He was all attention in a moment.
"I was up there myself at the fire," he said volubly. "I'm a member of
the volunteer company. First big fire we've had since the summer house
burned over to the club golf links. My wife was sayin' the other day,
'Dave, you might as well 'a' saved the money in that there helmet and
shirt.' And here last night they came in handy. Rang that bell so
hard I hadn't time scarcely to get 'em on."
"And--did you see a man who limped?" Gertrude put in, as he stopped for
breath.
"Not at the train, ma'm," he said. "No such person got on here to-day.
But I'll tell you where I did see a man that limped. I didn't wait
till the fire company left; there's a fast freight goes through at four
forty-five, and I had to get down to the station. I seen there wasn't
much more to do anyhow at the fire--we'd got the flames under
control"--Gertrude looked at me and smiled--"so I started down the
hill. There was folks here and there goin' home, and along by the path
to the Country Club I seen two men. One was a short fellow. He was
sitting on a big rock, his back to me, and he had something white in
his hand, as if he was tying up his foot. After I'd gone on a piece I
looked back, and he was hobbling on and--excuse me, miss--he was
swearing something sickening."
"Did they go toward the club?" Gertrude asked suddenly, leaning forward.
"No, miss. I think they came into the village. I didn't get a look at
their faces, but I know every chick and child in the place, and
everybody knows me. When they didn't shout at me--in my uniform, you
know--I took it they were strangers."
So all we had for our afternoon's work was this: some one had been shot
by the bullet that went through the door; he had not left the village,
and he had not called in a physician. Also, Doctor Walker knew who
Lucien Wallace was, and his very denial made me confident that, in that
one direction at least, we were on the right track.
The thought that the detective would be there that night was the most
cheering thing of all, and I think even Gertrude was glad of it.
Driving home that afternoon, I saw her in the clear sunlight for the
first time in several days, and I was startled to see how ill she
looked. She was thin and colorless, and all her bright animation was
gone.
"Gertrude," I said, "I have been a very selfish old woman. You are
going to leave this miserable house to-night. Annie Morton is going to
Scotland next week, and you shall go right with her."