At ten o’clock Joseph, in his traveling clothes, brought in some lemonade—he was leaving at eleven that night for a short holiday—and I remember that he had hardly gone out when Judy drew up a window shade for air, and suddenly drew back from the window.
“There’s a man out there!” she said,
“Just outside the window!”
Dick ran out at once.
He was gone for some time, and when he came back it was to report that nobody was in sight, but that it was about to storm and that they’d better be on their way.
I thought he looked rather odd, but we were all on edge that night and so I said nothing.
I was uneasy after they had gone.
I wandered back to the pantry, where Robert was talking with the policeman and waiting for Joseph to come down, and while Robert stayed in the pantry the officer made a round of the house, inside and out. He found nothing, however, and as the storm broke soon after that, Joseph departed to the car by way of the kitchen porch in such a downpour as I have seldom seen.
I did not go up to bed, although it was eleven o’clock.
I had a strange feeling of uneasiness, as though something was about to happen, or had happened.
And at a little after eleven Jock sat up in the hall and gave tongue to a really dreadful howl.
I do not even now pretend to explain that wail, or that when I went into the hall both dogs were standing with their neck ruffs on end, staring into the dark drawing room.
I had a picture of that, of the incredulous terror in their attitudes; then they turned and bolted into the library, and I am not ashamed to admit that I followed them, and slammed and locked the door.
No, I have no explanation.
When a short time later Inspector Harrison arrived and rang the door bell, he found me locked in the library; and it was all he could do to make me open the door.
He was soaking wet, and he looked very weary. He looked dejected, too, although I did not understand that until later on.
“I’m late,” he said, “but we’ve had to cut open a safe deposit box in a bank, and it took some time and some red tape.
Then I had another little job—I’m not proud of that.
Still, maybe it’s all for the best.
It will save Walter Somers a lot of trouble.”
“Walter?
He is alive?”
“He is.
I’ve been doing a little nursing now and then, in odd moments!
But he’s alive.
He’s going to live.
He’s conscious, too, since yesterday.
And now that you’ve turned up the story of the will—Waite told me—I hope the family won’t prosecute.
He tried to do the right thing, and it damn near cost him his life.”
He sat back and bit savagely on the end of a rather soggy toothpick.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve bungled this thing.
When I did get on the right track it was pretty late.
It was the shooting of Joseph Holmes that started me straight, by the way.
But I lost a lot of time, one way and another, and—well, I’ll say this, our killer will never kill again.”
“You’ve got him?
The murderer?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes—and no.”
I sat bolt upright in my excitement.
“Who was it, Inspector?
Surely I have a right to know.”
“I’m coming to that.”
He looked at me and smiled quizzically.
“But not right off.
We’ll lead up to it, and then there’ll be no shock.”
“Shock!
Then I know him?”
“You do indeed,” he said gravely.
“That’s why I want to tell you the story first, so you’ll understand.
We’ll call it a sort of psychological preparation.
And I’m going to tell the story without telling you his name.