"He was a large man, over six feet, barrel-chested. He'd worked in the mines in Wales when he was a boy. Anytime you saw a crowd of men a mile away, you could easily pick Jake out. He was the one with the bright red hair and heard who was always laughing."
"Red hair and beard?"
"Yes, he was quite proud of the fact that he stood out from the rest."
"All the world loves a man who laughs."
She smiled broadly. "It certainly wasn't love at first sight on my part, I can tell you. To me, Jake looked like a big uncouth bear. He was hardly the type to tickle a young girl's fancy."
"But you married him."
She nodded. "He courted me all during the blizzard, and when the sun finally broke through the clouds on the fourteenth day, I accepted his proposal. Mother and Dad were distraught, of course, but Jake won them over, too."
"You couldn't have been married long?"
"I saw him for the last time a year later."
"The day he and the others were lost in the Little Angel." It was more statement than question.
"Yes," she said wistfully. She avoided his stare and looked nervously toward the kitchen. "My goodness, I'd better fix us some lunch. You must be starving, Mr. Seagram."
But Seagram's businesslike expression faded and his eyes came alight with sudden excitement. "You heard from Jake after the Little Angel accident, didn't you, Mrs. Austin?"
She seemed to retreat into the cushions of her chair. Apprehension spread across her gentle face. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," he said softly.
"No . . . no, you're mistaken."
"Why are you afraid?"
Her hands were trembling now. "I've told you all I can."
"There's more, much more, Mrs. Austin." He reached over and took her hands. "Why are you afraid?" he repeated.
"I'm sworn to secrecy," she murmured.
"Can you explain?"
She said, hesitantly, "You're with the government, Mr. Seagram. You know what it is to keep a secret."
"Who was it? Jake? Did he ask you to remain silent?"
She shook her head.
"Then who?"
"Please believe me," she pleaded. "I can't tell you . . . I can't tell you anything."
Seagram stood up and looked down on her. She seemed to have aged, the wrinkles etched more deeply in her ancient skin. She had withdrawn into a shell. It would take a mild form of shock treatment to get her to open up.
"May I use your telephone, Mrs. Austin?"
"Yes, of course. You'll find the nearest extension in the kitchen''
It was seven minutes before the familiar voice came through the earpiece. Quickly, Seagram explained the situation and made his request. Then he turned back to the living room. "Mrs. Austin. Can you come here a moment?"
Timidly, she approached him.