Slade strolled about the terrace, wondering what would be the best course to follow. The sun had set. Long, flickering streaks of darkness were on the lawn. Early evening, and still Martin Slade paced up and down. Thomas Telford had not left that room. Slade sensed that it would be a bad mistake to interrupt him in his present mood. The crook was playing a crafty, waiting game. The gloom of night felt oppressive. Slade was ill at ease, almost as unexplainably nervous as he had been on the night when he had first entered this bungalow.
He stopped pacing to listen outside the screen door. He saw Thomas Telford come from the closed room and go upstairs to the small second floor. The old man did not glance at the screen door as he passed.
This was Slade's cue for action. Quickly, he slipped into the house, and entered the room that Telford had left. The door brought him in past the safe. He stopped at Telford's desk in the corner and looked about. The room did not seem oppressive now.
On the desk, Slade saw some typewritten sheets of paper. He scanned the upper one, and certain words caught his eye immediately. This was evidently a statement that had been dictated by Thomas Telford. Slade read:
This day, in Baltimore, I have received proof positive that my son is dead, and the man posing as my son is an impostor. Should I be unable to rid myself of him, keep this statement as evidence that I knew he was not James Telford. My will is made out in his name, but I intend to change it when my lawyer returns to New York. Reasons why I do not want the impostor to know that I have suspected him—
Slade had read enough. He did not need the details. He realized that Telford, absent-mindedly, had left the paper here. The old man might return at any minute. Slade started to leave the room. Then his eye spotted a silver water carafe, with a glass resting beside it.
With a shrewd expression, Martin Slade drew a small phial from his pocket. He uncorked it and poured a colorless fluid into the glass, which contained a little water.
Telford drank a great deal of water, as a habit of health. Each afternoon, the housekeeper refilled the carafe. Evidently Telford had taken a drink already. It was probable that he would take another. Slade strolled from the room. Out on the porch, he heard Telford coming down the stairs. The old man called through the screen door.
"Jim!"
"Oh, hello, dad," responded Slade, opening the door.