“Nothing. Not even so much as a splinter. What are you trying to find?”
Timidly catching her hand he cried:
“Come with me, please.” And he drew her to the closet door. But when he opened it, he let go her hand in his amazement.
A slit of window at the far end let in a ray of sun. There were rows and rows of wooden hooks, but there seemed nothing on them. Steeling himself boldly to view it, he turned to where there might have dangled that calico bag stuffed with pieces against which the stranger had leaned. He went forward and felt over the empty spaces to satisfy himself.
“Yes, Julia,” he slowly brought out, “you are right; it was a dream—a mystery.” And he nodded vacantly to her.
“If only, Jack, you could remember it all!”
She stretched out her arms to him. But just as she was coming nearer, he caught sight of something lying between them on the floor. He darted for it, picked it up, and ran with it out of the shadow. Then, in terror, he saw that it was a piece of crumpled gray chiffon, and that there were the stains of blood upon it.
[9] Copyright, 1915, by The Century Company. Copyright, 1916, by Arthur Johnson.
VENGEANCE IS MINE[10]
By VIRGIL JORDAN
From Everybody’s Magazine