resolved to take a chance. After all, who could prove she had known Stanley Heath to be what he was? Nobody. She would not even let him suspect it. The important thing was to await an opportunity and soon—before he was able to be about—return the handkerchief she held in her hand to its place beneath the brick. Then all would be well. This should not be difficult. It would be quite easy to get[87] Marcia to take up Mr. Heath's supper. [87] In the meantime, the situation was intensely amusing. Its danger appealed to her. She had always enjoyed hair-breadth escapades. Anything but dullness. That had been the trouble with Alton City—it had been dull—deadly dull. But Wilton was not dull. In spite of the fact that only this morning Elisha Winslow had complained the town was in need of a stirring up, it seethed with electricity. If she chose, she could hurl a bomb-shell into its midst this very minute. But she did not choose. Instead she intended to play her own quiet game and keep what she knew to herself. She wondered why. Perhaps she was falling in love with this adventurer. Yes, that must be it. She was in love with him—in love with a bandit! How scandalized Alton City would be! How the whole town would hold up its hands in horror if it knew! Horatio Fuller—dubbed Hortie because of his high-hat manners and because his father owned the largest store in town—picture his dismay if he guessed her guilty secret! Perhaps he would shoot the fellow—or the fellow shoot him. That was what usually happened in moving-pictures, somebody always shot somebody else. [88] [88] She wouldn't want Hortie to be shot. The thought of it sobered her. After all, Hortie was a dear, she liked him—liked him very much. On the other hand, she would not want Stanley Heath shot either. Perhaps it would be just as well to leave out all this shooting, why heap horror upon horror? To be married to a bandit was adventure enough without being the wife of a murderer. Sylvia's imagination had traveled so swiftly and so far that it came to earth with a crash when Marcia opened the door. Her hair, tossed by the wind, clustered about her face in
Prev.
Back
Top