She had been quick to appreciate all that Ayscough
told her--she knew how the police mind would reason about it: it would be
quite enough for it to know that on the rings which Andy Lauriston said
were his there were marks which were certainly identical with those on her
grandfather's property: now that the police authorities were in possession
of that fact, they would go for Lauriston without demur or hesitation,
leaving all the other mysteries and ramifications of the Multenius affair
to be sorted, or to sort themselves, at leisure. One thing was certain--
Andie Lauriston was in greater danger now than at any moment since
Ayscough found him leaving the shop, and she must save him--against his
own inclinations if need be.
But before the train from the North was due, Zillah was fated to have yet
another experience. She had taken up a position directly beneath a
powerful lamp at the end of the arrival platform, so that Lauriston, who
would be obliged to pass that way, could not fail to see her. Suddenly
turning, to glance at the clock in the roof behind her, she was aware of a
man, young, tall, athletic, deeply bronzed, as from long contact with the
Southern sun, who stood just behind a knot of loungers, his heavy overcoat
and the jacket beneath it thrown open, feeling in his waistcoat pockets as
if for his match-box--an unlighted cigar protruded from the corner of his
rather grim, determined lips.
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