Part 30 (1/2)

He got up from his chair and began to walk about the room.

”Why are you leaving Mrs. Higgs?” asked he at last, suddenly.

Max was not without hope that the answer might give him a clue to something more.

”I couldn't bear it any longer. She has been different lately. She has left me alone for days together, and besides--besides--she has been changed, unkind, since Christmas.”

Now Max remembered that it was on Christmas Eve that he had met Mrs.

Higgs in the barn at The Beeches; and he wondered whether that amiable lady had visited upon Carrie her displeasure on finding that he had escaped alive from the wharf by the docks.

”I believe,” said he, suddenly, ”that it was your precious Mrs. Higgs that murdered the man. I'm quite sure she's capable of it, or of any other villainy.”

Carrie leaned forward and looked at him earnestly.

”But what should he want to shelter Mrs. Higgs for, if _she_ had done it?”

And to this Max could find no answer.

”And why, if he had nothing to do with the murder, should he be so much afraid of Mrs. Higgs that he steals away by himself to see her when she sends him a message?”

Max sprang up.

”Steals away! By himself!” faltered he.

”Why, yes. Did you really think he would come back? Didn't you know that the ten minutes he spoke of were only a blind, so that he could shake you off, and not make Mrs. Higgs angry by taking another man with him?

Surely, surely, you guessed that! Surely, you knew that if the ten minutes had not been an excuse, he would have been back here long ago.”

Max felt the blood surging to his head. The girl was right, of course.

He leaned against the bookcase, breathing heavily.

”You knew! You guessed! Why didn't you--why didn't you tell me?”

Carrie stood up, as much excited as he was. Her blue eyes flashed, her lips trembled as she spoke.

”What do I care--for him?” she said under her breath. ”A man must take the risk of the things he does, mustn't he? But you--you had done nothing; and--and you have been kind to me. I didn't want you to go. I couldn't let you go. So I tried to keep you. I didn't want you to remember. And it was easy enough.”

Max felt a pang of keen self-reproach. Yes, it had been easy enough for a girl with a pretty face to make him forget his friend. He turned quickly toward the door. But Carrie moved even more rapidly, and by the time he reached it she was there before him.

”It's too late now,” she said in that deep voice of hers, which, when she was herself moved, was capable of imparting her own emotion to her hearers. ”He's been gone an hour. He'll be there by this time. What good could you do him by going? There's an understanding between her and him.

He'll be all right. Now _you_ would not.”

Max stared at the girl in perplexity. She spoke with confidence, with knowledge. A great dread on his friend's account began to creep over him. Why should Dudley be safe where he himself was not, unless he were in league with the old hag? Or, again, was it possible that Carrie--pretty, sweet-faced Carrie--was acting in concert with the gang, detaining him so that Dudley might be an easier prey to her accomplices?

As this suspicion crossed his mind, he, knowing his own weakness, resolved to act without the hesitation which would be fatal to his purpose.

Seizing her by the arm, he drew her almost roughly out of the way, and, opening the door, went out into the ante-room.

But before he could open the outer door, Carrie had overtaken him and seized him by the arm in her turn.