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The fellow threw a quick glance around the room, but did not retreat from his place in the doorway. Ted was starting to shut the door, considering the incident closed, when the stranger, who was a large, powerful man, well dressed and with the air of a prosperous business man, started to enter. "This is not Mr. Fowle's room; it is mine," said Ted, blocking the way,
Fowle's obvious admiration, however, imposed too severe a strain, and their tongues ran freely. The luncheon-hour came, and Winifred hurried out with the others. They patronized a restaurant in Fourteenth Street. At a news-stand she purchased an evening paper, a rare event, since she had to account for every cent of expenditure. Though allowed books, she was absolutely forbidden newspapers!
He frequently bought slaves who were in danger of being sold into bad hands, gave them their freedom, and set them up in business. John Paine, Mary's uncle, was one whom he freed in this way. Mary was a great pet in Mr. Fowle's family, and was treated almost like a daughter. A schoolmate of hers, now residing in Providence, Rhode Island, says Mary was a very amiable girl, and a good student.
"I really don't know," and Winifred began placing her array of work in sorted piles. "Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a commotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a boat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one." Fowle's whiff of annoyance had passed.
Every week-day, you know, I am away from home between seven in the morning and half past six at night, excepting Saturday afternoons. If possible, I take a long walk before going to work." "Do you go straight home?" Winifred remembered Mr. Fowle's query, and smiled again. "Yes," she said. "Now last night, for instance, was your aunt at home when you reached the house?" "No; she was out.
Loring agreed to a hearing at Chambers. Chief Justice Chapman named a day. At the day named the clients and counsel appeared. I presented my statement in writing. Loring and Fowle said they knew nothing about the matter. My statement showed a balance of between $400 and $500 in Fowle's hands. I asked for interest. Fowle said he had been ready always to pay.
They were on the very point of confessing everything when you blurted out that the chief rascal had escaped. I'm ashamed of you, especially after you had behaved so well." His rebuke was merited; they were abashed into silence too late. When he returned to the pair in the corner of the room he saw Rachel Craik's sour smile and Fowle's downcast look of calculation.
"Why are you buttin' in?" he cried furiously. "This young lady is a friend of mine. I'm tryin' to pull her out of a difficulty, but she's got me all wrong. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?" Fowle's anger was wasted, since Carshaw seemed not to hear.
Fowle's unhappily-timed appearance was explained by Rachel Craik when her frenzy at the news of Voles's death had subsided. A chuckling remark by Mick the Wolf that "There'd been a darned sight too much fuss about that slip of a girl, an' he had fixed it," alarmed her. She sent Fowle at top speed to Smith's Pier to warn Voles. He arrived in time to be shot for his pains.
If, by chance, your acquaintance with Winifred Bartlett goes beyond to-day's meeting, and you learn anything of her life and history which sounds strange in your ears, you may be rendering her a far greater service than by flattening Fowle's nose if you bring your knowledge straight to the Bureau." "I'll not forget, Mr. Clancy. But let me explain.
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