Coolidge disliked him
instinctively, and made no effort to conceal his feelings; he resented
the intimacy between him and Natalie, naturally enough, and would use
every means possible to get the younger man completely out of the house.
No doubt he looked upon him as dangerous. But why? There could only be
one answer to this query. His own dishonesty; his secret knowledge of
some trickery relative to the funds of the estate. He had convinced the
girl of his honesty, but, more than ever, West believed the fellow a
rascal. His very helplessness to intervene rendered him the more
convinced.
These thoughts flitted through his mind, yet not consecutively, as the
car left the grounds, and turned on to the main road, leading citywards.
They were still skirting the Coolidge estate, although the house behind
was concealed by shrubbery. The road descending into a ravine spanned by
a concrete bridge, and a rather dense growth of trees shut out the
surrounding landscape. Nothing moving was in sight. Suddenly, just as
they cleared the bridge, and began to mount the opposite grade, there
came a sharp report, sounding so close at hand the chauffeur clamped on
his brake, and glanced anxiously over the side of the car.
"Blow-out, wasn't it, sir?"
"No," said West shortly, staring himself out into the thicket of trees at
their left. "It was a shot fired over there; a revolver I should say.
Wait a second, Sanders, until I see what has happened.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82