He nearly
fainted when he saw all those policemen--the entire park seeming to be
full of them, a blue helmet under every tree, a glittering line of
buttons that stretched through the courtyards and right round the
church. Inside the church he said to himself, "They've got me now.
They'll tap me on the shoulder as I come out."
Standing in the open air again he wondered at the respite that had
been allowed, and thought, "Yes, but that is always their way. They
never show their hand until they have collected all the evidence. The
detectives, who've been on my track from the word 'go,' prob'ly
advised the relatives to accept the thing as an accident in order to
hoodwink the murderer. The tip was given to that coroner not to probe
deep, because they weren't ready yet with their case;" and it suddenly
occurred to him that he had left deep footsteps in the wood, and that
plaster casts had been made of all these impressions.
He looked across a gravestone in the crowded churchyard and saw a
strange man who was staring at the ground. A detective? He believed
that this man was watching his feet, measuring them, saying to
himself, "Yes, those are the feet that will fit my plaster cast."
After the funeral he began to grow calmer, and soon he was able to
believe during long periods of each day that the most considerable
risks were now over.
Pages:
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461