“Just so. But rather than risk being involved in your dirty affairs, I’ll sell the lot to-morrow for what I can get and—er—emigrate.”
“Ye swine!—but ye’ll ha’ the police after ye!”
“Why?”
Corrie rose, sat down again, and writhed in his impotence.
“I might have the lawyers after me,” Symington admitted easily, “but the lawyers always take a —— of a time to get to work, and I generally travel quickly. However, I think you’re making too much of your own danger. Kitty is not likely to attempt to prosecute you, since you can prove that she tampered with the post office money.” He peered through the dusk at the other’s face. “Isn’t that so?”
“Aye, that’s so,” Corrie managed to reply. He was caught in the toils of his own making.
After a little while Symington said: “Why don’t you make Kitty come back here?”
Corrie started, then dropped his gaze. “How can I do that when I dinna ken where she is?”
Symington took out the telegram he had found on his arrival.
“Is that her address?” cried the other.