Ah, well, Doctor Wainwright is gone, and I am an elderly woman with an

increasing tendency to live in the past. The contrast between my old

doctor at home and the Casanova doctor, Frank Walker, always rouses me

to wrath and digression.

Some time about noon of that day, Wednesday, Mrs. Ogden Fitzhugh

telephoned me. I have the barest acquaintance with her--she managed to

be put on the governing board of the Old Ladies' Home and ruins their

digestions by sending them ice-cream and cake on every holiday. Beyond

that, and her reputation at bridge, which is insufferably bad--she is

the worst player at the bridge club--I know little of her. It was she

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who had taken charge of Arnold Armstrong's funeral, however, and I went

at once to the telephone.

"Yes," I said, "this is Miss Innes."

"Miss Innes," she said volubly, "I have just received a very strange

telegram from my cousin, Mrs. Armstrong. Her husband died yesterday,

in California and--wait, I will read you the message."

I knew what was coming, and I made up my mind at once. If Louise

Armstrong had a good and sufficient reason for leaving her people and

coming home, a reason, moreover, that kept her from going at once to

Mrs. Ogden Fitzhugh, and that brought her to the lodge at Sunnyside

instead, it was not my intention to betray her. Louise herself must

notify her people. I do not justify myself now, but remember, I was in

a peculiar position toward the Armstrong family. I was connected most

unpleasantly with a cold-blooded crime, and my niece and nephew were

practically beggared, either directly or indirectly, through the head

of the family.

Mrs. Fitzhugh had found the message.

"'Paul died yesterday. Heart disease,'" she read. "'Wire at once if

Louise is with you.' You see, Miss Innes, Louise must have started

east, and Fanny is alarmed about her."

"Yes," I said.

"Louise is not here," Mrs. Fitzhugh went on, "and none of her

friends--the few who are still in town--has seen her. I called you

because Sunnyside was not rented when she went away, and Louise might

have, gone there."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Fitzhugh, but I can not help you," I said, and was

immediately filled with compunction. Suppose Louise grew worse? Who

was I to play Providence in this case? The anxious mother certainly

had a right to know that her daughter was in good hands. So I broke in

on Mrs. Fitzhugh's voluble excuses for disturbing me.

"Mrs. Fitzhugh," I said. "I was going to let you think I knew nothing

about Louise Armstrong, but I have changed my mind. Louise is here,

with me." There was a clatter of ejaculations at the other end of the

wire. "She is ill, and not able to be moved. Moreover, she is unable

to see any one. I wish you would wire her mother that she is with me,

and tell her not to worry. No, I do not know why she came east."




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