PAGE 6
The Odds
by
The next thing that Dot realized was the passing of his great figure through the doorway out of her sight. She saw him don his slouch hat as he went.
* * * * *
She cleared the table again and sat down to her work. But somehow all energy had gone from her. A great lassitude hung upon her. Perhaps it was caused by the heat, or possibly by the whisky he had made her drink. There was no resisting it. It pressed her down like a physical weight. She gave herself up to it at last, and leaning back in her chair like a tired child she slept.
Robin lay at her feet. The afternoon crawled away. Like the enchanted princess of old, she reclined in a slumber so deep that life itself seemed to be suspended.
The sun began to slant towards the west, and the pastures took on a golden look. The lambs gambolled together with shrill bleatings. But Dot Burton slept on in her chair, a faint smile on her face of innocence. Though she could not have been dreaming in so deep a repose, her last thought ere she slept must have held happiness. Her serenity lay like a tender veil upon her.
It was drawing towards evening when Robin suddenly raised his head again with a deep growl. There came the sound of footsteps through the open door. The girl stirred and slowly awoke.
She stretched up her arms with a sleepy movement, and then, as voices reached her, roused herself completely and got to her feet.
Her brother and another man–a tall, lantern-jawed stranger–were on the point of entering.
Jack led the way. “Halloa, Dot!” he said. “Have you seen anything of our man? He’s broken cover in this direction in spite of us. You haven’t shot him by any chance, I suppose?”
Dot looked from him to the man behind him.
“Inspector Hill,” said Jack. “Eh? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing–nothing!” said Dot. Yet she had gone back a step as if she had been struck. She held out her hand to the policeman. “How do you do? I–I–am very pleased to meet you. So you haven’t caught him after all?”
Inspector Hill was looking at her keenly. He wore a sardonic expression, as of one who knows that he has been outwitted. “I have not, madam,” he said. “Neither, I presume, have you?”
She shook her head, looking him straight in the face. “No, I haven’t. I am afraid I have been asleep. Are you sure he passed this way?”
Her eyes were clear and candid as the eyes of a boy. Inspector Hill turned his own away.
“Yes. Quite sure,” he said, with brevity.
“He’s a slippery devil,” declared Jack Burton. “Sit down, man! My sister is a ‘new chum.’ She probably wouldn’t have known him from a man on the farm if she’d seen him. In fact, if you’d turned up here by yourself she might have shot you–on suspicion.”
“I probably should,” said Dot, coldly.
She did not like Inspector Hill, and her manner plainly said so.
At her brother’s behest she set food before them, for they were hot and jaded after their fruitless day; but she left the duties of host entirely to him, and as soon as possible she went away with Robin to feed the lambs.
A wonderful glow lay upon the grasslands. It was as if she moved through a magic atmosphere upon which some enchantment had been laid. Since that wonderful sleep of hers all things seemed to have changed. Had it all been a dream? she asked herself. Then, shuddering, she turned up her sleeve to find that small red patch upon her arm.
She found it. It tingled to her touch. Yet she continued to finger it with a curious feeling that was almost awe. She thought it must be the memory of his kiss that made it throb so hard.