The general verdict was yes—Sylvia Hesketh, for some unknown reason, running away from her lover and her home. All the world knew now that she was wild and unstable, a girl that might take any whim into her head and act on the spur of the moment. There were theories to burn why she should have thrown down Reddy and slipped away alone, but those that knew her said she was a law unto herself and let it go at that.
The morning after that supper in the Gilt Edge, Anne came in to do the marketing and stopped at the Exchange. The room was empty but even so I had to whisper:
"Are they going to arrest the Doctor?"
"He's waiting," she whispered back.
"What do you make of it?"
"What I always have. I think the woman was Virginie. I think she took Sylvia's things and lit out on her own account."
"What does Mrs. Fowler say?"
"She's going to offer a reward for the murderer. That's her way of answering. This last seems to have roused her. She knows now it's going to be a fight for her husband's liberty, perhaps his life. She's employing Mills and some other detectives and she keeps in close touch with them."
The next day the reward was made public. It was in all the papers and nailed up at the depot and in the post office, the words printed in black, staring letters:
TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD!
TO ANYONE DISCOVERING THE MURDERER OF THE LATE SYLVIA HESKETH, THIS SUM WILL BE PAID BY HER MOTHER, CONSTANCE GREY FOWLER, MAPLESHADE, NEW JERSEY.