“You are tremendously interested in Walter. You’re not thinking of marryin’ Walter, are you?”
“Jove, no! I’m not thinking of marrying anybody. What has that to do with the case?”
“You seem to be sensible enough,” she looked at him critically. “But,” she sighed, “you never can tell. Lots of times you would have sworn, now, that Seth was as whole-minded as that sleepin’ pup.” “Count” had flopped at Richard’s feet. “But all the while he was probably undecided whether to try the axe on me or the bread knife.”
“I give up,” Richard cried, as a child might at a hard riddle, “what’s the answer?”
“Of course,” she nodded towards the log hut in the garden, “there’s always the ‘pen’ as a last resort. I’ll keep it open for you. But not bein’ married to you I promise to knock you on the head if you grow violent.”
He must have missed the point of some remark, he thought. Or could long association with a madman have given her an unsteady turn herself? He wondered.
“You see, can’t you,” he began again, “that Mrs. Wells might put it in Walter’s power to——”
“Oh, yes! yes!” she interrupted impatiently. “I’m not a bat. I see that. Go on with the next instalment.” And she went on with her sewing.
“So I suggested that Jerry have the mother give her a ‘power of attorney’ to manage the estate.”
Phœbe dropped her sewing in her lap. “And what would a girl like Jerry be doing with all that business to look after?”