The hands of the clock had passed the hour of five before the buzz of a distant bell brought her to her feet. Hurrying to the window she peeped between the curtains in time to see a stylish7 roadster electric glide8 down the driveway leading from the McIntyre residence and stop at the curb9. As she turned to go back to her chair Dr. Stone was ushered10 into the library by the footman. Mrs. Brewster welcomed her cousin with frank relief.
“I have waited so impatiently for you,” she confessed, making room for him to sit on the sofa by her side.
“I was detained, Margaret.” Stone's voice was not over-cordial; three imperative11 telephone calls from her, coming at a moment when he had been engaged with a serious case in his office, had provoked him. “Do you wish to see me professionally?”
“Indeed, I don't.” She laughed frankly12. “I am the picture of health.”
Stone, observing her fine coloring and clear eyes, silently agreed with her. The widow made a charming picture in her modish13 tea-gown, and the physician, watching her with an appraising14 eye, acknowledged the beauty which had captivated all Washington. Mrs. Brewster had carried her honors tactfully, a fact which had gained her popularity even among the dowagers and match-making mothers who take an active part in Washington's social season.
“Then, Margaret, what do you wish to see me about?” Stone asked, after waiting without result for her to continue speaking.
She laughed softly. “You are the most practical of men,” she said. “It would not have been so difficult to find a companion anxious to spend the whole afternoon with me for my sake alone.”
“Colonel McIntyre, for instance?” he teased, and laughed amusedly at her heightened color. “Have a care, Margaret; McIntyre's flirtations are all very well, but he is the type of man to be deadly in earnest when once he falls in love.”
“Thanks for your warning,” Mrs. Brewster smiled, then grew serious. “I sent for you to ask about Jimmie Turnbull's death this morning. Barbara told me you accompanied them to the police court.”
“Yes. Why weren't you with the girls?”
“Because I was told nothing of their trip to the police court until they had returned,” she replied. “How horribly tragic16 the whole affair is!” And a shiver she could not suppress crept down her spine17.
“It is,” agreed Stone. “What possessed18 Jimmie Turnbull to play so mad a trick?”
“His wager15 with Barbara.”
Stone leaned a little nearer. “Have you learned the nature of that wager?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“No. Babs was in so hysterical19 a condition when she returned from the police court that she gave a very incoherent account of the whole affair, and she has kept her room ever since luncheon,” explained Mrs. Brewster.
Stone looked puzzled. “I understood that Jimmie was attentive20 to Helen McIntyre and not to Barbara,” he said. “But upon my word, Barbara appeared more overcome by Jimmie's death than Helen.”
Mrs. Brewster did not reply at once; instead, she glanced carefully around. The room was generally the rallying place of the McIntyres. It stretched across almost the entire width of the house; the diamond-paned and recessed21 windows gave it a medieval air in keeping with its antique furniture, and the seven doors opening from it led, respectively, to the large dining room beyond, a morning room, billiard room, the front and back halls, and the Italian loggia which over-looked the stretch of ground between the McIntyre residence and its neighbor on the north. Apparently22, she and Dr. Stone had the room to themselves.
“I cannot answer your question with positiveness,” she stated. “Frankly, Jimmie appeared impartial23 in his attentions to the twins. When he wasn't with Barbara he was with Helen, and vice24 versa.”
Stone gazed at her in some perplexity. “Are you aware that Helen stated at the police court this morning that she was Turnbull's fiancee?”
“What!” Mrs. Brewster actually bounced in her seat. “You—you astound25 me!”
“I was a bit surprised myself,” acknowledged the physician. “I thought Rochester—however, that is neither here nor there. Helen not only announced she was Jimmie's fiancee but as such demanded that a post-mortem examination be held to determine the cause of his death.”
Mrs. Brewster's pretty color faded and the glance she turned on her cousin was sharp. “Why should Helen suspect foul26 play?” she demanded. “For that is what her request hinted.”
“True.” Stone pulled his beard absentmindedly. “Ah, here is Colonel McIntyre,” he exclaimed as the portieres before the hall door parted and a tall man strode into the library.
McIntyre was a favorite with the old physician, and he welcomed his arrival with warmth. Exchanging a word of greeting with Mrs. Brewster, McIntyre drew up a chair and dropped into it.
“I called at your office, doctor,” he said. “Went there at once on learning the shocking news about poor Turnbull. Why in the world didn't he announce who he was when my daughter had him arrested as a burglar? He must have realized that prolonged excitement was bad for his weak heart.”
Mrs. Brewster, who had settled herself more comfortably in her corner of the sofa on McIntyre's arrival, answered his remark.
“I only knew Jimmie superficially,” she said, “but he had one distinguishing trait patent to all, his inordinate27 fondness for practical jokes. Probably the predicament he found himself in was highly to his taste—until his heart failed.”
Her voice, slightly raised, carried across the room and reached the ears of a tall, slender girl who had stood hesitating on the threshold of the dining worn door on beholding28 the group by the sofa. All hesitation29 vanished, however, as the meaning of Mrs. Brewster's remark dawned on her, and she walked over to the sofa.
“You are very unjust, Margaret,” she stated, and at sound of her low triante voice McIntyre whirled around and frowned slightly. “Jimmie was thinking of the predicament of others, not of himself.”
“What do you mean, Helen?” her father demanded.
“Why, how could Jimmie reveal his identity in court without involving us?” she asked. “Good afternoon, doctor,” recollecting30 her manners, and her attention thus diverted, she missed the sudden questioning look which Mrs. Brewster and her father exchanged. “No,” she continued, “Jimmie sacrificed himself for others.”
“By becoming a burglar.” McIntyre laughed shortly. “Don't talk arrant
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