“That mumbling gypsy has addled your brain. You’re mad. I think I can find pleasanter company.”
He was gone, and Joe grew conscious of a collar that had become too tight. Would Uncle David let him go, or would Lady be sent to bring him back? A burst of laughter rolled from the festive dining-room. Dr. Stone’s voice, brooding, came out of the darkness.
“You were desperate, Alec, weren’t you?”
“Desperate?” The word was snapped.
“Yes; desperate. The deal that had plunged Bruce to ruin had sucked you down, too. You didn’t know which way to turn. Until Bruce sent up the mare there seemed no escape; but when the mare arrived it opened the doors to salvation. It brought a plan. Let the lad ride out alone. Blame the mare when his body was found—a runaway crash through the bridge. Hadn’t they all seen the mare’s wild prancings? You tried to cover yourself from every angle. You even insinuated that Bruce might have a reason for sending such a horse—you even called her a devil—and whispered of Bruce’s black mood, and his penniless condition, and the will. You tried to work the gypsies into the pattern. If some sharp eye should notice something queer about the way the bridge had collapsed hadn’t there been gypsies encamped nearby? You were too pointed in calling my attention to the gypsies and their possible relation to the future events. That was when I began to suspect you. It was inconceivable that you hadn’t known they were on the land. Never before had you permitted trespass. Why this time?
“The answer was simple. It was the will that Allan was to sign at midnight. Without question he was to name you executor. It takes a year to close an estate. With Allan dead the estate, instead of passing out of your charge, would remain in your control for another twelve months. A year in which to save yourself from going to prison as a thief. A year in which to put back the money you used to finance your own personal business deals. How deeply did you dip your hands into Allan’s funds? How much did you lose? How much are you short?”
There was a stark, sick silence. Joe pulled at his collar and wet his lips.
“Eighty thousand dollars,” Alec Landry said hoarsely.
“And you planned to hide it under a murder,” Dr. Stone said in a voice that was flat, and level, and as cold as ice.
They were singing in the house. Allan, flushed and happy, came out to the porch.