“And I shall conduct the case for the prosecution.”
“The ‘Eye’ will let people know it. Don’t worry about that. Does Lewis remember that he told you?”
“Not a word.”
II
On the following Sunday Patience arose early. Beverly had been in the family vault down in the hollow for a week. She had wished to leave immediately after the funeral, but had remained at the insistence of Hal, who had returned at once, and was doubly depressed by her brother’s death and the gloomy house. Mrs. Peele had gone to bed with a violent attack of neuralgia some days ago, and had not risen since. Honora was in constant attendance. Mr. Peele never opened his lips except to ask for what he wanted. Burr, as a matter of course, spent the days in New York or at a private club house in the neighbourhood.
Patience had moved into a room adjoining Hal’s. She kept the light burning all night.
“I’ll be all right when I get back to New York,” she said, “but I have a horror of death. I can’t help it.”
“Who hasn’t?” asked Hal. “I wish I were a man—or could be as selfish as one.”
On this Sunday morning Patience rose after a restless night, and went downstairs as soon as she was dressed. The “Day” and the “Eye”—Burr’s favorite newspaper—lay on a table in the hall. She carried them into the library and turned them over listlessly, then remembered that a great Westchester County scandal had been promised for the Sunday “Eye” by the issue of the day before, and that Hal and Burr were on the alert, suspecting that they half knew the story already.
She opened the “Eye” and glanced at the headlines of the first page. In the place of honour, the extreme left hand column, she found her story: