because less influenced by the mysterious night and the silence, and
the intensity of thought which fixed itself relentlessly in some
particular cells of the brain until they became fevered and ached
horribly. A little puff of cooler air began to blow over the baked and
withered camp; but the room where the lamp was burning had become
intolerably hot, and the mosquitoes which had been contemplating the
wall thoughtfully throughout the day began to buzz about and to sing in
the ears of the two persons who sat there.
'Damn these mosquitoes!' said Peter, and his voice broke the silence of
the lonely house oddly. He and Toffy had not spoken since Ross had
left the room, and had not stirred from their chairs; but now the
feeling of tension seemed to be broken. Toffy began to fidget with
some things on a little table, and opened without thinking a carved
cedar-wood work-box which had remained undisturbed until then. He
found inside it a little knitted silk sock only half-finished, and with
the knitting needles still in it, and he closed the lid of the box
again softly.
Peter walked into the corridor and looked out at the silver night.
There was a mist rising down by the river, and the feeling of coolness
in the air increased. He leaned against the wooden framework of the
wire-netting and laid his head on his hands for a moment; then he came
back to the drawing-room. 'Do you believe it?' he said suddenly and
sharply.
'I suppose it's true,' said Toffy. 'God help us, Peter, this is a
queer world!'
'If it were any one else but Purvis!' said Peter with a groan. He had
begun to walk restlessly up and down, making his tramp as long as
possible by extending it into the corridor. 'And then there is this to
be said, Toffy,' he added, beginning to speak at the point to which his
thoughts had taken him--'there is this to be said: suppose one could
get Purvis out of this hole, Dunbar is waiting for him at Taco. He
will be tried for the affair of the _Rosana_ and other things besides,
and if he is not hanged he will spend the next few years of his life in
prison. It is an intolerable business,' he said, 'and I am not going
to move in the matter. One can stand most things, but not being mixed
up in a murder case.'
He walked out into the corridor and sat down heavily in one of the
deck-chairs there. There was a tumult of thought surging through his
mind, and sometimes one thing was uppermost, sometimes another.
I
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