She brought the whisky to him. He poured some out for Ned, who swallowed as a man, who had thirsted for a tropic day, would swallow water. George took some himself.
"Sit quiet, Ned," said George. "I'll be back in half an hour, Jenny!"
She followed him to the door.
"Don't let him move. If anyone calls, say I'm out, dear."
"What's the mattah, Tchorch? He looks very ill," she murmured, with her hand on his shoulder. George told her what Ned had told him, and Jenny trembled like a leaf.
"Poor, poor Mary!" she sobbed. "Oh, the cruel man!"
"Oh, hell," said George, and Jenny controlled her tears.
"What you do, Tchorch?"
"I'm going to get someone to take him across the other side," said George. "I must, I must."
He ran out and down the hill path, and Jenny went back reluctantly to the room where the murderer sat. He was shivering, but the liquor had pulled him more together for the time. He wanted to talk. How was it that Jenny was here? He remembered he had seen Pete on the road.