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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Hollow of Her Hand"

My car will
take you back to the station."
Smith picked up his hat and fumbled with it for a moment, plainly
dismayed.
"If I have been on the wrong lead, Mr. Wrandall, I am willing
to drop it and start all over again. I suppose your reward still
stands. I am sure we can--"
"It does not stand, sir. I shall withdraw it this very day. God
knows if I had thought it would lead us to this pass, it should
never have been offered. Now, go, sir."
Smith held his ground doggedly. "There are a few points I'd like
to--"
"No!"
"For the sake of justice and--"
Sara interrupted the man. She had crossed to Mr. Wrandall's side,
a queer light in her eyes. Her hand fell upon his trembling old
arm and he felt a thrill pass from her warm, strong fingers into
the very core of his body.
"Mr. Smith, will you give me an off-hand estimate of what your
services amount to in dollars and cents up to date?"
"You don't owe me anything, Mrs. Wrandall," said Smith, flushing
a dull red.
"You came here to give me a chance, Mr. Smith, feeling that I was
actually implicated. You had a price fixed in your mind. You still
have your doubts, in spite of what Mr. Wrandall says. It occurred
to you that it would be worth considerable to me if the investigation
went no farther. You realised that you could not have brought this
crime home to me, because you could not have found REAL, satisfying
evidence.


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