“You are going to find him in a way we don’t understand,” he continued, dully.
“Yes.... You will not hold me in—in horror—will you?”
Recklow came up, making no sound on the spongy palm litter underfoot.
“Can you find this devil?” he whispered.
“I—think so.”
“Does your super-instinct—finer sense—knowledge—whatever it is—give you any inkling as to his whereabouts, Mrs. Cleves?”
“I think he is here in this hammock. Only——” she turned again, with swift impulse, to her husband, “—only if you—if you do not hold me in—in horror—because of what I do——”
There was a silence; then:
“What are you about to do?” he asked hoarsely.
“Slay this man.”