Master, let us. Master, count for us!
I saw one there, secure at the edge of death;
I counted: One!
I shall count two I know, and three and four...
Not waiting for time’s toll.
Ye should have killed me.
Wolfe sat with the paper in his hand, glancing from it to Miss Hibbard. “It would seem likely that Mr. Chapin pushed the judge over the edge of a cliff. Presumably impromptu. I presume also, totally unobserved, since no suspicions were aroused. There was a cliff around handy?”
“Yes. It was in Massachusetts, up near Marble-head. Last June. A crowd was there at Fillmore Collard’s place. Judge Harrison had come east, from Indiana, for commencement, for his son’s graduation. They missed him that night, and the next morning they found his body at the foot of the cliff, beaten among the rocks by the surf.”
“Mr. Chapin was among them?”
She nodded. “He was there.”