Do you hear the tinkling of that water, Clyde?
Oh, the freshness of this air!”
And yet she was going to die so soon!
God!
But supposing now, at Big Bittern — the lodge and boathouse there — there were many people.
Or that the lake, peradventure, was literally dotted with those that were there — all fishermen and all fishing here and there, each one separate and alone — no privacy or a deserted spot anywhere.
And how strange he had not thought of that.
This lake was probably not nearly as deserted as he had imagined, or would not be to-day, any more than Grass Lake had proved. And then what?
Well, flight then — flight — and let it go at that.
This strain was too much — hell — he would die, thinking thoughts like these.
How could he have dreamed to better his fortunes by any so wild and brutal a scheme as this anyhow — to kill and then run away — or rather to kill and pretend that he and she had drowned — while he — the real murderer — slipped away to life and happiness.
What a horrible plan!
And yet how else?
How?
Had he not come all this way to do this?
And was he going to turn back now?
And all this time Roberta at his side was imagining that she was not going to anything but marriage — tomorrow morning sure; and now only to the passing pleasure of seeing this beautiful lake of which he had been talking — talking, as though it were something more important and delectable than any that had as yet been in her or his life for that matter.
But now the guide was speaking again, and to him:
“You’re not mindin’ to stay over, I suppose.
I see you left the young lady’s bag over there.”
He nodded in the direction of Gun Lodge.
“No, we’re going on down to-night — on that 8:10.
You take people over to that?”
“Oh, sure.”
“They said you did — at Grass Lake.”
But now why should he have added that reference to Grass Lake, for that showed that he and Roberta had been there before coming here.
But this fool with his reference to “the young lady’s bag”! And leaving it at Gun Lodge.
The Devil!
Why shouldn’t he mind his own business?
Or why should he have decided that he and Roberta were not married?
Or had he so decided?
At any rate, why such a question when they were carrying two bags and he had brought one?
Strange!
The effrontery!
How should he know or guess or what?
But what harm could it do — married or unmarried?
If she were not found —“married or unmarried” would make no difference, would it?
And if she were, and it was discovered that she was not married, would that not prove that she was off with some one else? Of course!
So why worry over that now?
And Roberta asking: “Are there any hotels or boarding houses on the lake besides this one we’re going to?”
“Not a one, miss, outside o’ the inn that we’re goin’ to.
There was a crowd of young fellers and girls campin’ over on the east shore, yisterday, I believe, about a mile from the inn — but whether they’re there now or not, I dunno.
Ain’t seen none of ’em to-day.”
A crowd of young fellows and girls!
For God’s sake!
And might not they now be out on the water — all of them — rowing — or sailing — or what?
And he here with her!
Maybe some of them from Twelfth Lake! Just as he and Sondra and Harriet and Stuart and Bertine had come up two weeks before — some of them friends of the Cranstons, Harriets, Finchleys or others who had come up here to play and who would remember him, of course.
And again, then, there must be a road to the east of this lake.
And all this knowledge and their presence there now might make this trip of his useless.