.. But Lester Stark wouldn't
_kill_. Perhaps not--and yet, some months ago he had told him to his face
that he'd like to send Wynne's body to burn in hell!... H'm. Well, he
would have to keep his mouth shut upon _that_ conversation, at all
events, or they'd have poor Stark by the heels the next minute.... But
somehow his heart had lightened. Cleek didn't seem such a bad chap, after
all. And they couldn't hang him yet, anyhow.
For the rest of the long, dreary day the memory of that I.O.U. with
Lester Stark's name sprawled across the bottom of it, in the dashing
caligraphy that he knew, danced before his mind's eye like a fleeting
hope, making the day less long.
CHAPTER XVIII
POSSIBLE EXCITEMENT
Meanwhile, Cleek, Mr. Narkom, and Dollops stayed on at the Towers for
such time as it would take to have the coroner's inquest arranged, and
Merriton brought up before the local magistrate.
Mr. Narkom was frankly uneasy over the whole affair.
"There's something fishy in it, Cleek," he kept saying. "I don't like
the looks of it.
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