Death in the dusk

by Virgil Markham

Talking winded me. I was spent when I reached the summer-house, and could scarcely walk to the mansion.

Alone in the Hall of the Moth I found Mrs. Belvoir sitting, rather pointlessly, it seemed.

“Maryvale—here?”

“Yes, Mr. Bannerlee.”

“Where?”

“Upstairs. They all followed him when he came in. He is in his room.”

“Was he violent? Why did they go after him?”

“Not exactly violent, no. But I don’t think it’s worth while following him any more.”

I checked my foot on the threshold. “What do you mean, Mrs. Belvoir?”

“A personality balanced on a knife-edge is never safe. Poor Gilbert was too rash when he tempted the Influences in this valley. His mind is gone, for certain.”