“I don’t believe it. He couldn’t bethat callous!”
“It was the reason he gave that Ifound most intriguing.”
“Oh,” Beth murmured, drawing his handlingeringly down, “an’ what was that?”
“He said he had complete faith in Brodie’sattorney, that somehow the clever fellow would find a way to freehim.”
Beth looked up. “An’ he was right, wasn’the?”
EPILOGUE
Nestor Peck looked gloomily about thestone-cottage. He saw nothing here to raise his spirits or give himhope, elusive as that phenomenon had always proved to be. Hisstomach was full, that was true. Dora Cobb had seen to that beforeshe wished him well and walked with him to the street in front ofher house. Cobb, too, had not been unkind, donating a suit ofclothes, giving him a pound-note from Marc Edwards (and a dollarfrom his own reserves) so that Nestor could buy food and pay hisoverdue rent.
But the main room of his home was dark anddamp and very, very empty. The mess and disarray seemed to be worsethan usual, but he couldn’t be sure because his memory had not beenworking well for some time now. He considered lighting a candle,but was afraid of what it might choose to reveal. He thought ofpoor Cousin Albert lying alone and unbefriended up in Potter’sField. He would find some way to put up a proper grave-marker.
What he needed to do right now was findhimself a drink. There would be money enough left from his meagrestore of cash to pay the rent and still allow him to buy a jug ofcheap whiskey from Swampy Sam in Irishtown. But the half-hour walkfrom Cobb’s place to the stone-cottage had exhausted him. He knewhe’d never make it to the bootlegger’s shack.
It was then that he recalled how cagey Albertthought he’d been about keeping his own whiskey supply secure. ButNestor had quickly spotted the loose floorboard in Albert’sbedroom, and had routinely helped himself to his cousin’s booze,never taking enough to arouse suspicion. On shaky legs, Nestorgroped his way to the precise spot, and was pleased to see that abeam of moonlight conveniently illuminated the cache he was aboutto plunder. Down on his hands and knees, he felt around until hegot a grip on the loose board. He tried to pull it up. It jammedpartway out of its grooves, and Nestor winced at the sliver thatsliced into his middle finger. He gave a more determined yank, andthe board popped up into his hands. Painfully, he reached down intothe black space below and, to his delight, suffered the satisfyingsensation of a cold whiskey-jug in his grip. He pulled it free ofits hiding-place. It seemed awfully light. He gave it a shake. Itwas empty.
Disappointed but undeterred, he scrunchedfarther down, pushed his hand and arm fully into the rectangularslot, and began feeling about under the floor as far as he couldreach. Knowing how sly his cousin had been, he was sure there wouldbe more hooch somewhere nearby, the empty jug being a too-cleverdecoy. His own cleverness was promptly rewarded, however, as hisfingertips struck something other than wood or dirt – somethingsoft, flexible, skin-like. For a heart-stopping second, heshuddered and jerked his hand away. But soon he felt a smilecreasing his face. He reached in again, and this time drew out aleather-pouch.
With trembling fingers he held it up into thebeam of light and pulled back the flap that kept its contentssecure. The dazzle of banknotes almost blinded him.
Nestor Peck stared up into the collaboratingmoonlight. Perhaps there was a God after all.