"
"Who are you?" demanded the young man sharply.
"I am a man who's been dead and buried these eighteen years," replied
the other. "But I'm alive still--very much alive; and they'll find it
out."
An ugly scowl distorted the man's pale face. For an instant he stared
past Wesley Elliot, his eyes resting on an irregular splotch of damp
on the wall. Then he shook himself.
"I'm alive," he repeated slowly. "And I'm free!"
"Who are you?" asked the minister for the second time.
For all his superior height and the sinewy strength of his young
shoulders he began to be afraid of the man who had come to him out of
the storm. There was something strangely disconcerting, even
sinister, in the ceaseless movements of his pale hands and the sudden
lightning dart of his eyes, as they shifted from the defaced wall to
his own perturbed face.
By way of reply the man burst into a disagreeable cackle of laughter:
"Stopped in at the old bank building on my way," he said. "Got it all
fixed up for a reading room and library. Quite a nice idea for the
villagers. I'd planned something of the sort, myself. Approve of that
sort of thing for a rural population. Who--was the benefactor in this
case--eh? Take it for granted the villagers didn't do it for
themselves. The women in charge there referred me to you for
information.... Don't be in haste, young man. I'll answer your
question in good time. Who gave the library, fixed up the building
and all that? Must have cost something.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219