“I thought I hid all six in the cannon,” faltered Millicent, raising miserable, hunted eyes to Mitchell. “I admit I had the set—because—because—Murray, where did Dr. Noyes shoot himself?” turning desperately to the footman.
“At that lean-to near the top of Elm Ridge.” Murray’s eyes lighted on Mrs. Hall, who was edging her way to the door unobtrusively. “I went upstairs to find you, Mrs. Hall, to tell you they were bringing Dr. Noyes home, but I ran into Miss Millicent and she seen I was a little excited,” with an apologetic glance at Mrs. Porter, who was paying scant attention to him as she strove to quiet Millicent. “She made me tell her about Dr. Noyes.”
Nurse Hall, finding attention centered upon her, colored.
“I will go up and arrange the room now, that is, if I am not required here.”
“You can go,” directed Mitchell. “But remember, I must see you later.”
“Yes, sir.” And Mrs. Hall slipped away, only to return a moment later. “They are bringing Dr. Noyes in the front door, now,” she announced. “And there’s a gentleman asking for you, Mr. Mitchell.”
Before Mitchell reached the hall door Sam Anthony, the Secret Service agent, appeared at the threshold. “Bring Dr. Noyes in here,” he called over his shoulder. Then addressing Mitchell: “He’s regained consciousness.”
There was a surging toward the door of Mitchell, Wyndham and Murray, but they halted as two Secret Service operatives came in supporting Alan Noyes, who walked between them, Beverly Thorne’s arm steadying him from behind.
Noyes stopped at sight of Mitchell, and leaned wearily against Thorne.
“I asked for you,” he began. “To give myself up for the murder of Bruce Brainard.”