“The same with all their public comings and goings. From what Joe said, he always heard things before they were twenty-four hours old.
“Of course, when visitors came or went away from the Lodge, the country people took little notice of them. It was the ‘rich McClinticks’ they were concerned about. I suppose it was because they felt a certain pride in having people of such fabulous wealth for neighbors.
“At any rate, the day when the son was reported killed, the news spread like wild-fire. Joe said as soon as it reached him he felt right off that they wouldn’t hear much more of the McClinticks. He said everyone felt the same way and they regretted it.”
“I’m beginning to see light,” I said.
“You see,” Tom said and moved his chair nearer the fireplace, “what they regretted (Joe included) was the fact that the tragedy brought to a close the ever pleasant round of gossip which wealthy city people furnish with their extravagances.”
“You preach a fine sermon, Tom!” Brent put in.
“Aw, wait a second, Brent,” Tom said breathlessly. “I could tell by Joe’s manner that neither the young man’s midnight visit or Roland McClintick’s death had visibly affected his intelligence enough to connect the two really relevant incidents. And the murder of the elder McClintick, he discussed without feeling. They meant nothing to him; none of them. Except to make small talk and while away a pleasant hour or so with an amiable customer.
“But his love of small talk has proven a blessing. It’s given us a real clue!”
“How?” I asked, still in the dark.
“Well, you watch me unravel it,” Tom said proudly. “Joe remembers that night a year ago in November because he wasn’t feeling well. The fact that the young man gave him a shock on that same night freshens his memory as to the terrible attack of neuralgia he had. And being human he enjoyed telling about his sufferings.