“In this State, imprisonment—five to eighteen years.”
“Five to eighteen years—in prison—for—for Leigh!” she repeated slowly, gasping.
She sank down, leaning on the trunk, and trembling, her eyes still fixed on Daniel’s white, set, unpitying face.
“Mon Dieu!” she cried at last, and burst into passionate tears.
XXI
Colonel Denbigh was reading the morning paper. He had breakfasted lightly, and he sat on the rear veranda smoking a long cigar. His face was troubled. He had a sincere friendship for the Carters, and he fairly twinged as he read the flaring headlines. There were three columns devoted to the Corwin murder, with a snap-shot of Leigh being led from the court-house to the police van. Half-way down the first column there was an extra large caption to one paragraph:
MRS. WILLIAM CARTER, THE CAUSE OF
THE TROUBLE, ONCE A BEAUTIFUL
VAUDEVILLE DANCER
The colonel slapped his paper down on his knee with a groan.
“By gum!” he ejaculated softly.
Plato thrust his head out of the door.