She had not thought of madness
but ... if the man were mad....
But he was not mad and she knew it. His were the clear eyes of perfect
sanity. He was simply ... an unthinkable brute.
"Look," she said as his horse moved nervously. "Your horse _does_ limp!"
His answer came quickly. And there was a queer note in his voice, harsh
and ugly, which sent a shiver through her shaken nerves:
"A man did that while we were in the cabin. With a knife." The moon
shone full in his face; she had never seen such a transformation, such a
semblance of quiet, cold rage. If the man were just acting....
"I've just got the hunch," he said bluntly, "that I know who he is, too.
And, for the last time, Winifred Waverly, I am interfering in your
business and advising you the best way I know how to turn back right
here and right now and forget that you've got an uncle named Pollard!"
CHAPTER X
IN THE MOONLIGHT
She stood there in a bright patch of moonlight looking up into his face,
seeing every line of it in the rich flood of light from the full moon,
wondering dully if she had lost her sense of the real and the unreal. It
seemed to her so rankly absurd, so utterly preposterous that he should
seek to pretend with her.
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