That selection of a deserted lodge hidden miles away in the heart of the wilderness far from the beaten paths for their headquarters during the fishing trip; the determination to be absolutely alone with George, without even the services of a guide; the insistence upon taking the pistol along——!
George eyed the thing with horror and loathing as it lay in the top of the open bag. Then he walked grimly over to it, and picking it up together with the box of cartridges he took it to the table and loaded it with awkward, unaccustomed hands.
There was no doubt in his mind as to the course he must pursue; there had been no question of it, from the first moment when conviction came to him that Storm had killed Horton. Now, at the thought of Leila, a passionate regret that his part was not to be a more active one filled his soul, but it brought no hesitation.
Laying the pistol down he crossed to the door, and as he closed it softly that harsh, stertorous snore came down the stairs once more, and again that primitive instinct to destroy laid hold upon George; but he shook it off resolutely and returned to the desk. Yet with his hand upon the receiver of the telephone he paused.
Dare he speak? That man lying there upstairs in brutish unconsciousness was surely the vilest thing that lived! Yet dare he speak and throw out into the world the knowledge of this fearful thing?
Slowly, determinedly, George lifted the receiver.
Chapter XXVIII.
Just a Moment Please
George slipped into the bedroom, and drawing a chair close to the sleeper he bent forward and uttered one word which cleaved the silence like a clarion call.
“Leila!”
“Ah-h!” The answering cry of stark terror echoed back from the night as Storm started up, convulsed, in his bed. “Take her away! Take her—George! My God, don’t look at me like that!”