Now standing in the arbor they looked a pair of
weekend guests, in keeping with the place. For, as Maggie had noted,
Larry in his well-cut flannels was as greatly transformed as Hunt.
It was Larry who ended the silence. "Shall we sit down?"
She mechanically sank to the bench, still staring at him.
"What are you doing here?" she managed to breathe.
"I belong here."
"Belong here?"
"I work here," he explained. "I'm called 'Mr. Brandon,' but Miss
Sherwood knows exactly who I am and what I've been."
"How long have you been here?"
"Since that night when Barney and Old Jimmie took you away to begin
your new career--the same night that I ran away from those gunmen who
thought I was a squealer, and from Casey and Gavegan."
"And all the while that Barney and my father and the police have
thought you hiding some place in the West, you've been with the
Sherwoods?"
"Yes. And I've got to remain in hiding until something happens that
will clear me. If the police or Barney and his friends learn where I
am--you can guess what will happen."
She nodded.
"Hunt got me here," he went on to explain. "I'm assisting in trying to
get the Sherwood business affairs in better shape. I might as well
tell you, Maggie," he added quietly, "that Dick Sherwood is my very
good friend.
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