“That reminds me,” said the judge. “I heard you was leaving. We came to say good-by.”
“I haven’t got time to go just now,” I answered.
“I brought this back.” The judge showed me a wooden sign he was carrying—“For Sale. Enquire Within.”
Much good it had ever done any one to enquire within!
“I’m glad we got here when we did,” said Alf. “Looks as if we was in on the killin’.”
I winced. I was strung so taut that every word vibrated on naked nerves. I could hear the footsteps over my head, pacing back and forth, as they always did, trying one door and then the other, and I knew, with nameless dread, that whatever they were, this would be the last hour they would walk that floor.
“What became of Mrs. Dove?” asked the judge.
“Oh,” I broke down, “I don’t know! I wish I knew!”
He picked up the great iron poker that had once mounted the secret stairs with me and weighed it speculatively.
“I guess that’s all right,” he said, “for a one-armed man to handle.”