Cara felt relieved; at the same time she felt a strange joy
at her heart, which sent the conscious blood to her cheek. She was not
thinking of the escaped Marco, but of Jarman. Later, when the police
boat arrived,--whether the detectives had been forewarned of Marco's
escape or not,--they contented themselves with a formal search of the
little fishing-hut and departed. But their boat remained lying off the
shore.
That night Cara tossed sleeplessly on her bed; she was sorry she had
ever spoken of Marco to Jarman. It was unnecessary now; perhaps he
disbelieved her and thought she loved Marco; perhaps that was the reason
of his strange and abrupt leave-taking that afternoon. She longed for
the next day, she could tell him everything now.
Towards morning she slept fitfully, but was awakened by the sound of
voices on the sands outside the hut. Its flimsy structure, already
warped by the fierce day-long sun, allowed her through chinks and
crevices not only to recognize the voices of the detectives, but to hear
distinctly what they said.
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