They shuddered, even though she spoke no word. Then she came on,
muttering hotly, and together we approached the ranch house. A dozen
feet from the door she bounded ahead of me with a cry of baffled rage. I
saw why. Lew Wee, unrecking her approach, was cold-bloodedly committing
an encore. She sped through the doorway, and I heard Lew Wee's
frightened squeal as he sped through another. When I stood in the room
she was putting violent hands to the throat of the thing.
"The hours I spend with th--" The throttled note expired in a very
dreadful squawk of agony. It was as if foul murder had been done, and
done swiftly. The maddened woman faced me with the potentially evil disk
clutched in her hands. In a voice that is a notable loss to our revivals
of Greek tragedy she declaimed:
"Ain't it the limit?--and the last thing I done was to hide out that
record up behind the clock where he couldn't find it!"
In a sudden new alarm and with three long steps she reached the door of
the kitchen and flung it open. Through a window thus exposed we beheld
the offender. One so seldom thinks of the Chinese as athletes! Lew Wee
was well down the flat toward the cottonwoods and still going strong.
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