Part 5 (2/2)
”Those knees drawn up,” Hastings said at last; ”I was just thinking.
They weren't drawn up when I saw the body. Were they?”
”We'd straightened the limbs,” Webster answered. ”Thought I'd mentioned that.”
”No.--Then, there might have been a struggle? You think the woman had put up a fight--for her life?--and was overpowered?”
”Well,” deliberated Webster, ”perhaps; even probably.”
”Strange,” commented the detective, equally deliberate. ”I hadn't thought so. I would have said she'd been struck down unawares--without the slightest warning.”
IV
HASTINGS IS RETAINED
Arrival of the officials, Sheriff Crown and the coroner, Dr. Garnet, brought the conference to an abrupt close. Hastings, seeing the look in the girl's eyes, left the library in advance of the other men. Lucille followed him immediately.
”Mr. Hastings!”
”Yes, Miss Sloane?”
He turned and faced her.
”I must talk to you, alone. Won't you come in here?”
She preceded him into the parlour across the hall. When he put his hand on the electric switch, she objected, saying she preferred to be without the lights. He obeyed her. The glow from the hall was strong enough to show him the play of her features--which was what he wanted.
They sat facing each other, directly under the chandelier in the middle of the s.p.a.cious room. He thought she had chosen that place to avoid all danger of being overheard in any direction. He saw, too, that she was hesitant, half-regretting having brought him there. He read her doubts, saw how pain and anxiety mingled in her wide-open grey eyes.
”Yes, I know,” he said with a smile that was rea.s.suring; ”I don't look like a particularly helpful old party, do I?”
He liked her more and more. In presence of mind, he reflected, she surpa.s.sed the men of the household. In spite of the agitation that still kept her hands trembling and gave her that odd look of fighting desperately to hold herself together, she had formed a plan which she was on the point of disclosing to him.
Her courage impressed him tremendously. And, divining what her request would be, he made up his mind to help her.
”It's not that,” she said, her lips twisting to the pretence of a smile.
”I know your reputation--how brilliant you are. I was thinking you might not understand what I wanted to say.”
”Try me,” he encouraged. ”I'm not that old!”
It occurred to him that she referred to Berne Webster and herself, fearing, perhaps, his lack of sympathy for a love affair.
”It's this,” she began a rush of words, putting away all reluctance: ”I think I realize more keenly than father how disagreeable this awful thing is going to be--the publicity, the newspapers, the questions, the photographs. I know, too, that Mr. Webster's in an unpleasant situation.
I heard what he said to you in the library, every word of it.--But I don't have to think about him so much as about my father. He's a very sick man, Mr. Hastings. The shock of this, the resultant shocks lasting through days and weeks, may be fatal for him.
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