“I’d suggest that we land here. By looking over the wall you can see without being seen.”
Without turning, she nodded. Pape dismissed the cab and guided his silent companion north a block. He pointed out the group of poplars to her by their tops, claiming what he called “the wild, or wilderness eye for location.” When they reached what he considered a vantage point, however, she drew back, reluctant to look.
“If they’ve solved it—if they’ve found it, I’m lost—lost,” she said. “Another hour last night and I’d have known. If you hadn’t come along——”
“Ain’t I trying to make up for that?” he asked her.
Without meeting his demanding eyes, she set her lips; stepped close to the V-topped wall; peered over. For a space both studied the scene of activity.
“Won’t take them long,” she commented. “They’re just common laborers—Polakers, no doubt. The short, dressed-up man must be the boss. Wonder whether I’ve seen him before. Wait, he’s turning! His face is strange to me. One of their hirelings, of course.”
The silencer which Pape put upon certain questions exploding in his mind—pertinent questions such as what was the nature of “it,” who were “they,” why should another hour last night have made all “known”?—was the result of a new-made decision on his own account. He would teach this determinedly untrusting young person by demonstration; would aspire only to such confidence as she saw fit to volunteer. The hope that telepathy already was at work strengthened him to meet manfully her calm, cold gaze when at last she faced him.
“You say you want to make up for——” She caught her breath and started afresh. “I am willing to—to learn—if I can. But some women might consider that you owed quite a bit.”
“I am—” and he bent his head, the better to see her lips—“very deeply in your debt.”
In spite of her flush, she continued crisply. “Very well, I am going to ask you for part payment.”