“Heard what's happened?” he cried out.
They all thought of Ellen. “What?” demanded Andrew, in a terrible voice. Fanny dropped her work and stared at him, with her chin falling as if she were dying. Mrs. Zelotes made a queer gurgling noise in her throat. Lee stared at them a second, bewildered by the effect of his own words, although they had for him such a tragic import. Andrew caught hold of him in a grasp like the clamp of a machine. “What?” he demanded again.
“The boss has been shot,” cried Lee, getting his breath.
Andrew dropped his arm, and they all stared at him. Lee went on fluently, as if he were a fakir at a fair.
“Nahum Beals did it. The boss went back to the office to get his pocketbook; McLaughlin saw him; then he went down the stairs; Nahum, he—he fired; he had been hidin' underneath the stairs. Carl Olfsen caught him, and he's in jail. Your daughter she was there when the shot came, and run up and held his head. The young boss he sent her in Dr. James's buggy to Mrs. Lloyd to break the news. She 'ain't got home?”
“No,” gasped Andrew.
“The boss has been shot; he's dead by this time,” repeated Lee. “Beals did it; they've got him.” There was the most singular evenness and impartiality in his tone, although he was evidently strained to a high pitch of excitement. It was impossible to tell whether he exulted in or was aghast at the tragedy.
“Oh, that poor woman!” cried Fanny.
“I'd like to know what they'll do next,” cried Mrs. Zelotes. “I should call it pretty work.”
“Nahum Beals has acted to me as if he was half crazy for some time,” said Fanny.