There was no low curiosity of a thieving kind in his feverish longing to test the truth of that old story of Maggie's. Money had no lure for him, candy he was surfeited with, but he'd chance much to get a glimpse of the box tied with the blood-stained cord, and the knife with the queer spots.
Joyce had apparently gone on an errand. Billy stepped back into the living room, then went to the wood-shed, and all around the house.
Perhaps she had gone to the store by a back path—she had a love for unfrequented places.
Billy returned to the shack, laid the letter on the table of the outer room, and tiptoed back to the lean-to.
The particular kind of thrill he experienced then was delicious. Quite different was it from the one that had driven him almost mad with fear as he listened to Jude and Birkdale a time back. This was a thriller that appealed to the familiar in him,—the impishness that died hard.
He went across to the chest and leaned over it. The fire crackled—and he leaped back! Then, loathing himself for his weakness, he knelt before the treasure trove and tried the key in the lock.
It turned easily, and the lid flew back; for the chest was filled to the brim. Several small articles, like letters, pictures and books, fell onto the floor; but Billy heeded them not. He was after bigger game. He tossed the contents hurriedly out. Maggie had lied foully—not a blood stain anywhere, nor knife, string, nor box! Not even a gun, nor candy nor gold dollars.
Billy's contempt for Maggie at that moment was too deep for expression.
Disappointedly he began to replace the poor trash that Gaston evidently prized—the last thing to put back was a photograph—and from sheer disappointment Billy was about to vent his disgust by tearing this in two, when the face riveted his attention. It was a face that once seen could never be forgotten. Pale and sweet it looked up at him. It was part of the clean, better life that he was trying to lead. It made him, all in the flash of an eye, see what a mean, low scamp he was to—
The outer door of the shack opened and shut! Hurrying feet ran across the floor of the living room, the lean-to door was flung back, and, all palpitating and wide-eyed, Joyce confronted the boy.