“Very well,” Ogden hesitated. “When Professor Norcross returns tell him that I have gone to my room.”
“Yes, sor.”
“Charles,” the butler stopped on his way downstairs. “Close the house now, and after Professor Norcross gets here, go to bed.”
“Very good, sor,” and Charles at once started on his rounds of locking doors and windows, while Ogden went straight to his wife’s bedroom. Ethel met him at the door, a finger on her lip.
“Cousin Jane has just fallen asleep,” she whispered, stepping into the hall and drawing to the door. “Dr. McLane says it was only a nervous breakdown, and that she will be all right tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” echoed Ogden. “Good. Go to bed, child; you look as if you need a night’s rest,” then he added as Ethel hesitated, “I’ll sit up with Cousin Jane and be on hand if she requires anything.”
“Be sure and call me if I can be of assistance,” Ethel took a step down the hall and then returned. “Have you heard anything from Julian?”
“Charles said he telephoned that he would be back about midnight,” answered Ogden impatiently. “Probably the police put him through the third degree, and found they hadn’t enough evidence to hold him.”
Ethel’s fervidly whispered “Thank God!” was too low to reach her cousin’s ears, and with a lighter heart than she had known in many hours, she went to her bedroom, but before starting to retire, she read again and yet again Julian Barclay’s hastily scrawled note brought to her by Charles before luncheon.
For his size Walter Ogden was remarkably light on his feet, and his restless pacing to and fro never disturbed the sleeper on the bed. Many minutes dragged themselves away before Ogden dropped wearily into his wife’s favorite chair. But a veritable demon of unrest drove him out of its comfortable depths before he had been there ten minutes, and he was passing the door when footsteps in the hall reached him and he recognized Norcross’ voice speaking to Charles. Before he could make up his mind to go out and speak to the professor he heard him close his bedroom door.