For one second Rayner hesitated. He was not sure of the bearing of the question, but after the brief hesitation he answered, “I carried it, of course.”
Joy had marked the hesitation, and to her came the swift realization that he was lying. She marked his slim form, and remembered Dick Bracknell’s height and bulk, and the sudden conviction deepened. But she gave no hint of it to Rayner, who stood watching her, sure that he could bend her to his will. She offered no comment on his reply, but thoughtfully twisted a ring upon her finger, while her mind sought for a way out of her immediate difficulty.
“Well, Joy,” he asked, “you will marry me?”
She rose abruptly from her chair. “No,” she said on a sudden impulse. “Not on the evidence of Dick’s death that you offer. I cannot consider—”
“You are not wise!” he interrupted. “You are in my hands, remember.”
“Oh, but you mistake me,” she cried. “I am not saying that I will never marry you. I am only saying that the evidence of Dick’s death is not sufficiently convincing.” She lifted a hand as he would have interrupted her. “No! Let me finish. When we left Corporal Bracknell at North Star, he knew that I was Dick’s wife, and he undertook to find out what had become of Dick’s body. There was some one else in the woods at North Star that night, some one who probably witnessed all that occurred. That person, I fancy, Roger Bracknell means to find. And when I have heard that man’s story—”
“You shall certainly hear it, for I will find that man myself. I will drag him across the world to tell it to you.”
He spoke vehemently, passionately, but in his bearing there was something besides vehemence and passion. His face had gone white, and in his eyes was a furtive look. Joy noticed these signs, but gave no indication of having done so.
“You!” she cried, “you will go? What will you be able to do?”