The Hollow of Her Hand | Page 7

it quite safe to leave her alone with her dead? They hesitated.
She turned on them suddenly, spreading her arms in a wide gesture of self-absolution. Her sombre eyes swept the group.
"I can do no harm. This man is mine. I want to look at him for the last time--alone. Will you go?"
"Do you mean, madam, that you intend to--" began the coroner in alarm.
She clasped her hands. "I mean that I shall take my last look at him now--and here. Then you may do what you like with him. He is your dead--not mine. I do not want him. Can you understand? I DO NOT WANT THIS DEAD THING. But there is something I would say to him, something that I must say. Something that no one must hear but the good God who knows how much he has hurt me. I want to say it close to those grey, horrid ears. Who knows? He may hear me!"
Wondering, the others backed from the room. She watched them until they closed the door.
Listening, they heard her lower the window. It squealed like a thing in fear.
Ten minutes passed. The group in the hall conversed in whispers.
"Why did she put the window down?" asked the wife of the inn-keeper, crossing herself.
Drake shook his head. "I wonder what she is saying to him," he muttered.
"A wonderful nerve," said Dr. Sheef. "Positively wonderful. I've never seen anything like it."
"Her own husband, too," said Mrs. Burton. "Why, I--I should have said she'd go into hysterics. Such a handsome man he was."
"I guess, from what I've heard of this fellow, Wrandall, he's not been an angel," volunteered the sheriff.
Drake shook his head once more.
"He ain't one now, I'll bet on that," said the man who stood guard. "He's in hell if ever a man--"
"Sh!" whispered the woman in horror. "God forgive you for uttering words like that!"
"Every one in the city knows what sort of a man he's been," said Drake.
He comes of a fine family," said the coroner. "One of the best in New York. I guess he's never been much of a credit to it, however."
"They say he ran after chorus girls," said Mrs. Burton. The men grinned.
"I've an idea she's had the devil's own time with him," mused the sheriff, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the door.
"Poor thing," said the inn-keeper's wife.
"Well," said Drake, taking a deep breath, "she won't have to worry any more about his not coming home nights. I say, this business will create a fearful sensation, sheriff. The Four Hundred will have a conniption fit."
"We've got to land that girl, whoever she is," grated the official. "Now that we know who he is, it shouldn't be hard to pick out the women he's been trailing with lately. Then we can sift 'em down until the right one is left. It ought to be easy."
"I'm not so sure of it," said the coroner, shaking his head. "I have a feeling that she isn't one of the ordinary type. It wouldn't surprise me if she belongs to--well, you might say, the upper ten. Somebody's wife, don't you see. That will make it rather difficult, especially as her tracks have been pretty well covered."
"It beats me, how she got away without leaving a single sign behind her," acknowledged the sheriff. "She's a wonder, that's all I've got to say."
At that instant the door opened and Mrs. Wrandall appeared. She stopped short, confronting the huddled group, dry-eyed but as pallid as a ghost. Her eyes were wide, apparently unseeing; her colourless lips were parted in the drawn rigidity that suggested but one thing to the professional man who looks: the RISIS SARDONICUS of the strychnae victim. With a low cry, the doctor started forward, fully convinced that she had swallowed the deadly drug.
"For God's sake, madam," he began. But as he spoke, her expression changed; she seemed to be aware of their presence for the first time. Her eyes narrowed in a curious manner, and the rigid lips seemed to surge with blood, presenting the effect of a queer, swift-fading smile that lingered long after her face was set and serious.
"I neglected to raise the window, Dr. Sheef," she said in a low voice. "It was very cold in there." She shivered slightly. "Will you be so kind as to tell me what I am to do now? What formalities remain for me--"
The coroner was at her side. "Time enough for that, Mrs. Wrandall. The first thing you are to do is to take something warm to drink, and pull yourself together a bit--"
She drew herself up coldly. "I am quite myself, Dr. Sheef. Pray do not alarm yourself on my account. I shall be obliged to you, however, if you will tell me what I am to