As we rushed through the darkness, we speculated on the reasons for his last daring move—the sending for his daughter. O'Mally figured it out as the result of a growing confidence—he was feeling secure and wanted to help her. He had had ample proof of her discretion3 and had probably some plan for her enrichment that he wanted to communicate to her in person. I was of the opinion that he expected to leave the country and intended to take her with him, sending back later for the mother. He was assured of her trust and affection, knew she believed in him, and was certain the murder hadn't been and now never would be discovered. He could count on safety in Europe and with his vast gains could settle down with his wife and his daughter to a life of splendid ease. Well, we'd see to that. The best laid schemes of mice and men!
The sun was bright, the sky sapphire4 clear as the great rock of Quebec, crowned with its fortress5 roofs, came into view. The two rivers clasped its base, ice-banded at the shore and in the middle their dark currents flowing free. Snow and snow and snow heaved and billowed on the surrounding hills, paved the narrow streets, hooded6 the roofs of the ancient houses. Through the air, razor-edged with cold and crystal clear, came the thin broken music of sleigh bells, ringing up from every lane and alley7, jubilant and inspiring, and the sleighs, low running, flew by with the wave of their streaming furs and the flash of scarlet8 standards.
Glorious, splendid, a fit day, all sun and color and music, for me to come to Carol!
A man met us at the depot9, a silent, wooden-faced policeman of some kind, who said yes, he thought the lady was there, and then piloted us glumly10 into a sleigh and mounted beside the driver. A continuous, vague current of sound came from Babbitts and O'Mally as we climbed a steep hill with the Frontenac's pinnacled11 towers looming12 above us and then shot off down narrow streets where the jingle13 of the bells was flung back and across, echoing and reverberating14 between the old stone houses. It made me think of a phrase the boys in the office used, "coming with bells!"
We went some distance through the town and out along a road, where the buildings drew apart from one another, villas15 and suburban houses behind walls and gardens. At a smaller one, set back in a muffling16 of whitened shrubberies, the sleigh drew in toward the sidewalk. Before the others could disentangle themselves from the furs and robes, I was out and racing17 up the path.
My eyes, ranging hungrily over the house, thinking perhaps to see her at one of the windows, saw in it something ominous18 and secretive. There was not a sign of life, every pane19 darkened with a lowered blind. All about it the snow was heaped and curled in wave-like forms as if endeavoring to creep over it, to aid in the work of hiding its dark mystery. Barker's lair20, his last stand! It looked like it, white wrapped, silent, inscrutable.
As I leaped up the piazza21 steps the door was opened by a man in uniform. He touched his hat and started to speak, but I pushed him aside and came in peering past him down a hall that stretched away to the rear. At the sound of his voice a door had opened there and a woman came out. For a moment she was only a shadow moving toward me up the dimness of the half-lit passage. Then I recognized her, gave a cry and ran to her.
My hands found hers and closed on them, my eyes looking down into the dark ones raised to them. Neither of us spoke22, it didn't occur to me to explain why I was there and she showed no surprise at seeing me. It seemed as if we'd known all along we were going to meet in that dark passage in that strange house. And
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CHAPTER XVIII JACK TELLS THE STORY
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CHAPTER XX JACK TELLS THE STORY
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