down, pally,’ Joe said. ‘No one asked you for a speech. Sit over there and keep quiet.’
He poked the gun into my spine, pushed me over to an armchair facing the fire.
I sat down.
‘Where did you find him?’ Mary Jerome asked.
Joe grinned at her, obviously very pleased with himself.