“All right, I’ll wait till it gets light. I’ll lift her up now, if you’ll get the bed ready.”
With the assistance of old Mrs. Garcia he lifted her and carried her to the bed. One of her arms fell limp against his shoulder as he laid her down, and the old lady uttered an exclamation. She lifted it up and showed him a curious red welt on the white wrist.
“It’s a burn,” she said. “How did she get that?”
“She must have fallen against the grate,” he answered. His eyes grew dark as they encountered the scar. “As soon as she’s conscious tell me.”
A few minutes later, the young widow found him sitting on a chair under a lamp in the hall.
“Well,” he said eagerly, “how is she?”
“She’s come back to her senses all right. But she doesn’t seem to want to tell what he took. She says it was a paper, and that’s all, and that she never saw him before. Mother doesn’t think we ought to worry her. She says she’s got a fever, and she’s going to give her medicine to make her sleep, and not to disturb her till she wakes up. She’s all broken up and sort of limp and trembly.”
“Well, I suppose the señora knows best. It’ll be light soon now, and I’ll go to the police station. The señora and you will stay with her?”
“O yes,” said Mrs. Garcia, the younger. “My goodness, what a night it’s been! It’s lucky the man didn’t get her money. There was quite a lot; about five hundred dollars, I should think. Oh, my curl papers! I forget them. Gracious, what a sight I must look!” and she shuffled down the stairs.
Barron sat on till the dawn broke gray through the hall window. He was beginning to wonder if this girl was the central figure of some drama, secret, intricate and unsuspected, which was working out to its conclusion.