That the men who had committed these two murders and had tried a third--for he did not for one instant separate them--would stop at no chance, was beyond dispute or question. They had watched and waited on Wing for two years and, apparently, had not struck until every other means of securing what they wanted had failed. When they did strike, they had struck pitilessly and effectively. But they were still on their guard, as the assault on the Bridge and this wanton murder of a wounded man proved. They had gone so far; certainly they would not now retire from the game, nor would they show a scrupulousness they had failed to feel before they had so far committed themselves that retreat was impossible. It was a struggle to the death, with an unseen foe, by a man who at all times stood out as a plain mark. He had the sensation of one who stands with a lamp in his hands and peers into the deeper dark, to catch a glimpse of a foe that he simply knows lies in wait for him unseen. CHAPTER XI Already One Attempt “I won’t consent to any further chasing of this woman.” It was Charles Matthewson who spoke, standing in front of his brother in the library at Waterville, where the original interview regarding Cranston had taken place. It was a long time since Charles had spoken so positively to Henry, and the latter looked up half amused and half irritated, yet with an ugly expression on his face. “You have suddenly become very much concerned for this--woman. I’ll use your polite term,” he said. “I’ve suddenly become concerned for myself,” the other replied hotly. “I know, as you do, that she and her--misfortune have nothing to do with this murder; and I know, as you do, if you’ll stop to think a moment, that it’s a cowardly piece of business for men to engage in to hunt down a woman, simply because they may do so with the approval of the hunters.” Henry gave a low whistle. “Who’s been talking to you? You’ve got a sudden conversion as to this woman’s--misfortune.” He gave an ugly slur to that last word. “Time was when you’d call it by another name.” “Well, whether I would or not, Cranston’s got to be called off from that line: and he’s got to be called off quick!” “But Frank Hunter has been very insistent on this point. He seems to have some reason for thinking it important,” Henry answered. “Because he thinks that a sensation there will stop folks asking questions nearer home. If he can raise a dust behind which he can negotiate for those papers, he’s got all he’s looking for just now.” “Perhaps you don’t feel any interest in those papers,” Henry answered. “Interest or no interest, I’m not going to skulk any longer behind a petticoat. I’m ashamed to have done it so long.” “Good boy,” Henry said, making a motion as if to pat him on the shoulder. “I ask again, who’s been stirring up your conscience?” “Our mother,” said Charles simply. Henry stopped in his act, and a new look came over his face. “Does she think it unmanly?” he asked.