“He should be here now.”
“It is a case, I think,” added the physician, “which will require capable investigation. Would it not be well to send into Boston for a competent detective?”
“I have sent for Lawyer French, my uncle’s solicitor,” replied Thorpe, “and I shall place matters entirely in his hands on his arrival. I think that would be my uncle’s own wish if he were alive, instead of lying there, the victim of perfidious cowardice and foul play; and I shall[{44}] be governed accordingly. I think I had better—— Beg pardon, sir! Who are you?”
He had turned slightly, and now observed Sheridan Keene standing just within the threshold.
The detective approached with a grave bow, and without a glance at the gruesome figure on the bed.
“My name is Keene, and I am Mr. French’s clerk,” he explained politely. “I have just arrived with the attorney.”
“Oh, yes. Excuse me!” cried Thorpe, quickly offering his hand. “Where is Mr. French?”
“He is in the library with Mrs. Jeffrey!”
“I must see him at once!”
“Oh, by the way,” and Thorpe quickly turned back, “this is Doctor Carr, our local physician, Mr. Keene, and this is Mr. Bragg, the constable. They will give you any information you may desire, and I shall now request Mr. French to take entire charge of this dreadful affair. He will know all about the law bearing upon it, of which I know nothing. You will excuse me, won’t you?”