The marshal listened quietly to the narrative, the quick action of his
jaws alone evidencing his interest, although he occasionally interposed
a question. Except for Westcott's voice there was no sound, beyond the
lapping of water against the rock, and no figures of men became visible
along either bank. The party above had crossed the stream, and
disappeared up a ravine, and nothing remained to indicate that these
two were fugitives, hiding for their lives, and facing a desperate
expedient in an effort to escape their pursuers. As the speaker
finally concluded the silence was almost oppressive.
"How do yer suppose Bill Lacy got into the affair?" asked Brennan, at
last thoughtfully. "I don't put no sorter deviltry beyond him, yer
understand, but I don't quite see how he ever come to get mixed up in
this yere New York mess. Seems like he had enough hell brewing here at
home."
"I'm just as much in the dark as you are, as to that," admitted
Westcott doubtfully. "I am convinced, however, that Cavendish is still
alive, and that another body strangely resembling his was found in the
New York apartments.
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