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
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."