The sliver of a moon had broken through the clouds, but it shed no light on the deepening night. As Logan crossed the yard, the quickly moving clouds rolled past, obliterating it once more. The air was heavy. In the distance he heard a faint rumble of thunder.
Was he running once again—this time perhaps not from God, but from people? Why had he been so afraid to open up and tell them everything? He knew they would have accepted him with open arms, would have prayed with him, would have done whatever they could to help. What made it so difficult to receive the help and love of one’s fellows?
Suddenly a sound arrested Logan’s attention. He stopped and listened again. Was it Allison? He wasn’t sure he wanted to meet her right now.
He glanced all about, but saw nothing. It was just as well. What could he say, anyway? As he walked on he reviewed all their times together. They had made no promises or commitments to one another. But then they were both too self-centered for that. He immediately rebuked himself for thinking ill of her; he knew there was more to Allison than that. He had seen glimpses at first, but then after that day when Fairgate came to call she had seemed genuinely different. Was she fighting a battle within herself—just as he was?
He walked on. He didn’t want to leave. But what else could he do? He and Allison had merely had a brief glimpse of what might have been. What was he thinking, anyway? He could never settle down—even for love. The very thought of the word sent an electric charge through his body. It was not something he had encountered much of in his hard life on the streets. He had not even sought it, nor wanted it—until now, when it seemingly lay so close within his grasp. And yet his chance for love was all but gone.
Logan reached the stable door and opened it wide enough to let himself through. All was pitch black and still, except for an occasional snort from one of the horses in back. He had never known until now what a comforting sound that was. No wonder his uncle had so loved his animals and his little world here!
Before he had a chance to secure the door behind him, he again heard a sound, like the shuffling of feet. Again he thought of Allison. But before he had the chance to wonder what she might be doing in the stable, another voice broke through the silence. Logan froze.
“Don’t do anything funny, Macintyre,” it said. “I have a .38 aimed right at your head.” It was the same voice he had heard with Lombardo’s earlier.
So, the walls of mighty Stonewycke were not impenetrable after all!
“Who are you? What do you want?” Logan struggled to keep the tremor from rising in his voice.
“Sprague’s the name,” said the intruder coolly. “But it won’t mean anything to you. You have something I want—at least I hope you have it. If not . . . then I’ll be very disappointed. You see, Macintyre, I have a fondness for buried treasure.”
How could Morgan have found out about that? Logan wondered. But it hardly mattered now.
“Where is Allison?”
“You mean that sweet young thing that was roaming around out here an hour ago?”
“Where is she?” was Logan’s only reply as he started to spin around.
“Hold it!” barked Sprague. “You turn around real slow and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Logan complied. “What have you done with her?” he shouted, feeling a mixture of rage and self-derision for getting her mixed up with men who were likely murderers.
“Don’t worry. She’s safe and sound—for now. You cooperate and give me what I want, and you’ll have your little mistress back.” Sprague’s threat needed no further embellishment.
“And what is it you want?”
“I told you. I want that treasure.”
“That’s all?”
Something didn’t fit. If this man were from Morgan, settling the score against him would count for far more than some elusive treasure. He might want the loot anyway, if it chanced to come his way. But Morgan was the type who would want Logan’s blood. Morgan would want revenge.
“I’m not a greedy man,” Sprague was saying, “nor a violent one. I can, in fact, be most conciliatory.”
“I won’t tell you a thing until I know the girl is safe.”
Sprague clicked his tongue in mocking rebuke. “It hurts my feelings, sonny, that you won’t trust old Uncle Ross.”
“You’ll get nothing until I see with my own eyes that she is alive and well and will go free unharmed.”