Capacity for silence, that gift of the restful gods, was possessed by both men. Intent, each upon his own thoughts, they strode up the hillside and descended into a byway where stood a light runabout, empty. Throwing on the switch, Kent motioned his companion to get in. Twenty minutes of curving and dodging along the rocky roads brought them to the turnpike, in sight of the town of Annalaka. Not until then did Kent offer a word.
“The inquest is set for eleven o’clock,” he said.
“All right,” said Sedgwick with equal taciturnity.
They turned a corner, and ran into the fringe of a crowd hovering about the town hall. Halting his machine in a bit of shade, Kent surveyed the gathering. At one point it thickened about a man who was talking eagerly, the vocal center of a small circle of silence.
“Elder Dennett,” said Kent, “back from Cadystown. You’ll have to face the music now.”
“I’m ready.”
“You’re ready for attack. Are you ready for surprises?”
“No one is ever ready for surprise, or it wouldn’t be surprise, would it?”
“True enough. One word of warning: don’t lose your head or your temper if the suspicion raised against you by Dennett is strengthened by me.”
“By you!”