When she had closed the door on his wail she returned and laid the box on the shelf. Then she hurried to gather up the shoes. Something on her hand as she put it out for the sodden shoes caught her eye and she straightened, holding her hand up where the feeble light from the shelf caught it.
"I've cut myself," she said aloud. "There's blood on my hand. It must 'a' been on those lacings of Tobeys."
The old woman in the corner roused. "Blood!" she screeched.
"Olga! Blood on his hands!"
Mrs. Brenner jumped. "You old screech-owl!" she cried. She wiped her
hand quickly on her dirty apron and held it up again to see the cut.
But there was no cut on her hand! Where had that blood come from?
From Tobey's shoes?
And who was it that had screamed on the hill? She felt herself enwrapped in a mist of puzzling doubts.
She snatched up the shoes, searching them with agonized eyes. But the wet and pulpy mass had no stain. Only the wet sands and the slimy water-weeds of the beach clung to them.
Then where had the blood come from? It was at this instant that she became conscious of shouts on the hillside. She limped to the door and held it open a crack. Very faintly she could see the bobbing lights of torches. A voice carried down to her.
"Here's where I found his hat. That's why I turned off back of these trees. And right there I found his body!"
"Are you sure he's dead?" quavered another voice.
"Stone-dead!'"