Trenholm sat where he was for fully five minutes after the front door had closed behind Betty. When he rose he was still frowning. Going over to his bag he tossed the package of letters inside, snapped the bag to, locked it, and taking up his cap went in search of Martha Corbin.
Betty was unconscious of the distance she walked or the direction she took. She was grateful for the cool breeze that fanned her hot cheeks. Seldom had she felt in such a fever; her throat was dry—parched. She paused long enough to wipe tiny beads of moisture from her forehead with an already damp handkerchief. She had spent the night in choking back sobs which racked her slender body. Toward morning she had slept fitfully from pure exhaustion. Only a relentless purpose spurred her to get up, regardless of the early hour, a purpose frustrated by—
Betty drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. She stopped and gazed about for a familiar landmark. She knew the countryside fairly well, and it did not take her long to locate the road which led to Upper Marlboro. She found it drier walking on its crest and trudged slowly along, keeping a wary eye out for automobiles which would make necessary a hasty run for the side of the road. She judged that she had covered about half the distance when, in passing a wood which she remembered was located on Abbott’s property, she saw a man running through the trees in her direction. Something furtive in his movements as he dodged among the leafless trees and bushes caused her heart to beat more rapidly, and she cast a glance behind her. No vehicle, horse-drawn or motor-driven, was in sight. Betty faltered and came to a stop, then, throwing off her unreasoning fear, she hurried forward, glancing neither to the right nor the left.
Betty had passed the wood and was breathing more easily when she detected the sound of following footsteps and she heard her name called once, and then again with more insistence. She kept straight ahead, for if recollection did not play her false, a farmhouse was around the next bend in the road. She had almost gained the turn, when a man’s shadow was thrown on the snow just in front of her, and facing to her left she found Charles Corbin, the caretaker, at her side.
“Excuse me, Miss Betty,” he said, with a tug at the visor of his cap. “I thought ye heard me coming.”
Betty’s feeling of relief found vent in a slight laugh. “Dear me, Corbin; I wish I had recognized you sooner. Why, I was actually running away from you.”
Corbin’s parchment-like face opened in an expansive grin which showed his yellow teeth. “Running away, was you, Miss Betty?” His voice dropped to a confidential pitch. “Take it from me, don’t ye do it.”
Betty ceased laughing with startling abruptness and stared at him.
“What are you talking about, Corbin?” she demanded.
His right eye opened and closed in a most expressive wink. “I want to speak to ye, Miss Betty, confidential like.”