The little woman shrank before the energy of a passion so vital. No strength was in her to fight. But she could and did offer the passive resistance of obstinate silence.
Curly had drawn from his pocket the newspaper found in the cellar. His eyes had searched for the date line to use as cumulative evidence, but they had remained fastened to one story. Now he spoke imperatively.
“Come here, Miss Kate.”
She was beside him in an instant. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure yet, but—— Look here. I believe this is a message to us.”
“A message?”
“From your father perhaps.”
“How could it be?”
“I found the paper in the cellar where he was. See how some of these words are scored. Done with a finger nail, looks like.”
“But how could he know we would see the paper, and if we did see it would understand?”