She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. ’ ‘Well for him,’ remarked Captain Roding. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. She was shifting, moving back. She had exposed the real story behind Peters tragedy, that dark, handsome Chuck had killed himself by leaving the car running in the garage, not from a “heart attack” as 111 claimed the party line. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. From the first I could see that neither believed my story.
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