CHAPTER XXVII
Fischer, as he waited for Pamela the following afternoon in the sitting-room of her flat on Fifty-eighth Street, felt that although the practical future of his life might be decided in other places, it was here that its real climax would be reached. Pamela herself was to pronounce sentence upon him. He was feeling scarcely at his best. An examination in the courthouse, which he had imagined would last only a few minutes, had been protracted throughout the afternoon. The district attorney had asked him a great many questions, some rather awkward ones, and the inquiry itself had been almost grudgingly adjourned for a few hours. And here, in Pamela's sitting-room, the first things which caught his eye were the headlines of one of the afternoon papers:
WESTERN MILLIONAIRE ENGAGES THE GIRL HESTE'S MURDERER AS CHAUFFEUR!
ATTEMPTED MURDER AND SUICIDE IN FIFTH AVENUE LAST NIGHT.
Fischer pushed the newspaper impatiently away, and, in the act of doing so, the door was opened and Pamela entered. She came towards him with outstretched hand.
"I see you are looking at the account of your misdeeds," she said, as she seated herself behind a tea tray. "Will you tell me why a cautious man like you engages, without reference, a chauffeur who turns out to be a murderer?"
Fischer frowned irritably.
"For four hours," he complained, "several lawyers and a most inquisitive police captain have been asking me the same question in a hundred different ways. I engaged the man because I needed a chauffeur badly. He was to have brought his references this morning. I was only trusting him for a matter of a few hours."
"And during those few hours," she observed, "he seems to have developed a violent antipathy to Mr. Lutchester."
"I do not understand the affair at all," Mr. Fischer declared, "and, if I may say so, I am a little weary of it. I came here to discuss another matter altogether."