One hand clutched a hunting knife; the other a packet.
Stormont drew the packet from the stiff fingers, then turned the body over, and, flashing his electric torch, examined the ratty visage — what remained of it — for his pistol bullet had crashed through from ear to cheek-bone, almost obliterating the trap-robber's features.
* * * * *
Stormont came slowly into Eve's room and laid the packet on the sheet beside her.
"Now," he said, "there is no reason for you to lie awake any longer.
I'll fix you up for the night."
Deftly he unbandaged, bathed, dressed, and rebandaged her slim white feet — little wounded feet so lovely, so exquisite that his hand trembled as he touched them.
"They're doing fine," he said cheerily. "You've half a degree of fever and I'm going to give you something to drink before you go to sleep——"
He poured out a glass of water, dissolved two tablets, supported her shoulders while she drank in a dazed way, looking always at him over the glass.
"Now," he said, "go to sleep. I'll b on the job outside your door until your daddy arrives."
"How did you get back dad's money?" she asked in an odd, emotionless way as though too weary for further surprises.