“I didn’t notice which way she went. But that’s her.”
Nick and the policeman managed to bring the body against the logs of the pier, and the detective clambered down and hauled it up.
The burden was a heavy one, but the detective’s hand did not lose its grip, and in time the body lay on the wharf, which it drenched.
The detective looked into the long face, and his gaze alighted upon a little scar over the left eye.
“This is Nora—Margie’s jaileress, but she’s Mag Maginnis, the old offender. She’s not to blame entirely for this. The hand of her master drove her to suicide, and he shall pay for it!”
Carter seemed to speak the last words through clenched teeth, and his voice told that he meant every word he said.
The policeman in the meantime called the patrol, and Nick had extracted from the woman’s bosom a little flat package like a memorandum, which he hastily transferred to his own pocket.
“That’s the end of one poor, storm-tossed soul,” muttered the detective as he walked away. “I found Mag sooner than I expected, but we’ve not heard the last of her.”
Half a block from the river front the detective nearly ran against a man who came out of a house with a reputation none of the best and walked off.
The walk and the well-known shoulders as revealed by the man caused a light of recognition to leap up into Carter’s eyes, and his gaze followed the fellow some distance.