In time--and Fairchild did not know how long--an evil-visaged, scar-faced man would return to help her carry the inert frame of the unconscious man below and bury it.
Nor could Fairchild tell from the conversation whether he even intended to perform the merciful act of killing the poor, broken being before he covered it with acids and quick-eating lime in a grave that soon would remove all vestige of human identity forever.

Certainly now was not a time for thought; it was one for action! And for caution.

Instinct told Fairchild that for the present, at least, Rodaine must believe that Harry had escaped unaided.

There were too many other things in which Robert felt sure Rodaine had played a part, too many other mysterious happenings which must be met and coped with, before the man of the blue-white scar could know that finally the underling was beginning to show fight, that at last the crushed had begun to rise.

Fairchild bent and unlaced his shoes, taking off also the heavy woolen socks which protected his feet from the biting cold.
Steeling himself to the ordeal which he must undergo, he tied the laces together and slung the footgear over a shoulder.