She bustled about, searching her
meagre stock of chinaware for uncracked bowls.
"Set down?" suggested Mart.
Munn sat down with a sign, and his companions followed his example.
Mart resumed his position before the stove, lifting one foot into
the capacious black maw of the oven.
"Must 'a' got your feet wet, Brenner?" the sheriff said with heavy
jocularity.
Brenner nodded, "You bet I did," he replied. "Been down on the beach
all afternoon."
"Didn't happen to hear any unusual noise down there, did you?" Munn
spoke with his eyes on Mrs. Brenner, at her task of ladling out the
thick soup. She paused as though transfixed, her ladle poised in the
air.
Munn's eyes dropped from her face to the floor. There they became
fixed on the tracks of red clay.
"No, nothin' but the sea. It must be rough outside tonight, for the
bay was whinin' like a sick cat," said Mart calmly.
"Didn't hear a scream, or nothing like that, I suppose?" Munn
persisted.
"Couldn't hear a thing but the water. Why?"
"Oh--nothing," said Munn.
Mrs. Brenner finished pouring out the soup and set the bowls on the
table.
Chairs clattered, and soon the men were eating. Mart finished
his soup before the others and sat back smacking his lips.
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