The After House

"When?"

"In the morning. We will not leave until we hear from you."

She held out her hand, first to McWhirter, then to me. I kept it

a little longer than I should have, perhaps, and she did not take

it away.

"It is such a comfort," she said, "to have you with us and not

against us! For Marshall didn't do it, Leslie--I mean--it is hard

for me to think of you as Dr. Leslie! He didn't do it. At first,

we thought he might have, and he was delirious and could not

reassure us. He swears he did not. I think, just at first, he was

afraid he had done it; but he did not. I believe that, and you must."

I believed her--I believed anything she said. I think that if she

had chosen to say that I had wielded the murderer's axe on the Ella,

I should have gone to the gallows rather than gainsay her. From

that night, I was the devil's advocate, if you like. I was

determined to save Marshall Turner.

She wished us to take her taxicab, dropping her at her hotel; and,

reckless now of everything but being with her, I would have done

so. But McWhirter's discreet cough reminded me of the street-car

level of our finances, and I made the excuse of putting on more

suitable clothing.

I stood in the street, bareheaded, watching her taxicab as it

rattled down the street. McWhirter touched me on the arm.

"Wake up!" he said. "We have work to do, my friend."

We went upstairs together, cautiously, not to rouse the house.

At the top, Mac turned and patted me on the elbow, my shoulder

being a foot or so above him.

"Good boy!" he said. "And if that shirtfront and tie didn't knock

into eternal oblivion the deck-washing on the Ella, I'll eat them!"