“The police,” he asked suddenly, aloud, “they have not yet discovered the body?”
“Not yet,” she replied hurriedly. “And that is still another reason for haste—there is no telling when they will. See—here!” She thrust a paper into his hand. “Here is a plan of old Doyle's house, and directions for finding it. You must get Connie Myers red-handed, you must make him convict himself, for the evidence through which I know him to be guilty can never be used against him. And, Jimmie, be careful—I know I am not wrong, that there is still something more behind all this. And now go, Jimmie, go! There is no time to lose!” She was pushing him across the room toward the door.
Go! The word seemed suddenly to bring dismay. It was she again who was dominant now in his mind. Who knew if to-night, when he was taking his life in his hands again, would not be the last! And she was here now, here beside him—where she might never be again!
She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she spoke again, a strange new note of tenderness in her voice that thrilled him.
“You must never let them get you, Jimmie—for my sake. It will not last much longer—it is near the end—and I shall keep my promise. But go, now, Jimmie—go!”
“Go?” he repeated numbly. “Go? But—but you?”
“I?” She slipped suddenly away from him, retreating back down the room. “I will go—as I came.”
“Wait! Listen!” he pleaded.
There was no answer.
She was there—somewhere back there in the darkness still. He stood hesitant at the door. It seemed that every faculty he possessed urged him back there again—to her. Could he let her escape him now when she was so utterly in his power, she who meant everything in his life! And then, like a cold shock, came that other thought—she who had trusted to his honour! With a jerk, his hand swept out, felt for the doorknob, and closed upon it.