Joe Quigley did not deny the accusation. He slumped at the telegraph desk, staring straight before him.
“Why did you do it?” Penny asked. “How could you?”
“I don’t know—now,” Quigley answered heavily. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Penny shook out the garment. The whole, when worn over one’s head, would give an appearance of a sheeted goblin with body cut off at the shoulders. She tore off a long strip of the material and began to wrap Quigley’s injured hand.
“You’ve known for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked diffidently.
“I suspected it, but I wasn’t sure,” Penny replied. “Your style of riding is rather spectacular. Last night when I saw Trinidad leap the barrier at Sleepy Hollow I thought I knew.”
“Nothing matters now,” Quigley said, self accusingly. “Sleepy Hollow’s gone.”
“Don’t you think Mrs. Lear and the Burmasters had any chance to reach the hills?”
“I doubt it. When the dam broke, the water raced down the valley with the speed of an express train. Probably they were caught like rats in a trap.”
“It seems too horrible.”