Part 26 (1/2)

They stared at each other for several dragging seconds. The detective waved a hand toward the judge's chair.

”Sit down,” he said, resuming his own seat.

There followed another pause, longer than the first. The judge's breathing was laboured, audible. He lowered his eyes and pa.s.sed his hand across their thick lids. When he looked up again, Hastings commanded him with unwavering, expectant gaze.

”I've made a mistake,” Wilton began huskily, and stopped.

”Yes?” Hastings said, unbending. ”How?”

”I see it now. It was a matter of no importance, in itself. I've exaggerated it, by my silence, into disproportionate significance.” His tone changed to curiosity. ”Who told you about--the whispering?”

The detective was implacable, emphasizing his dominance.

”First, what was it?” When Wilton still hesitated, he repeated: ”What did Webster say when he put his hand over your mouth--to prevent your outcry?”

The judge threw up his head, as if in sudden resolve to be frank. He spoke more readily, with a clumsy semblance of amiability.

”He said, 'Don't do that! You'll frighten Lucille!' I tried to nod my head, agreeing. But he misunderstood the movement, I think. He thought I meant to shout anyway; he tightened his grip. 'Keep quiet! Will you keep quiet?' he repeated two or three times. When I made my meaning clear, he took his hand away. He explained later what had occurred to him the moment Arthur's light flashed on. He said it came to him before he clearly realized who I was. It----

”I swear, Hastings, I hate to tell you this. It suggests unjust suspicions. Of what value are the wild ideas of a nervous man, all to pieces anyway, when he stumbles on a dead woman in the middle of the night?”

”They were valuable enough,” Hastings flicked him, ”for you to cover them up--for some reason. What were they?”

Wilton was puzzled by the detective's tone, its abstruse insinuation.

But he answered the question.

”He said his first idea, the one that made him think of Lucille, was that Arthur might have had something to do with the murder.”

”Why? Why did he think Sloane had killed Mildred Brace?”

”Because she had been the cause of Lucille's breaking her engagement with Berne--and Arthur knew that. Arthur had been in a rage----”

”All right!” Hastings checked him suddenly, and, getting to his feet, fell to pacing the room, his eyes, always on Wilton. ”I'm acquainted with that part of it.”

He paid no attention to Wilton's evident surprise at that statement. He had a surprise of his own to deal with: the unexpected similarity of the judge's story with Lucille Sloane's theorizing as to what Webster had whispered across the body in the moment of its discovery. The two statements were identical--a coincidence that defied credulity.

He caught himself doubting Lucille. Had she been theorizing, after all?

Or had she relayed to him words that Wilton had put into her mouth?

Then, remembering her grief, her desperate appeals to him for aid, he dismissed the suspicion.

”I'd stake my life on her honesty,” he decided. ”Her intuition gave her the correct solution--if Wilton's not lying now!”

He put the obvious question: ”Judge, am I the first one to hear this--from you?” and received the obvious answer: ”You are. I didn't volunteer it to you, did I?”

”All right. Now, did you believe Webster? Wait a minute! Did you believe his fear wasn't for himself when he gagged you that way?”

”Yes; I did,” replied Wilton, in a tone that lacked sincerity.

”Do you believe it now?”