Part 19 (1/2)
”I came out here to talk about that,” Wilton retorted, brusquely.
”You're all wrong there, Hastings! The boy's broken all to pieces. He sees clearly, too clearly, the weight of suspicion against him. You've mistaken his panic for hostility toward yourself.”
The old man was unconvinced, and showed it.
”Suspicion doesn't usually knock a man into a c.o.c.ked hat--unless there's something to base it on,” he contended.
”All right; I give up,” Wilton said, with a short laugh. ”All I know is, he came to me before we saw you in the music room, and told me he wanted me to be there, to see that he omitted not even a detail of what he knew.”
Hastings, looking up from the intricate pattern he was carving, challenged the judge:
”Has it occurred to you that, if he's not guilty, he might suspect somebody else in this house, might be trying to s.h.i.+eld that person?”
In the inconsiderable pause that followed, Wilton's lips, parting for an incredulous smile, showed the top of his tongue against his teeth, as if set for p.r.o.nunciation of the letter ”S.” Hastings, in a mental flash, saw him on the point of exclaiming: ”Sloane!” But, if that was in his mind, he put it down, elaborating the smile to a laughing protest:
”That's going far afield, isn't it?”
Hastings smiled in return: ”Maybe so, but it's a possibility--and possibilities have to be dealt with.”
”Which reminds me,” the judge said, now all amiability; ”don't forget I'm always at your service in this affair. I see now that you might have preferred to question Webster alone, in the music room; but my confidence in his innocence blinded me to the fact that you could regard him as actually guilty. I expected nothing but a friendly conference, not a fierce cross-examination.”
”It didn't matter at all,” Hastings matched Wilton's cordial tone; ”and I appreciate your offer, judge. Suppose you tell me anything that occurs to you, anything that will throw light on this case any time; and I'll act as go-between for you with the authorities--if necessary.”
”You mean----?”
”I'd like to do the talking for this family and its friends. I can work better if I can handle things myself. The half of my job is to save the Sloanes from as many wild rumours as I can.”
Wilton nodded approval.
”How about Arthur? You want me to take any questions to him for you?”
”No; thanks.--But,” Hastings added, ”you might make him see the necessity of telling me what he saw last night. If he doesn't come out with it, he'll make it all the harder on Webster.”
”I don't think he saw anything.”
”Didn't he? Why'd he refuse to testify before the coroner, then?”
Sheriff Crown's car came whirling up the driveway; and Hastings spoke hurriedly:
”You know he's not as sick as he makes out. He's got to tell me what he knows, judge! He's holding back something. That's why he wants to make me so mad I'll quit the case. Who's he s.h.i.+elding? That's what people will want to know.”
Wilton pondered that.
”I'll see what I can do,” he finally agreed. ”According to you, it may appear--people may suspect--that Webster's guilty or s.h.i.+elding somebody else; and Arthur's guilty or s.h.i.+elding Webster!”
When Mr. Crown reached the porch, they were discussing Webster's condition, and Hastings, with the aid of the judge's penknife, was tightening a screw in his big barlowesque blade. They were careful to say nothing that might arouse the sheriff's suspicion of their compact--an agreement whereby a private detective, and not the law's representative, was to have the benefit of all the judge's information bearing on the murder.
Mr. Crown, however, was dissatisfied.
”I'm tied up!” he complained, nursing with forefinger and thumb his knuckle-like chin. ”The only place I can get information is at the wrong end--Russell!”