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Carwell's troubles are all over if he had any," returned Bartlett simply. "You mean " "He is dead." The colonel uttered an exclamation. "Pardon my rather brusk reception of you," he apologized. "I did not know that. Was it recently suddenly?" "Both recently and suddenly." "I did not know that I seldom read the papers, and have not looked at one lately. I had not heard that he was ill."
Carwell's character would do such a thing, particularly when he had shown no previous signs of being in trouble. But you can never tell." "No, you can never tell," agreed Colonel Ashley, and none knew, better than himself, how true that was. "But why should they subpoena me?" asked Bartlett. "Don't fret over that," advised his companion, with a calm smile. "You probably aren't the only one.
Carwell was fastidious about such matters, as he had often spent many hours in the roadhouse. "LeGrand Blossom!" Now something might come out. It was known that Blossom was Mr. Carwell's chief clerk, and more than one person knew of the impending partnership, for Mr. Carwell was rather talkative at times. "Mr.
Blossom was remarking." "Well, he ought to know. I understand he's soon to be taken into partnership with Mr. Carwell." "I don't know," murmured Minnie, and she seemed suddenly very much interested in the vein structure of a leaf she pulled from a vine that covered the summer-house. Bartlett smiled. Gossip had it that Minnie Webb and Le Grand Blossom, Mr. Carwell's private secretary, were engaged.
It was known she did not share her father's love for sports and high living. A little delay was caused while the innkeeper was sent for, but pending his arrival some other unimportant witnesses were called, among them Major Wardell, who was Mr. Carwell's rival in the golf game. Had he heard his friend speak of feeling ill? No, not until a moment before the final stroke was made. Then Mr.
He had doped himself with Jesuits' powder got from a woman of Madame Carwell's, so that he was half deaf and blind. Yet in spite of the drug the fever went on burning. But to anyone looking close it would have seemed that he had more to trouble him than a malarial bout. The man was patently in an extreme terror. His lantern-jaw hung as loose as if it had been broken. His lips moved incessantly.
He testified to having served Mr. Carwell's chauffeur with a pint of champagne which Jean Forette was seen to carry directly from the cafe to the waiting automobile. The champagne was from a bottle newly opened, and the innkeeper himself had selected a clean glass and carefully washed it before pouring in the wine. He knew Mr.
Carwell's white ball had sailed well up on the putting green of the first hole, a shot seldom made at Maraposa. "A few more strokes like that and he'll win the match," murmured Bartlett. "And when he does, don't forget what I told you," whispered Viola to him. He found her hand, hidden at her side in the folds of her dress, and pressed it.
Carwell's business affairs, and, not knowing this, she could, of course, not realize under what a strain Minnie was now living with so many suspicions against Blossom. Divesting herself of her street dress for a more simple gown, Viola inquired of the maid whether Colonel Ashley was in the house.
She went to lie down, but she will want to see Captain Poland. Wait, I'll tell her myself. Where is he?" "In the library, ma am. "Very well. I'll see him." Mr. Carwell's sister literally swept down the stairs, her black silk dress rustling somberly and importantly. She was a large woman, and her bearing and air were in keeping.
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