Still he felt a sort of constraint.
"What IS the matter?" he asked at length.
She hesitated, then suddenly burst out, "Craig--I--I am--a
murderess!"
I have never seen such a look on Craig's face. I know he wanted to
laugh and say, "YOU--a murderess?" yet he would not have offended
even her self accusation for the world. He managed to do the right
thing and say nothing.
Then she poured forth the story substantially as I have set it
down, but without the explanation which at that time was not known
to any of us.
"Oh," expostulated Craig, "there must be some mistake. It's
impossible--impossible."
"No," she asserted. "Look--here's my handkerchief all spotted with
blood."
She opened the bag and displayed the blood-spotted handkerchief.
He took it and examined it carefully.
"Elaine," he said earnestly, not at all displeased, I could see
that something had come up that might blot out the past
unfortunate misunderstanding, "there simply must be something
wrong here. Leave this handkerchief with me. I'll do my best."
There was still a little restraint between them. She was almost
ready to beg his pardon, for all the coolness there had been
between them, yet still hesitated.
"Thank you," she said simply as she left the laboratory.
Craig went to work abruptly without a word. On the laboratory
table he placed his splendid microscope and several cases of
slides as well as innumerable micro-photographs.
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