The
look in his eyes was answer enough for her. She knew that he
knew, and she paled and shuddered, shrinking away from him.
"Miss Bond," he said in a voice that forced attention--it was low
and vibrating with feeling--"Miss Bond, have you ever told a lie
to shield a friend?"
"Yes," she said, her eyes meeting his.
"So can I," came back the same tense voice, "when I know the
truth about that friend."
Then for the first time tears came in a storm. Her breath was
quick and feverish. "No one will ever believe, no one will
understand. They will say that I killed him, that I murdered
him."
Through it all I stood almost speechless, puzzled. What did it
all mean?
"No," said Kennedy, "no, for they will never know of it."
"Never know?"
"Never--if in the end justice is done. Have you the will? Or did
you destroy it?"
It was a bold stroke.
"Yes. No. Here it is. How could I destroy it, even though it was
burning out my very soul?"
She literally tore the paper from the bosom of her dress and cast
it from her in horror and terror.
Kennedy picked it up, opened it, and glanced hurriedly through
it. "Miss Bond," he said, "Jack shall never know a word of this.
I shall tell him that the will has been found unexpectedly in
John Fletcher's desk among some other papers.
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