you to-night—he’s still there, him and his friend—they’re in the kitchen, waiting for you to go. I just thought I’d tell you, because⸺”
“Thanks very much, Elizabeth,” said Val kindly, a warm glow fanning itself to a flame in his heart again. “I won’t forget. Now run along back to the house before they miss you.” She made a little curtsey and merged again with the darkness.
So his suspicions had been true. It was not Jessica who had spoken to him this evening—it had been Teck himself; Teck, speaking with the lips of Jessica Pomeroy. He would marry her, would he! Val grated this to himself, adding a few words that can scarcely be used in this highly moral story. He would marry the electric chair! Or better still, he, Val, would choke him with his bare hands. That would be satisfactory. He enlarged upon this idea by the time they reached the automobile; this was to be the real thing in chokings—none of your amateur affairs about it—satisfaction guaranteed, and all that sort of thing. Ah, it would feel good to get his fingers into the throat of the black-hearted scoundrel . . . et cetera . . . and so forth . . . ad lib . . .
It was a silent ride back to the hotel, with Eddie occupied wholly in making the rickety flivver keep to the road, and Val veiled in his thoughts. As for going home, as Jessica had suggested, he had not the slightest intention of doing any such foolish thing.
