CHAPTER VIII
A MESSAGE IN CIPHER
While Kate listened to what Curly had to tell her the dark eyes of the girl were fastened upon the trembling little woman standing near the door.
“Do you mean that she is going to let my father be killed rather than tell what she knows?” Her voice was sharply incredulous, touched with a horror scarcely realized.
“So she says.”
Mrs. Wylie wrung her hands in agitation. Her lined face was a mirror of distress.
“But that’s impossible. She must tell. What has Father ever done to hurt her?”
“I—I don’t know anything about it,” the harassed woman iterated.
“What’s the use of saying that when we know you do? And you’ll not get out of it by sobbing. You’ve got to talk.”
Kate had not moved. None the less her force, the upblaze of feminine energy in her, crowded the little storekeeper to the wall. “You’ve got to tell—you’ve just got to,” she insisted.