Behind the bushes they felt safer. Roche lighted a match and held up the paper. This is what they read:—
“Dear Madge: There's a little misunderstanding up this way and I can't get back for a little while I want some money you put the bills in a envelope to generel dilivry South Bend Indiana. Don't you try to come to me because it ain't a very pleasent situation I 'll tell you later where to come don't forget the money and don't you put my name on it call me Joe Murphy. Burn this soon as you read it.
“J.”
Neither saw the insolent brutality of this letter; their thoughts were elsewhere. Estelle gazed, thunderstruck. Roche held the match until it burned his finger. As he dropped it and the paper to the ground, and the dark closed in again, one of the sleepers tossed and mumbled. Estelle caught his arm.
“He told me it wasn't so,” she whispered. “He told me it wasn't so.”
“Oh, he's just a common, everyday liar. Madge is his wife. Didn't I tell you so the first day I come to Spencer's?”
“I don't know. What can we do? Do you think we could get away?”
“Sure thing.”
“But how?”
“We 'll sneak back a ways and off to one side in the woods. He can't come back and search the whole county for us. Don't you see?”