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This really struck Lord Lambeth as meaning that he essentially needn’t take it, since alarm would have been his only good motive; yet he nevertheless, after an hour of intenser irritation than he could quite have explained to himself, made his farewells; in the course of which he exchanged a few last words with Bessie Alden that are the only ones making good their place in our record. “Of course I needn’t assure you that if you should come to England next year I expect to be the very first person notified of it.”

Harald Kaas was sixty.


"Just look at 'em!" repeats Alex, sneering at me. "From the reports that have reached me, this here's the town where all the brains in the world is gathered. There's a couple hundred of them brains on the corner there now, I reckon, and they can't go nowheres till that constabule gives the word! Huh!" he snorts, turnin' away. "All just a lot of rubes, that's all!"

Fig. 37.

"We may not agree on the Gospel of John, Mr. Gear," said I, "but we shall not quarrel about the Golden Rule and the Sermon on the Mount."

LADY CLARINDA. Not a word for your life. Our flirtation is our own secret. Let it remain so.

1.By now both of us were suffering very much from our feet, and on leaving the main-road and taking to rough tracks over wild country we suffered intensely owing to the inequalities of the ground.

2.“But what became of all the beautiful things and how did the place ever happen to become a national cemetery?” asked Courage in one of the pauses, when both Joe and the Colonel seemed to be casting about in their minds for what would best be told next. She had listened as intently as any of the children to the whole narrative, and was every whit as much interested. 063"Well, it seems to me that is almost a story in itself,” Colonel Anderson answered, “and that we would better have out the luncheon baskets and take a bit of rest.”

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  "Good evening, Miss Bunner," said Mr. Hawkins in his draggingvoice. "I've been over to Hoboken all day looking round for Mrs.


