He stood for an instant longer at the window; then he turned and looked
down at Peggy, stretched out, still and white, on the bed.
Maison looked long at her, and decided it was not remarkable that Dale
had become infatuated with Peggy, for the girl was handsome.
Maison had never bothered with women, and he yielded to a suspicion of
sentiment as he looked down at Peggy. But, as always, the sentiment
was not spiritual.
Dale had intimated that the girl was his mistress. Well, he was bound
to acknowledge that Dale had good taste in such matters, anyway.
The expression of Maison's face was not good to see; there was a glow
in his eyes that, had Peggy seen it, would have frightened her.
And if Maison had been less interested in Peggy, and with his thoughts
of Dale, he would have heard the slight sound at the door; he would
have seen Ben Nyland standing there in the deepening dusk, his eyes
aflame with the wild and bitter passions of a man who had come to kill.
Maison did not see, nor did he hear until Ben leaped for him.
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