"You'll be all right now," he said coldly, and left her.
It was so cruel. She wanted to cry out against him. But across the room she could see him and the cook bending over the prostrate form of her husband. A vague sense of the emotions that must be controlling the Professor closed her lips. The cook retreated to the kitchen, and they heard him close the back door and pass rapidly away toward the ranch buildings.
The Professor lifted Cockney against the wall. He was partly conscious now, a large bandage covering the upper part of his head. He looked over at his wife, puzzled. Memory returned to him in a wave, and he struggled to stand up. But the Professor's strong hand pressed him back.
"Wait, Jim Cathers! There are things you should know."
He drew from an inside pocket a newspaper clipping carefully folded in a piece of stiff paper, and held it out to Cockney.
"You'll know by that that I'm not the man to insult any man's wife. Perhaps you'll realise how I've held myself these many weeks."
He thrust the clipping into Cockney's nerveless hand.
"I believe I can trust it to you now—as well as the next move. You're a free man. It's an open race between us now.... But you've the inside track—and I'll leave you there till the decision's made. I think I know Cockney Aikens, if I didn't Jim Cathers."
Without looking at Mary he went out, though she hungered for his eyes. Cockney staggered to his feet and sank into a chair, staring at the clipping. Once or twice as he read, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead, and at the end he closed his eyes. Mary Aikens stood leaning on the piano, scarcely breathing.
Presently he looked at her.