you sent. All that talk of his was only to blind you to his real end; it was only to find out if he himself had been found out."
"But even if we have the good luck to get back this paper he's holding," began McKinnon, once more marvelling at the quick coherence of her reasoning, "that is only the beginning of things.
"Yes," she agreed, dropping her intent and troubled eyes before his steady gaze. "But why should we cross our bridges before we come to them?"
He still had to confess to himself that there was something almost enigmatic in that persistent yet febrile energy of hers. It was so vastly different from what life had taught him to expect from women whom, the hardening years had not touched with bitterness and left old and wise. It seemed a contradiction of everything about her—her youth, her Aprilian softness, her obvious honesty of outlook, her childlike can dour of face and character.
Intuitively, as she stood there studying his changing expression, she caught at the feeling that was still challenging and bewildering him.
"This is puzzling you—that a woman can face such things as this?" she demanded, with what was only a moment's hurried and unhappy smile. "But you must remember that I have
