A door opened somewhere upstairs, and:
"Is that yoursel', Dan?" inquired a deep but musical female voice.
"Sure it is," replied Kerry; and no one who had heard the high
official tones of the imperious Chief Inspector would have supposed
that they could be so softened and modulated. "You should have been
asleep hours ago, Mary."
"Have ye to go out again?"
"I have, bad luck; but don't trouble to come down. I've all I want and
more."
"If 'tis a new case I'll come down."
"It's the devil's own case; but you'll get your death of cold."
Sounds of movement in the room above followed, and presently footsteps
on the stairs. Mrs. Kerry, enveloped in a woollen dressing-gown, which
obviously belonged to the Inspector, came into the room. Upon her
Kerry directed a look from which all fierceness had been effaced, and
which expressed only an undying admiration. And, indeed, Mary Kerry
was in many respects a remarkable character. Half an inch taller than
Kerry, she fully merited the compliment designed by that trite
apothegm, "a fine woman." Large-boned but shapely, as she came in with
her long dark hair neatly plaited, it seemed to her husband--who had
remained her lover--that he saw before him the rosy-cheeked lass whom
ten years before he had met and claimed on the chilly shores of Loch
Broom.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80