"Been to the village this morning?" he asked.
"No, sir, but Lem has. There's great news there. I wonder if anyone has told Mr. Sutherland."
"What news, Jake? I don't think my father is up yet."
"Why, sir, there were two more deaths in town last night—the brothers
Zabel; and folks do say (Lem heard it a dozen times between the grocery
and the fish market) that it was one of these old men who killed Mrs.
Webb. The dagger has been found in their house, and most of the money.
Why, sir, what's the matter? Are you sick?"
Frederick made an effort and stood upright. He had nearly fallen.
"No; that is, I am not quite myself. So many horrors, Jake. What did they die of? You say they are both dead—both?"
"Yes, sir, and it's dreadful to think of, but it was hunger, sir. Bread came too late. Both men are mere skeletons to look at. They have kept themselves close for weeks now, and nobody knew how bad off they were. I don't wonder it upset you, sir. We all feel it a bit, and I just dread to tell Mr. Sutherland."
Frederick staggered away. He had never in his life been so near mental and physical collapse. At the threshold of the sitting-room door he met his father. Mr. Sutherland was looking both troubled and anxious; more so, Frederick thought, than when he signed the check for him on the previous night. As their eyes met, both showed embarrassment, but Frederick, whose nerves had been highly strung by what he had just heard, soon controlled himself, and surveying his father with forced calmness, began:
"This is dreadful news, sir."
But his father, intent on his own thought, hurriedly interrupted him.