If she could be terrified, if terror could bring her down, then perhaps she would march willingly to her own tomb, thus sparing him the role of villain. Fear— There was the key, a degree of fear which would render her useless, some isolated terror which would leave her forever distrusting and contrite. The conception was only half-formed. But even in this state it brought him the first relief he had known for over an hour. He needed time to think, to plot. . . . Thus resolved, though lacking a specific course of action, he commenced walking back across the bridge. With a strict sense of discipline, he ordered his mind to stay away from the offensive image of their embrace. The irritant there was the whore herself. Then he would begin the grim inventory a few moments before that when the impulse to kill had driven him out of his place of concealment. Then what had he done? He'd run across the darkened path and had approached Jason with perfect control, had informed him that he had located Lady Mary, who would return shortly, and further, he had asked Jason to say nothing to her of their search or worry.
