Her hand gripped the reins tighter, and she drove on unconsciously. Blake’s words were beating in her ears. “Not a bad-looking old chap—very tall and well set up—piercing blue eyes and a pretty uppish way of talking.” The description had meant nothing to her until someone whom it fitted all too aptly had drifted across her mental vision.
The Hermit! Even while she felt and told herself that it could not be, the fatal accuracy of the likeness made her shudder. It was perfect—the tall, white-haired old man—“not the sort of old man you’d forget”—with his distinguished look; the piercing blue eyes—but Norah knew what kindliness lay in their depths—the gentle refined voice, so different from most of the rough country voices. It would answer to Blake’s “pretty uppish way of talking.” Anyone who had read the description would, on meeting the Hermit, immediately identify him as the man for whom the police were searching. Norah’s common sense told her that.
A wave of horror swept over the little girl, and the hands gripping the reins trembled. Common sense might tell one tale, but every instinct of her heart told a very different one. That gentle-faced old man, with a world of kindness in his tired eyes—he the man who killed his sleeping mate for a handful of gold! Norah set her square little chin. She would not—could not—believe it.
“Why, you’re very quiet, dearie.” Mrs. Brown glanced inquiringly at her companion. “A minute ago you was chatterin’, and now you’ve gone down flat, like old soda-water. Is anything wrong?”
“No, I’m all right, Brownie. I was only thinking,” said Norah, forcing a smile.
“Too many sweeties, I expect,” said Mrs. Brown, laying a heavy hand on the bag and impounding it for future reference. “Mustn’t have you get indigestion, an’ your Pa comin’ home to-morrow.”
Norah laughed.
“Now, did you ever know me to have indigestion in my life?” she queried.
“Well, perhaps not,” Mrs. Brown admitted. “Still, you never can tell; it don’ do to pride oneself on anything. If it ain’t indigestion, you’ve been thinking too much of this narsty murder.”
Norah flicked the off pony deliberately with her whip.