"
"All right," said Peter, and went on his way into Little Sark.
His way took him to La Closerie. But he was not anxious to meet Mrs.
Tom, so he hung about behind the hedges till Nance happened to come out
of the house, and then he whistled softly and beckoned to her to come to
him.
Her face was very pale and troubled, and he saw she had been crying.
"I want to speak to you," he said.
"What is it?"
"Come round here. It's important."
"What is it?" she asked wearily again, when she had joined him behind
the green dyke.
"It's this, Nance. You--you know I want you. I've always wanted you--"
"Oh--don't!" she cried, with protesting hand. "This is no time. Peter
Mauger, for--"
"Wait a bit! Here's how it is. Doctor says Tom was killed by some one
beating his head in with a hammer or something of the kind. Now who beat
his head in? Who would be most likely to beat his head in? Not me, for
we were mates. Some one that hated him. Some one that he was always
quarrelling with--" Her face had grown so white that there was no colour
even in the trembling lips.
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