After a pause Quigg leaned over, his lips close to Dempsey's ear.
Then he drew a plan on the back of an old wine-list. It marked
the position of the door in Tom's stable, and that of a path which
ran across lots and was concealed from her house by a low fence.
Dempsey studied it a moment, nodding at Quigg's whispered
explanations, and passed it to McGaw, repeating Quigg's words.
McGaw stopped and bent his head. A dull gleam flashed out of his
smouldering eyes. The lines of his face hardened and his jaw
tightened. For some minutes he stood irresolute, gazing vacantly
over the budding trees through the window. Then he turned
sharply, swallowed a brimming glass of raw whiskey, and left the
room.
When the sound of his footsteps had died away, Dempsey looked at
Quigg meaningly and gave a low laugh.
XIV
BLOSSOM-WEEK
It was "blossom-week," and every garden and hedge flaunted its
bloom in the soft air. All about was the perfume of flowers, the
odor of fresh grass, and that peculiar earthy smell of new-made
garden beds but lately sprinkled. Behind the hill overlooking the
harbor the sun was just sinking into the sea. Some sentinel
cedars guarding its crest stood out in clear relief against the
golden light. About their tops, in wide circles, swooped a flock
of crows.
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