arm, and swung the light away from this desolate reminder of tragedy.
"No wonder!" she whispered. "No wonder Slim didn't have the nerve to come back and do those same things. He'd have seen the man he'd killed between him and his work."
Garth could scarcely catch her voice.
"If I thought you had that much nerve, George, I might—I believe I might—"
She broke off abruptly. George stared at her, then turned back and fumbled for the knob.
"Try to keep the light steady, Nora."
There was a beseeching, child-like quality in his tone. He worked with difficulty now. His hands were no longer perfect mechanical tools. They wavered about the knob. His lips twitched. Perspiration thickened on his face. Garth saw drops glitter and fall slowly to the stained carpet.
Garth caught himself paradoxically wishing George to hurry. For a moment he was relieved when a new sound came from the combination, and George with a sigh turned the handle.
"Ready to open," he said.
He swung on Nora.
"Talk about Slim! Crying, Nora? Good Lord—"
"Don't, George," she said. "If I half close my eyes I can see him through my tears, lying here in the shadows. Can't you?"
He clasped his arms about her. He hid his eyes in her hair.
