"This is what Tobey was doin' this afternoon!" she cried in triumph.
"He was catchin' butterflies! That ain't murder, is it?"
"Nobody catches butterflies in a fog," said Munn.
"Well, Tobey did. Here they are," Mrs. Brenner held out the box.
Munn took it from her shaking hand. He looked at it. After a moment
he turned it over. His eyes narrowed. Mrs. Brenner turned sick. The
room went swimming around before her in a bluish haze. She had
forgotten the blood on her hand that she had wiped off before Mart
came home. Suppose the blood had been on the box.
The sheriff opened the box. A bruised butterfly, big, golden,
fluttered up out of it. Very quietly the sheriff closed the box, and
turned to Mrs. Brenner.
"Call your son," he said.
"What do you want of him? Tobey ain't done nothing. What you tryin'
to do to him?"
"There is blood on this box, Mrs. Brenner."
"Mebbe he cut himself." Mrs. Brenner was fighting. Her face was
chalky white.
"In the box, Mrs. Brenner, _is a gold watch and chain_. The man who
was killed, Mrs. Brenner, had a piece of gold chain to match this in
his buttonhole. _The rest of it had been torn off_"
Olga made no sound. Her burning eyes turned toward Mart. In them was
all of a heart's anguish and despair.
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