imagining a sudden swoop of the black car from behind a barn or gunmen lurking in some hollow of the field and shooting her down.
They would return, then, for Neski and himself; some one would deliberately put a pistol to him and pull the trigger and do the same with Neski. Calvin wondered whether he would be first or second. . . . Joan Royle would be stretched in the frozen field somewhere near.
He cast off that image. He listened and, hearing nothing, he imagined to-morrow with himself and her both alive; and Ketlar.
Ketlar! Of course, it was plain that Ketlar was innocent, whatever the jury might have voted. To-morrow it would be Calvin Clarke's duty, if he lived, to inform the judge of the new evidence and to ask the discharge of Ketlar; whereupon Ketlar, freed and no longer with a wife, would certainly seek Joan Royle and claim her.
Calvin's breast swelled and his muscles drew taut and he strained so that Neski supposed him to be struggling to free himself.
"No use," said Neski, swearing. "You can't lift it."
