"But wouldn't poisoning be the surer and quicker way? Slip a few drops of prussic acid into his food, and death would be instantaneous."
Marshal Crow clutched Bill Kepsal's arm. "Did you hear that?" he whispered. She had spoken in hushed, quavering tones.
Then came a man's voice from the porch above, low and suppressed.
"Why not wait till he is asleep and let me sneak up to him and put the revolver to his head—"
"But—but suppose he should awake and—"
"He'll never open his eyes again, believe me. Poison isn't always sure to work quickly or thoroughly. We don't want a struggle."
"You may be right. I—I leave it to you."
"Good! The sooner the better, then. If we do it at once, François and Henry can bury him before morning. I think—"
"I cannot bear to talk about it. Creep in and see if he is asleep. Don't make the slightest noise. He—he must never know!"
Stealthy footsteps, as of one tiptoeing, were heard by the listeners below the porch. Then, a moment later, the sound of a woman sobbing.