The Circular Staircase - Page 106/154

He was all attention in a moment.

"I was up there myself at the fire," he said volubly. "I'm a member of

the volunteer company. First big fire we've had since the summer house

burned over to the club golf links. My wife was sayin' the other day,

'Dave, you might as well 'a' saved the money in that there helmet and

shirt.' And here last night they came in handy. Rang that bell so

hard I hadn't time scarcely to get 'em on."

"And--did you see a man who limped?" Gertrude put in, as he stopped for

breath.

"Not at the train, ma'm," he said. "No such person got on here to-day.

But I'll tell you where I did see a man that limped. I didn't wait

till the fire company left; there's a fast freight goes through at four

forty-five, and I had to get down to the station. I seen there wasn't

much more to do anyhow at the fire--we'd got the flames under

control"--Gertrude looked at me and smiled--"so I started down the

hill. There was folks here and there goin' home, and along by the path

to the Country Club I seen two men. One was a short fellow. He was

sitting on a big rock, his back to me, and he had something white in

his hand, as if he was tying up his foot. After I'd gone on a piece I

looked back, and he was hobbling on and--excuse me, miss--he was

swearing something sickening."

"Did they go toward the club?" Gertrude asked suddenly, leaning forward.

"No, miss. I think they came into the village. I didn't get a look at

their faces, but I know every chick and child in the place, and

everybody knows me. When they didn't shout at me--in my uniform, you

know--I took it they were strangers."

So all we had for our afternoon's work was this: some one had been shot

by the bullet that went through the door; he had not left the village,

and he had not called in a physician. Also, Doctor Walker knew who

Lucien Wallace was, and his very denial made me confident that, in that

one direction at least, we were on the right track.

The thought that the detective would be there that night was the most

cheering thing of all, and I think even Gertrude was glad of it.

Driving home that afternoon, I saw her in the clear sunlight for the

first time in several days, and I was startled to see how ill she

looked. She was thin and colorless, and all her bright animation was

gone.

"Gertrude," I said, "I have been a very selfish old woman. You are

going to leave this miserable house to-night. Annie Morton is going to

Scotland next week, and you shall go right with her."