The Hollow of Her Hand | Page 3

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robe about her. No word was spoken. The man was a stranger to her.
She forgot his presence in the car.
Into the thick of the storm the motor chugged. Grim and silent, the man
at the wheel, ungoggled and tense, sent the whirring thing swiftly over
the trackless village street and out upon the open country road. The
woman closed her eyes and waited.
You would know the month was March. He said: "It comes in like a
lion," but apparently the storm swallowed the words for she made no
response to them.
They crossed the valley and crept up the tree-covered hill, where the
force of the gale was broken. If she heard him say: "Fierce, wasn't it?"
she gave no sign, but sat hunched forward, peering ahead through the
snow at the blurred lights that seemed so far away and yet were close at
hand.
"Is that the inn?" she asked as he swerved from the road a few moments
later.
"Yes, Mrs. Wrandall. We're here."
"Is--is he in there?"
"Where you see that lighted window upstairs." He tooted the horn
vigorously as he drew up to the long, low porch. Two men dashed out
from the doorway and clumsily assisted her from the car.
"Go right in, Mrs. Wrandall," said Drake. "I join you in a jiffy."
She walked between the two men into the feebly lighted office of the
inn. The keeper of the place, a dreary looking person with dread in his
eyes, hurried forward. She stopped stock-still. Some one was brushing
the stubborn, thickly caked snow from her long chinchilla coat.
"You must let me get you something hot to drink, madam," the landlord
was saying dolorously.

She struggled with her veil, finally tearing it away from her face. Then
she took in the rather bare, cheerless room with a slow, puzzled sweep
of her eyes.
"No, thank you," she replied.
"It won't be any trouble, madam," urged the other. "It's right here. The
sheriff says it's all right to serve it, although it is after hours. I run a
respectable, law-abiding house. I wouldn't think of offering it to anyone
if it was in violation--"
"Never mind, Burton," interposed a big man, approaching. "Let the
lady choose for herself. If she wants it, she'll say so. I am the sheriff,
madam. This gentleman is the coroner, Dr. Sheef. We waited up for
you after Mr. Drake said you'd got the fast train to stop for you.
To-morrow morning would have done quite as well. I'm sorry you
came to-night in all this blizzard."
He was staring as if fascinated at the white, colourless face of the
woman who with nervous fingers unfastened the heavy coat that
enveloped her slender figure. She was young and strikingly beautiful,
despite the intense pallor that overspread her face. Her dark,
questioning, dreading eyes looked up into his with an expression he
was never to forget. It combined dread, horror, doubt and a
smouldering anger that seemed to overcast all other emotions that lay
revealed to him.
"This is a--what is commonly called a 'road-house'?" she asked dully,
her eyes narrowing suddenly as if in pain.
The inn-keeper made haste to resent the implied criticism.
"My place is a respectable, law-abiding--"
The sheriff waved him aside.
"It is an inn during the winter, Mrs. Wrandall, and a road-house in the
summer, if that makes it plain to you. I will say, however, that Burton
has always kept well within the law. This is the first--er--real bit of
trouble he's had, and I won't say it's his fault. Keep quiet, Burton. No
one is accusing you of anything wrong. Don't whine about it."
"But my place is ruined," groaned the doleful one. "It's got a black eye
now. Not that I blame you, madam, but you can see how--"
He quailed before the steady look in her eyes, and turned away
mumbling.
There were half a dozen men in the room, besides the speakers,

sober-faced fellows who conversed in undertones and studiously kept
their backs to the woman who had just come among them. They were
grouped about the roaring fireplace in the lower end of the room. Steam
arose from their heavy winters garments. Their caps were still drawn
far down over their ears. These were men who had been out in the
night.
"There is a fire in the reception-room, madam," said the coroner; "and
the proprietor's wife to look out for you if you should require anything.
Will you go in there and compose yourself before going upstairs? Or, if
you would prefer waiting until morning, I shall not insist on
the--er--ordeal to-night."
"I prefer going up there to-night," said she steadily.
The men looked at each other, and the sheriff spoke. "Mr. Drake is
quite