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The sheriff glanced at Stokes. "It's getting kind of late." "Yes." "Do you still think she'll show tonight?" Professor Stokes looked grim. "Yes." He indicated a small black leather bag. "And when she does we'll be ready for her." "I'm worried." "Why?" "About that Todd." "What about him?" Professor Stokes asked sharply. The sheriff lifted a hand in a tired gesture. "I still feel we're taking a terrible chance with that boy's life." "I agree, George," Professor Stokes said, "but there is no other way." "You're positive?" "Yes. He's the only one who can lead us to her." "I see," the sheriff said with a troubled face. He was still not quite able to grasp the full horror of the situa- tion, still hoping it might be settled in some simple way. "Your men are all dependable?" Stokes asked. "Hand picked." "There won't be any mistakes, will there?" The sheriff sighed. "Don't worry, Eliot. I've instructed them as you told me." Professor Stokes frowned. "You've explained about the cross, the protection that holy symbol will give them?" "Yes. I know they think I'm out of my head," the sheriff said ruefully, "but I drilled it into them. They've been told the cross will give them all the protection they need." "Then we can only go on waiting," Professor Stokes said wearily. |