Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

He glanced at her, and she saw his face change. It was as though a door had shut in it — barring her from all sight of his thoughts and emotions. He raised his hat and stopped.

“I thought you’d gone away,” he said. There was no intimacy in his tone.

“I had.” She knew it was an utterly ridiculous remark, but it was the only one she could think of at the moment. With this, she surveyed him curiously. It was funny that she could talk calmly to such a formidable being as Bill Smith and find herself tongue-tied and afraid in the presence of Jim Lansdale.

There was a struggle taking place inside him. Despite the closed door, some signs of it showed in his eyes.

“Are you staying long this time?” he asked.

“No. To-day.”

They stood silent for what seemed to Kitty a very long time.

At last Jim burst out: “You said you would see me on that following day — but you bolted without a word. And — I saw you the night before — running across the park in the middle of the night.”

She bit her lip. For an incredible moment she found herself actually contemplating telling him all the truth; but the moment passed.

“Yes, Jim,” she said nervously. “Are you going to the manor now?”

He stared at her. She had not answered his implied question. “I was going that way,” he said.

“So was I.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide with appeal. The signs of struggle in his increased. He was understanding that she was unhappy.

“We’d better go together, then,” he said.

They walked side by side along the path. Jim did not utter a word. He was filled with burning thoughts — with indignation against her for running away from Bordington without a word, after telling him that she would see him on the morrow; for her lack of explanation of her extraordinary behavior on the night he had seen her bolting across the park after midnight.

And she wished she had not come. It had been foolish. It had been surrender to a feminine weakness which, in her game, was best suppressed entirely. Heartache had brought her, a longing to see his face and hear his voice, perhaps to reassure him in some inexplicable fashion. It was abortive and productive only of pain. She should have stayed away and forgotten — if forgetting were possible.

She could stand the silence no longer. “Did you keep your. Che Fiangs?” she asked. It were better to talk about his affairs than continue this meaning silence.

He looked quickly at her. “No. I sold them to Bordington.”

“I say! You didn’t!” She began to understand. It was Bordington who had “queered Bill Smith’s pitch.”

“I did.” He made the assertion in a tone which demanded why she should be concerned about it; and then, evidently relaxing a little, he added: “I’m wondering if he did me; if he knew that something was going to happen?”

“I told you not to sell,” said Kitty.

He stopped and faced her. “Why?” His eyes were challenging. “Did you know something, too?”

She contrived to look bewildered, but there was something pitiful in it as well.

“Of course not. But I had a feeling—” she stammered.

“Oh, I see.”

They walked on. It was the most horrid walk Kitty had ever taken in her life. His heavy footfalls seemed to sing “Be sure your sins will find you out.” She glanced at him from time to time. He was walking very erect, looking straight ahead.

So they reached the farther end of the woodland and came to the edge of the meadows which reached up to the kitchen gardens behind the manor.

There, Jim looked down and sideways at Kitty. The sun was coming through the trees on her. She looked fragile and deliciously dainty and sweet. Her lips were quivering ever so slightly. He remembered all those days on the river and across the footpaths. She had been fine, then. She had been a real pal, sensible, full of fun, loyal.

Urgent excuses for her began to form in his thoughts. A young man can always find a host of excuses for a pretty girl, once he has surrendered himself to contemplation of her prettiness and consideration of what good qualities she possesses. He commenced to reproach himself — a dangerous sign. He had been pretty beastly to her. Perhaps there was a perfectly solid explanation available as to why she had failed to keep her appointment with him and why she had been in the manor park after midnight that night.

It was all very well for a fellow to condemn a girl; but, these days, girls were so easily condemned. Perhaps he should have given her a chance. Anyhow, she had come back, and it was absolutely obvious that she was none too happy. A few minutes before he had found a negative exultation in her unhappiness — a kind of “serve her right — let her suffer” feeling. Now, he wanted to go to some quiet place and kick himself for a brute. Thus does the stronger sex display its inherent weakness.

In the shadow of the outer line of trees he stopped.

“I say,” he began, “I’m awfully sorry about Che Fiangs. You see—”

“What do you mean?” asked Kitty. She did not look at him. Once more, as when first she met him, she was trembling.