She rose from her seat and walked over to a small work-table. At that moment the house shook to its very foundations with a dreadful crash of thunder. Neche, who had moved with her, leapt fiercely at the window as though flying at some invisible enemy. The girl called him to her side, then she stood 223 trembling. Flash after flash of lightning blazed in the heavens, and she covered her eyes with her hands, whilst the thunder seemed as though it would rend the earth from end to end. Iredale was at her side in an instant, and his arm was about her, and he drew her head upon his shoulder. Instantly her nerve was restored, and, as the noise passed, she quietly released herself. Then, stooping, she opened the drawer of the table and produced a torn copy of the Winnipeg Free Press. She held out the paper and pointed to the personal column.
“See,” she said, with her index finger upon the second line of the column. “‘Yellow booming––slump in Grey.’ Those who are responsible for that message, whatever it may mean, are also responsible for Leslie’s death.”
Iredale’s eyes were fixed with a terrible fascination upon the print. A breath escaped him which sounded almost like a gasp. His hands clenched at his sides, and he stood like one turned into stone.
“How––how do you know this?” he asked, in a tense, hoarse voice.
“Leslie said so with his last dying breath.”
There came no answering word to the girl’s statement. Iredale did not move. His eyes were still upon the paper. The silence of death reigned in the room. Even the storm seemed suddenly to have ceased; only was there the incessant swish of the torrential rain outside.
“That is the clue poor Leslie gave me.”
“Ah!”
“What do you think?”
“You must give me time to think.”