"What do you mean?" asked Calvert, drawing back.
"I guess I know," said Tracey, recalling the previous interview; "this locket belongs to Rufus."
"Yes it does," admitted Mrs. Baldwin, casting apprehensive glances at the door and window, and still grasping the pistol; "where is he?"
"Not here," said Tracey, and strove to take the pistol away. But Mrs. Baldwin resisted.
"He will come," she said, "and I must be ready," and with that she replaced the pistol under the pillow.
"What does she mean?" asked Calvert in a whisper.
"Never mind," returned the American much discomposed, "ask her about the locket. She's queer, that's all."
"The locket--the locket," murmured Mrs. Baldwin, beginning to weep; "I gave it to Rufus when I thought he wasn't a brute. My portrait is in it. I was a young girl----"
"Will you look at it?" said Calvert, passing the locket.
Mrs. Baldwin shrank back as though she had been asked to handle a snake. "No, I dare not. He has worn it. Did he give it to you; or," she asked vindictively, "was it taken from his dead body?"