I think of these matters in the midst of mypain, with only old Mrs. Baldridge to try to soothe it away, whenall I need is my loving brother near me. If you do not come backimmediately, I feel I will sink permanently into the blackness thatengulfs me whenever I think upon your absence and your lies andthat wanton creature you claim will take my place and leave meforsaken forever!
And just now a horrible thing has happened. Ihave been attacked in the street by a madman, and almost killed! Iwas so lonely I went off to see our cousin at ten in the evening. Igot lost in Devil’s Acre. And had to face — alone — aknife-wielding killer. And why was I alone? Because you’veabandoned me!
Come home. At once. Without your harlot!
Christine
Marc went and sat down beside Pettigrew’s desk.Pettigrew, anxious and sweating, sat down opposite him.
“This is a very disturbing letter,” Marcbegan.
“She has a right to be upset.”
“I agree. But it’s the first part of theletter — written, it appears, before the incident she mentions atthe end — that I find disturbing. The language is extreme and seemsunwarranted by the circumstances. You’ve only been gone a fewweeks.”
“But she was almost killed!”
“It appears so. And it looks as if there’ssome kind of killer loose in Toronto.” Marc thought of Cobb andtheir previous investigations together. “Still, I don’t believeyour sister is in danger now. She’s escaped an attack and surelywill stick close to home. But she’s certainly emotionally upset.”Marc was more puzzled and concerned about the tone of the letterthan he was letting on to Christopher. But, then, Marc had noexperience with twins or their eccentric behaviour.
“Do you think I ought to go there?” Pettigrewsaid.
Marc hesitated. They really needed Pettigrewto go to Cornwall to meet Henri Thériault, but Marc felt obligatedto give an objective answer, at least as objective an answer as hecould. “Look at it this way,” he said. “If you do go back, you’llhave to leave again, won’t you? Unless you’re thinking of not goingthrough with your wedding plans.”
“I can’t cancel them. I’ve committed myselfas a gentleman. So, yes, I could only stay for a few days.”
“And would Christine not see your leaving asecond time as another betrayal? Remember, it’s your bride who isthe problem here, not your absence as such.”
“I see what you mean. It’s clear thatChristine doesn’t want me to marry,” he said miserably. “Perhapsnot ever. But I must. And she must come to accept it.”
“Then I’d advise you not to go back, at leastnot now. Give her a chance to recover from this attack, and keep onwriting her reassuring letters.”
“All right. I’ll do that.”
“You’ve got time to write a reply,” Marcsaid. “Then you and I are going to head for Cornwall.”
Where the hopes of the alliance now lay.
***
Just as Marc was preparing to go out to meetChristopher Pettigrew on the cutter he had hired, Robert came intothe foyer with a package in his hand.
“What’s that?” Marc asked.
“It’s a parcel from Toronto for you. FromConstable Cobb.”
“Just put it in my room, will you? I’ll readit when I get back.”
“Good luck in Cornwall,” Robert said.
Marc joined Pettigrew on the cutter outsidethe hotel. The drive to Cornwall over a snow-packed road with ateam of stout horses would take them six or seven hours. They wouldbe there late in the evening. Then it would be a question ofwaiting a day or two to see if Henri Thériault had taken upPettigrew’s invitation to meet him at the Roadside Inn. TheKingston Road, which linked Cornwall and Toronto, was designated ahighway, but it was in reality a bush-trail some twenty-five feetwide, cut out of the woods that surrounded it on both sides. Itmeandered along the line of least resistance, but in thewinter-time passage over it was both smooth and fast. Since theywould not be changing horses, however, Marc urged their team on ata sedate, steady pace. They were in no real hurry.
Pettigrew talked a little more about hissister, but after a while had said all that could be said on thesubject. The air was crisp and clear, and the two men soon fellinto a companionable silence. There was even a little light snow tocover the ruts and blemishes on the much-used road. Twice theypassed sleighs coming west and received enthusiastic waves andcheers. There was something inherently cheerful about a sleigh-ridethrough the snow.
They had been travelling about an hour whenMarc spotted what appeared to be a sleigh parked sideways acrossthe road about fifty yards ahead.
“Looks like someone’s had trouble,” Pettigrewsaid.
“Let’s see if we can help,” Marc said.
When they were about thirty yards from thevehicle, someone stood up behind it. Marc reacted instantly. Hegrabbed Pettigrew and pulled him down on the floor of the cutter. Alead ball thudded into the seat just above them.
“Jesus, we’re being shot at!” Pettigrewcried.
“We are. And we’re sitting ducks inhere.”
“But how did you know?”
“I was a soldier. I recognize a rifle when Isee one. Especially if it’s pointed at me.”
Marc peered around the side of the seat.“They’re coming for us!” he cried. “We’ve got to make a run for thewoods.”
With Pettigrew just behind him, Marc leapedout of the cutter and hit the ground running. A bullet whizzed pasthim into the snow. He made it to the nearest clump of cedars andturned to look back. Pettigrew was sprinting towards him. A shotrang out and Pettigrew pitched into a drift. Marc did not hesitate.He ran to his young friend and hauled him into the relative safetyof the cedars.
“Where are you hit?” he asked,breathless.
“In the leg. It just grazed me. I’ll be allright.”
“Can you run?”
“I think so.”
“Then we’d better skedaddle.”
The two men took off at full speed, straightinto the bush. They could hear the shouts of their pursuers, notfar behind.
“They think they’ve wounded you,” Marc said.“They’ll keep coming, I’m afraid.”
“I’m all right. There’s just a littlebleeding here on my calf.”
“With all this snow they’ll be able to trackus easily. But we’ve got no choice. They’re armed with rifles. Wehave nothing.”
“Well, let’s go, then. We’ve got to outrunthem, eh?”
They took off, in what direction they reallydidn’t know, except that they seemed to be getting farther into thewoods and the snow was getting deeper.
“We’ll be exhausted in ten minutes at thisrate,” Marc said when they paused to catch their breath. They couldhear their pursuers in the near distance.
“And my leg is starting to really hurt,”Pettigrew said.
“Our only hope is that they give up before wedo.”
“Unless they’re on snowshoes. Then we’ve hadit.”
The two men staggered forward. The driftswere up to their knees, and each step was more painful than thelast. The snow had stopped but it was still cloudy and sunlessoverhead. Pettigrew began limping.
“I can’t go much farther, Marc,” he said.
“What’s that just ahead?”
“It looks like a creek.”
“Then we may be in luck. Can you get thatfar?”
“I think so.”
Grimacing with every step, Pettigrew followedMarc to the creek. As Marc had hoped, the centre of the stream wassnow-free — an icy ribbon of frozen water. “Let’s get out therequick!”
When they got out to the icy patch, Marchesitated. “That way is the way we came, I think. They’ll figure wewent the other way — ahead.”
He led the way along the icy surface, leavingno bootprints of any kind. They had to get around the first bend,though, before the pursuit reached the creek. They made it to thebend, but did not stop for another five minutes.