In his dream he was stung by a bee, so at first he thought he was dreaming. 'Paul?' In his dream the bee was dangerous and he wanted desperately to escape. 'Paul!' That was no dream-voice: it was Annie's voice. He forced his eyes open. She was standing there in the shadows as if she had never been away, wearing her ugly clothes. He saw the syringe in her hand and understood that it hadn't been a bee: she had given him an injection. But what had she -? Fear came again, but his mind was too dull to feel it strongly. Whatever drug she had given him was making things unreal for him. He tried to lift his hands and it felt as if there were invisible weights hanging from them. It's the end, he thought. The end of the story of Paul Sheldon. Curiously, the thought almost made him happy. The end of the thousand and one nights. Strange, half-formed ideas kept coming into his mind as the powerful drug crept into all the corners of his brain. 'There you are!' Annie said. 'I see you, Paul . . . those blue eyes. Did I ever tell you that I think your eyes are lovely? But I suppose plenty of women have told you that - and bolder women than me.' She was sitting on the end of his bed. She bent down to check something on the floor and for a moment all he could see was her broad, strong back. He heard the sounds of something metal and something wooden - and the unmistakable sound of a box of matches. She turned back towards him and smiled. Whatever else might have happened, she was no longer depressed. That must be good, mustn't it? 47 'What do you want first, Paul?' she asked. The good news or the bad news?' 'Good news first.' He managed a big, foolish grin. 'I suppose the bad news is that you don't really like the book. I tried. I thought it was going well.' She looked at him sadly. 'I love the book, Paul. Why do you think I asked you to fill in all the "n"s yourself? Because I don't want to read any more until the end. I don't want to spoil it.' Paul's drugged grin widened. If she loved the book she wasn't going to kill him - at least not yet. Annie smiled back at him, 'The good news,' she said, 'is that your car has gone. I've been very worried about your car, Paul. I knew only a big storm would wash it away. When the snow melted in the spring the water from the mountains was enough to wash away the body of that dirty bird Pomeroy, but a car is much heavier than a man, isn't it? But the storm and the melting snow at the same time did it. Your car has gone. That's the good news.' Alarm bells rang in Paul's mind. Who was Pomeroy? Then he remembered: the young man in Annie's album. 'Don't pretend, Paul,' she said. 'I know you know about Pomeroy. I know you've read my album. I suppose I wanted you to read it; otherwise, why would I have left it out? But I wanted to be sure - and when I came back the hair was broken.' 'Hair?' he said faintly. 'Yes, I read about it somewhere. If you think someone has been looking through your belongings you stick some hair over the drawers or the book or whatever. Then if the hair is broken or moved you know that someone has been there. Again she bent over the end of the bed. Again there were the sounds of something metal and something wooden. 'So I crept in this morning,' she said, 'as quiet as a mouse - and yes. all three hairs were broken, so I knew you'd been looking at my album.' She paused, and smiled again. 'I wasn't surprised. I knew you had been out of the room. That's the bad news, Paul. I've known for a long, long time.' He should feel angry or disappointed or something, he supposed, but the drug made it impossible. 'Anyway, we were talking about your car,' she said. 'Early yesterday afternoon I felt a lot better. I spent most of the time up there on my knees, praying to God; and you know, Paul, when you pray sincerely to God he always answers your prayers. I knew what I had to do. I put the special tyres on the car, for driving on ice, and drove slowly down from the hills. It was very dangerous, Paul, but I felt safe in the arms of God.' 'That's very nice, Annie,' Paul tried to say, but the sounds were indistinct: That'sh very nishe Annie. 'I stopped on the way down to look for your car. I knew what I would have to do if I saw it. If it was there, visible, therewould be questions, and I'd be the first one they'd question because they know about my past. Actually, one of the reasons I rescued you and brought you home was that you crashed there.' 'What do you mean?' 'I parked there, in exactly the same place, when I got rid of that Pomeroy.' She slapped her hand in contempt. 'He said he was an artist, but he was just another dirty bird. He was hitchhiking and I picked him up. He said he was going to Sidewinder to do a job there. I let him stay here. We were lovers.' She looked at Paul, challenging him to deny it. He didn't say anything, but he didn't believe her at all. 'Then I found out that he didn't have a job in Sidewinder. I looked at some of his drawings and they were terrible. I could have drawn better pictures. He came in while I was looking at them and we had an argument. He laughed at me, so I . . .' 'You killed him,' Paul said. She seemed uncomfortable. 'I guess it was something like that. I don't remember very well. I only remember him being dead. I remember giving him a bath.' He looked at her and felt sick, soupy horror. He could see in his mind Pomeroy's body in the bath with no clothes on, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling . . . 49 'I had to,' she said. 'You probably don't know what the police can do with just one hair or a piece of dirt from someone's finger. You don't know, but I do, because I worked in hospitals for ten years. I know, I know,' She was making herself angry with that special mad Annie anger which he knew so well by now, 'They're all out to get me, all of them! Do you think they would have listened if I'd tried to tell them about him? They'd probably say that I'd tried to kiss him and he laughed at me and then I killed him.' And you know what, Annie? I think that just might be closer to the truth. 'The dirty birds around here would say anything to make trouble for me.' She paused, breathing hard, and again seemed to challenge him to deny what she was saying. 'I washed him . . . what was left of him . . . and drove up into the hills. I parked and carried him about a mile into the woods. I didn't hide him or anything. No, I knew the snow would cover him and I thought the spring floods would take his body and clothes away. It worked even better than I'd imagined. They didn't find his body for a whole year! And twenty-seven miles away! But your car won't go so far. Paul. It's too heavy. It'll just be stuck somewhere in the thick forest. Maybe someone will find its rusty body in two years' time or in five years' time, when wild animals have made their home on the back seat and plants are growing through the windows. And by then the book will be finished and you'll be back in New York or somewhere and I'll be living my quiet life here. Maybe we'll write to each other sometimes.' She smiled at her imagination. 'Anyway, I was thinking, you see. Your car had gone, so I knew you could stay and finish the book, and that made me happy because I love you so much.' 'Thank you, Annie,' he said. 'But would you want to stay?' she went on. 'That was the question I had to ask myself. And I knew the answer. I knew the answer even before I saw that you were getting stronger, and 50 noticed those marks on the door over there and realized you had been out of the room. Then I started to look carefully and I saw that one of the figures on my table was in a different position. That bird always flies south, Paul. The first time you went out was after we had that silly fight about the paper, wasn't it, Paul?' 'Yes.' What was the point in denying it? 'You wanted your pills, of course. I should have guessed, but when I'm angry, I get . . . you know . . .' I certainly do know, Annie. 'Then two days later, one afternoon when you were asleep, I tried to come info your room to give you your medicine and the door handle wouldn't turn at first. There was a noise inside it as it something was loose. So I gave you some stronger medicine to make sure that you wouldn't wake up, and I took the whole lock and handle off the door, and look! Look what I found!' She put her hand in her pocket, pulled out a broken bit of hairpin and showed it to Paul. Then, of course, I realized what was happening, and found the marks on the door-frame, too.' Paul couldn't help himself; he began to laugh. He had been so stupid.


"Curse you, you little she-devil," he grunted savagely. "I'll make you pay twice for that!"


Chapter 2

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‘O yes! Poor dear Sir John would have a whist-table every night.’

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