Then there came a strangled sob from Shirley. She rushed from the room, and from somewhere in the hall, before she got out of earshot, we heard her weeping.
I licked my lips with my tongue. I saw Curran’s face twitch, and such demonaic fury leap into his eyes that I was afraid of murder. I believe he’d have sprung at Kennedy in another second.
“Sorry. Good night,” Kennedy said slowly, almost as if he were playing a part.
He walked out without haste, and without a word or a look to any one of us.
“God! I’m sorry!”
Penoch’s deep bass seemed to reverberate from the walls. As the sheriff broke into deep curses, Penoch interrupted him.
“Please, Sheriff, let me get this off my chest. Maybe you’ll be through with me, now, too.”
They sank into their chairs, Mr. Curran wiping his brow with a shaking hand. As Penoch made a clean breast of his relationship with Kennedy, I half listened, but I didn’t pay close attention at that. A thousand crazy ideas were running through my head, and suddenly it seemed as if I couldn’t wait to get Penoch alone. I had a queer hunch.
Those old-timers understood the little flyer’s position, and the sheriff summed up the general sentiment, when he put his hand on Penoch’s shoulder and told him:
“Mike, here, and me, ain’t blamin’ you a bit, son. And you was ready to prevent any trouble. You couldn’t be blamed, any way you take it, for givin’ him the benefit of the doubt for a while. Gosh! What a snake in the grass he is! And I aim to git him in jail. We’ll plaster him for life—”