“You lie, d—mn you; you lie!” he stammered, through lips grown white and shaking. “You have no proof—”
“Tut! your face gives you away,” declared Mitchell, pointing to Armstrong’s convulsed features as the latter cowered back at his approach. “Let go, Doctor Curtis.”
Slowly Curtis released his hold. “Your pulse betrayed your emotion, Armstrong, when I announced that I knew there were two wounds on Meredith’s throat,” he stated. “Believing yourself entirely safe from suspicion after Mrs. Hull’s confession, the shock was more than your nerves could stand.”
“It’s a lie—a lie—” Armstrong reiterated through dry lips as his hunted gaze swept the room. His sudden dash for the library window was blocked by Detective Sergeant Brown and the uplifted razor was knocked from his hand. A minute more and he stood staring stupidly at a pair of handcuffs dangling from his wrists.
“A handy weapon,” exclaimed Brown, picking it up. “So the razor did the trick as far as Meredith was concerned, eh, Armstrong?”
A snarling curse was Armstrong’s only answer as he collapsed in a chair.
Before Curtis could speak, Anne turned and faced Coroner Penfield.
“I did go to Uncle John’s room late Sunday night,” she said. “Mother had told me of his plan to have me marry Doctor Curtis.” She avoided looking at Curtis. “And I went to ask him to reconsider. At first Uncle John was very bitter and said many harsh things,” she hesitated and colored painfully as she met her mother’s unfriendly glance. “Years ago when they first went into business, my father and Uncle John were junior partners in the firm of ‘Turner and Waterman’ stockbrokers—”
An exclamation from Curtis interrupted her. “The firm failed,” he said, “and my father, Dan Curtis, who had intrusted his financial affairs to it, went down in the crash. He committed suicide—”
“So Uncle John told me,” admitted Anne softly. “He said my father as well as he had never gotten over his tragic death. They tried vainly to locate your mother and aid her financially, but she—”