“A telegram—for Bailey,” he
said. “It came by special messenger from
town, and was—most important. Bailey
had started for here, and the messenger had gone back
to the city. The steward gave it to Arnold,
who had been drinking all day and couldn’t sleep,
and was going for a stroll in the direction of Sunnyside.”
“And he brought it?”
“Yes.”
“What was in the telegram?”
“I can tell you—as soon as certain
things are made public. It is only a matter
of days now,” gloomily.
“And Gertrude’s story of a telephone message?”
“Poor Trude!” he half whispered.
“Poor loyal little girl! Aunt Ray, there
was no such message. No doubt your detective
already knows that and discredits all Gertrude told
him.”
“And when she went back, it was to get—the
telegram?”
“Probably,” Halsey said slowly.
“When you get to thinking about it, Aunt Ray,
it looks bad for all three of us, doesn’t it?
And yet—I will take my oath none of us
even inadvertently killed that poor devil.”
I looked at the closed door into Gertrude’s
dressing-room, and lowered my voice.
“The same horrible thought keeps recurring to
me,” I whispered. “Halsey, Gertrude
probably had your revolver: she must have examined
it, anyhow, that night. After you—and
Jack had gone, what if that ruffian came back, and
she—and she—”
I couldn’t finish. Halsey stood looking
at me with shut lips.
“She might have heard him fumbling at the door
he had no key, the police say—and thinking
it was you, or Jack, she admitted him. When
she saw her mistake she ran up the stairs, a step or
two, and turning, like an animal at bay, she fired.”
Halsey had his hand over my lips before I finished,
and in that position we stared each at the other,
our stricken glances crossing.
“The revolver—my revolver—thrown
into the tulip bed!” he muttered to himself.
“Thrown perhaps from an upper window: you
say it was buried deep. Her prostration ever
since, her—Aunt Ray, you don’t think
it was Gertrude who fell down the clothes chute?”
I could only nod my head in a hopeless affirmative.
THE TRADERS BANK
The morning after Halsey’s return was Tuesday.
Arnold Armstrong had been found dead at the foot
of the circular staircase at three o’clock on
Sunday morning. The funeral services were to
be held on Tuesday, and the interment of the body
was to be deferred until the Armstrongs arrived from
California. No one, I think, was very sorry
that Arnold Armstrong was dead, but the manner of
his death aroused some sympathy and an enormous amount
of curiosity. Mrs. Ogden Fitzhugh, a cousin,
took charge of the arrangements, and everything, I
believe, was as quiet as possible. I gave Thomas
Johnson and Mrs. Watson permission to go into town
to pay their last respects to the dead man, but for
some reason they did not care to go.
