Good old ramshackle, lanky, whimsical Brent. How Tom Slade wished that he could see him now. So that he could tell him the price didn’t interest him.... CHAPTER XXVII THE CRIMINAL Then Tom fell to thinking about Anson Dyker and wondering where he had been in that long interval since his crime. He had been to the war, and Tom was glad of that, for his service and his cruel wound seemed like an atonement. But all the while Tom knew that there is no atonement for murder—but one. And the thought made him shudder. He emerged the next morning, troubled and perplexed after a restless night. It seemed to him that he had lived over the whole drama in which the Dykers and the old village and the great reservoir had played a part. Perhaps he saw the little family’s sorrow and trouble more vividly than he was able to picture that other home in Kingston where blind murder had stalked. Yet he did think of old Henry Merrick and saw him through the haze of time as a kindly old man. Tom had borne many responsibilities upon his young shoulders but he had never carried such a depressing weight of perplexity as now harassed him. He had kept other people’s secrets, but he had never kept a secret from the state, from the law. His youth and essential simplicity were very strongly manifested in the uneasiness he felt at having to bear the responsibility of such knowledge, and to keep it secret. And in his perplexity, his fondness and admiration for his friend Whalen, deepened to a kindness and sympathy such as he had not felt before. Whalen had never given him a chance to show his friendship and gratitude. But the matter was out of Whalen’s hands now. He did not know that Tom knew. Tom had an odd feeling that Whalen would be just the sort of person in whom to confide such a secret, just the sort to share it and advise with him. That was what Tom wanted now—not some one to advise him. Not exactly that. But some one to share the knowledge. He felt a certain boyish fear at knowing this dreadful truth all by himself, and being in the position of outwitting the law. With all his prowess he felt very nervous and very much at sea. It is to the credit of Mr. Fairgreaves that Tom in his first panic of doubt and uncertainty should have thought of him as a trusty friend. He might have done worse than go to Mr. Fairgreaves. He thought of Ferris and for no very good reason he deferred and then abandoned the thought of taking him into his confidence. He thought of making the trip to Temple Camp and talking with Brent, and what demon of evil prevented him from doing this heaven only knows. The upshot was that he spoke to no one and was greatly troubled. He felt that he was accessory to a crime and oddly this made him feel that he was in some way false to his friend and rescuer.