The words he had whispered so hastily and unexpectedly in Spanish, were
these: "Go to the room of the murder alone, and on the window balcony
find in a box under flower-pots a folded document. Take this to Maxine.
Every moment counts."
So it seemed that it was always of her he thought--of Maxine de Renzie!
And I, of all people in the world, was to help him, with her.
As I thought of this task he'd set me, and of all it meant, it appeared
more and more incredible that he should have had the heart to ask such a
thing of me. But--it "meant more than his life." And I would do the
thing, if it could be done, because of my pride.
As I drove away from the prison a kind of fury grew in me and possessed
me. I felt as if I had fire instead of blood in my veins. If I had known
that death, or worse than death, waited for me in the ghastly house to
which Ivor had sent me, I would still have gone there.
My first thought was to go instantly, and get it over--with success or
failure. But calmer thoughts prevailed.
I hadn't looked at the papers yet. My only knowledge of last night's
dreadful happenings had come from Uncle Eric and Lord Robert West.
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