The Second Confesion

“Looking for hellgrammites?” I swivelled my head. It was Connie Emerson. She was close enough to reach me with a stretched arm, which would have meant that she was an expert at the silent approach, if it hadn't been for the noise of the brook.

I grinned at the clear strong blue of her eyes. “No, I'm after gold.” “Really? Let me see-” She took a step, lit on a stone with a bad angle, gave a little squeal, and toppled into me. Not being firmly based, over I went, and I went clear down because I spent the first tenth of a second trying to keep my fingertip hold on my prize, but I lost it anyway. When I bounced up to a sitting position Connie was sprawled flat, but her head was up and she was stretching an arm in a long reach for something, and she was getting it. My greenish grey stone had landed less than a foot from the water, and her fingers were ready to close on it. I hate to suspect a blue-eyed blonde of guile, but if she had it in mind to toss that stone in the water to see it splash all she needed was another two seconds, so I did a headlong slide over the rocks and brought the side of my hand down on her forearm. She let out a yell and jerked the arm back. I scrambled up and got erect, with my left foot planted firmly in front of my stone.

She sat up, gripping her forearm with her other hand, glaring at me. “You big ape, are you crazy?” she demanded.

“Getting there,” I told her. “Gold does it to you. Did you see that movie, Treasure of Sierra Madre?” “Damn you.” She clamped her jaw, held it a moment, and released it. “Damn you, I think you broke my arm.” “Then your bones must be chalk. I barely tapped it. Anyway, you nearly broke my back.” I made my voice reasonable. “There's too much suspicion in this world.

I'll agree not to suspect you of meaning to bump me if you'll agree not to suspect me of meaning to tap your arm. Why don't we move off these rocks and sit on the grass and talk it over? Your eyes are simply beautiful. We could start from there.” She pulled her feet in, put a hand-not the one that had reached for my stone-on a rock for leverage, got to her feet, stepped carefully across the rocks to the grass, climbed the bank, and was gone.