CHAPTER XX.
DOCTOR WALKER’S WARNING
Warner was on his knees in a moment, fumbling at the old man’s collar to loosen it, but Halsey caught his hand.
“Let him alone,” he said. “You can’t help him; he is dead.”
We stood there, each avoiding the other’s eyes; we spoke low and reverently in the presence of death, and we tacitly avoided any mention of the suspicion that was in every mind. When Mr. Jamieson had finished his cursory examination, he got up and dusted the knees of his trousers.
“There is no sign of injury,” he said, and I know I, for one, drew a long breath of relief. “From what Warner says and from his hiding in the closet, I should say he was scared to death. Fright and a weak heart, together.”
“But what could have done it?” Gertrude asked. “He was all right this evening at dinner. Warner, what did he say when you found him on the porch?”
Warner looked shaken: his honest, boyish face was colorless.
“Just what I told you, Miss Innes. He’d been reading the paper down-stairs; I had put up the car, and, feeling sleepy, I came down to the lodge to go to bed. As I went up-stairs, Thomas put down the paper and, taking his pipe, went out on the porch. Then I heard an exclamation from him.”
“What did he say?” demanded Jamieson.
“I couldn’t hear, but his voice was strange; it sounded startled. I waited for him to call out again, but he did not, so I went down-stairs. He was sitting on the porch step, looking straight ahead, as if he saw something among the trees across the road. And he kept mumbling about having seen a ghost. He looked queer, and I tried to get him inside, but he wouldn’t move. Then I thought I’d better go up to the house.”