Page:Burton Stevenson--The marathon mystery.djvu/71



ODFREY smoked for a moment in silence. The story he had just heard needed digestion. It shed a new light upon the problem—a light at the same time illuminating and confusing—a light, indeed, which served only to disclose new depths of mystery. So Miss Croydon’s story had been true in another particular. Her sister had been cognisant of her errand; she had not approved of it; she had tried to hold her back; but the stronger nature had overridden the weaker one. The elder woman had tried to shield the younger one, had even lied for her—she had known then, that the errand was one that could not be explained; she, with her experience of the world, had realised, perhaps more strongly than her sister, its compromising nature. What was the secret which those papers guarded?

Drysdale hitched impatiently in his chair.

“Out with it, Jim.” he said. “Don’t try to soften it—I can stand it, I guess. The only thing I can’t stand is this suspense.”

“I’m not going to soften it,” Godfrey assured him, and he rapidly outlined the tragedy of the evening, while his companion listened with horrified attention. Godfrey watched him as he sat staring into the fire with haggard face.