It went with an ease that surprised her, for she remembered--her
brain was becoming every moment more strangely clear and alert--she
remembered that Burke had said only a day or two before that it
needed oiling. She opened the box, and with a fateful premonition
looked within.
A few papers in a rubber band lay in the bottom of the box, and
beside them, carelessly tossed aside, an envelope! There was no
money at all.
She took up the envelope, feverishly searching. It contained a
cigarette--one of her own--that had been half-smoked. She stared
at it for a second or two in wonder, then like a stab came the
memory of that night--so long ago--when he had taken the cigarette
from between her lips, when he had been on the verge of speech,
when she had stood waiting to hear . . . and Guy had come between.
Many seconds later she put the envelope back, and got up.
Conviction had come irresistibly upon her; she knew now whose hand
had oiled the lock, she knew beyond all doubting who had opened the
box, and left it thus.
She was trembling no longer, but steady--firm as a rock. She must
find Guy. Wherever he was, she must find him. That money--her own
sacred charge--must be returned before she faced Burke again. Guy
was mad. She must save him from his madness. This fight for Guy's
soul--she had seen it coming.
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