It was such a shock. I could
not even speak. I simply ran from the room without another word to
him, and Juanita found me lying on the bed. Then--I decided--I
would come to you."
She paused, and her great, deep eyes looked up pathetically. "And
you," she added bitterly, "you are going to tell me that he was
right, that it is true. You can't prove it. Show me what it is
that you have. I defy you!"
Somehow, as she rested and relieved her feelings, a new strength
seemed to come to her. It was what Kennedy had been waiting for,
the reaction that would leave her able for him to go on and plan
for the future.
He reached into a drawer of a cabinet and pulled out the various
shoe-prints which he had already shown Norton, and which he had
studied and restudied so carefully.
"That is the print of the shoe in the dust of the Egyptian
sarcophagus of the Museum," he said quietly. "Some one got in
during the daytime and hid there until the place was locked. That
is the print of Alfonso de Moche's shoe, that of Mr. Whitney's,
and that of Mr. Lockwood's."
He said it quickly, as though trying to gloss it over. But she
would not have it that way. She felt stronger, and she was going
to see just what there was there.
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