Lucille was on the front porch, evidently waiting for him, although he had not notified her in advance of his visit. She went hurriedly down the steps and met him on the walk. When he began an apology for having to annoy her so frequently, she cut short his excuses.
"Oh, but I'm glad you're here—so glad! We need your help. The sheriff's here."
She put her hand on his coat sleeve; he could feel the tremour of it as she pulled, unconsciously, on the cloth. She turned toward the verandah steps.
"What's he doing?" he asked, detaining her.
"He's in father's room," she said in feverish haste, "asking him all sorts of questions, saying ridiculous things. Really, I'm afraid—for father's health! Can't you go in now?"
"Couldn't Judge Wilton manage him? Isn't the judge here?"
"No. He came over at dinner time; but he went back to the Randalls'. Father didn't feel up to talking to him."
Crown, she explained, had literally forced his way into the bedroom, disregarding her protests and paying no attention to the pretence of physical resistance displayed by Jarvis.
"The man seems insane!" she said. "I want you to make him leave father's room—please!"