"Who's
been--what's happened to Miss Alix?"
"Nothing! Go and yell for Ed! Thieves! On the porch. Don't stand
there, Hilda. Go out back and scream!"
"Oh, my God! Ed's killed! He's been shot! My husband's been shot!"
It was the cook who sent this lamentation to the very roof of the
house.
Mrs. Strong whispered fiercely in Alix's ear: "That's it! Ed is the
one who surprised him. Courtney nothing! Now, you stay here! I'll
telephone. Don't you dare go outside, Alix Crown. A stray bullet--"
Far away sounded the third shot, muffled by distance and the shriek
of the wind....
Mrs. Strong was off somewhere trying to telephone. Shrill voices,
out back, were screaming. Alix stood alone in the middle of the
long room, staring at the window in which the sinister face had
appeared. She had not moved in what seemed to be an age. A strange,
incredible thing was creeping through her mind,--a thought that was
not a part of her, something that seemed to shape itself outside
of her brain and force its way in to crowd out the fear and anxiety
that had gripped her but a few short moments before.
What would it mean to her if Courtney Thane were dead out there in
the night?
It was not the question but the answer that fixed itself in her
mind. She was unconscious of the one, but vividly aware of the
other. His death would mean--emancipation! For one brief instant
she actually LONGED for the word that he was dead! The reaction
was swift, overwhelming.
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