I watched Edwards keenly. For the first time I realized that I had neglected to ask Waldon whether he had seen the unfinished letter. The question was unnecessary. It was evident that he had not.
“Let me see, Waldon, if I’ve got this thing straight,” Edwards went on, pacing restlessly up and down the saloon. “Correct me if I haven’t. Last night, as I understand it, there was a sort of little family party here, you and Miss Verrall and your mother from the Nautilus, and Mrs. Edwards and Dr. Jermyn.”
“Yes,” replied Waldon with, I thought, a touch of defiance at the words “family party.” He paused as if he would have added that the Nautilus would have been more congenial, anyhow, then added, “We danced a little bit, all except Lucie. She said she wasn’t feeling any too well.”
Edwards had paused by the door. “If you’ll excuse me a minute,” he said, “I’ll call Jermyn and Mrs. Edwards’ maid, Juanita. You ought to go over the whole thing immediately, Professor Kennedy.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about the letter to him?” asked Kennedy under his breath.
“What was the use?” returned Waldon. “I didn’t know how he’d take it. Besides, I wanted your advice on the whole thing. Do you want to show it to him?”
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” ruminated Kennedy. “It may be possible to clear the thing up without involving anybody’s name. At any rate, some one is coming down the passage this way.”
Edwards entered with Dr. Jermyn, a clean-shaven man, youthful in appearance, yet approaching middle age. I had heard of him before. He had studied several years abroad and had gained considerable reputation since his return to America.
Dr. Jermyn shook hands with us cordially enough, made some passing comment on the tragedy, and stood evidently waiting for us to disclose our hands.
“You have been Mrs. Edwards’ physician for some time, I believe?” queried Kennedy, fencing for an opening.