'Didn't hunt in the right quarter,' Peterkin continued, 'leastwise
didn't foller it up, or you'd a found 'em without so much advertisin'.'
'What do you mean?' Frank asked.
'Oh, nothin',' Peterkin replied; 'only them diamonds never went off
without hands, and them hands ain't a thousand miles from the park.'
'Perhaps not,' Frank answered, mechanically, more intent upon getting
away than upon what Peterkin was saying.
He longed to be in the open air, and as he mounted his horse, he said,
as if speaking to some one near him:
'Well, old fellow, I've done it again, and sunk myself still lower. You
are bound to get me now some day, unless I have a death-bed repentance
and confess everything. The thief was forgiven at the last hour, why not
I?'
The black shadow which Frank felt sure was beside him, did not answer,
though he could have sworn that he heard a chuckle as he rode on, fast
and far, until his horse was tired and he was tired, too. Then he began
to retrace his steps, so slowly that it was dark when, he reached the
village, and took the road which led by the gate through which the woman
had passed to her death on the night of the storm. It was the shortest
route to the park, and he intended to take it.
As he drew near to the gate, it seemed to him that there was something
on the wide post nearest the fence which had not been there in the
afternoon when he rode by--something dark, and large, and peculiar in
shape, and motionless as a stone.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339