That would give Aleck Douglas more time to get away.

But there was Jean, due at any moment now.

He could not go away and let Jean discover that gruesome thing on the kitchen floor.

He could not take it up and hide it away somewhere; he could not do anything, it seemed to him, but just wait.
He went slowly down the path to the stable, his chin on his chest, his mind grappling with the tragedy and with the problem of how best he might lighten the blow that had fallen upon the ranch.

It was unreal,--it was unthinkable,--that Aleck Douglas, the man who met but friendly glances, ride where he might, had done this thing.