“Maybe what I was going to say will—will hurt you,” she said. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”
Fyles shook his head.
“We police don’t consider our official feelings. They, and any damage done to them, are simply part of our work.”
They had reached the main village trail. The girl deliberately halted and stood facing him.
“I was thinking it a pity you came here in—time of peace,” she said quickly. “I was thinking how much better it would have been to wait until a cargo of liquor was being run, and then get the culprits red-handed. You see,” she went on naively, “you’ve got time to look around you now, and—and listen to the gossip of the village, and form opinions which—which may put you on a false scent. Believe me,” she cried, with sudden warmth, “I’d be glad to see you measure your wits against the real culprits. Maybe you’d be successful. Who can say? Anyway, you’d get a sound idea of whom you were after, and would not be chasing a phantom, as you are likely to be now, if you listen to the talk of this place. Believe me, I hold no brief for wrongdoers. They must take their chances. If they are discovered and captured they must pay the penalty. But I know how deceptive appearances may be in this valley, and—and it would break my heart if—a great wrong were done, however inadvertently.”
The wide reaches of the valley were spread out before them. Kate was gazing away out westward, where, high up on the hillside, Charlie Bryant’s house was perched like an eagle’s eyrie. Even at that distance two figures could be seen standing on the veranda, and neither she nor Fyles, who was following the direction of her gaze, needed a second thought as to their identity.
“You’re thinking of Charlie Bryant,” the man said after a pause. “You’re warning me—off him.”
“Maybe I am.”
Kate’s eyes challenged the officer fearlessly.
“Why?”