What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. Beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison. Not at all. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. How could he have betrayed her so cruelly? How could he lie and claim her as dead? Sebastian studied her carefully as she refused to cry and became like a pillar of stone. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies.
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