“What can I do—what can I do?” Her whisper pierced to his brain and her hands jerked at his coat in frantic urgency.
“Nothing now. They’ve gone, we can’t stop them. But tell me the rest—how did you know—tell me everything.”
“I saw the launch go without him and I was going to speak to you, but Shine was there and I couldn’t. Then she was killed and I didn’t know what to think, where he’d gone, anything! But that night I heard them say there was a man on guard at the causeway, and I came down to tell him in case he was here and would try to get across. And then I saw him.”
“Where?”
“In the living-room. He came from the door into the kitchen wing and I whispered it.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No—just ran the way he’d come in. And then I knew—” she stopped and closed her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t know it but I thought it. Can it be true—could he have done it? One minute I’m sure and then I can’t believe it; and I don’t know, I don’t know.”
She pressed her face against his chest and he held her close, saying anything he could think of that might sustain her—they knew nothing yet—it was all guesswork—something might turn up that would explain it. He did not believe what he said—knowing more than she he had no doubts—and under his words his thoughts searched wildly for possible ways of coming to her aid.
“Oh, God grant it, God grant it!” she groaned, and drawing away from him ran to the door, and opening it, stood listening. He followed her and with pauses for that tense listening, she told him of her visit to the top floor.
“He didn’t answer you?” he said. “Then he might not have been there.”