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Furnished throughout with genuine "period" furniture, with fine dark oak panelling and parquet floors, it was altogether picturesque. Neither within nor without, it is true, would a connoisseur have been able to give it a date. But that did not worry Hartley Parrish. He loved a bargain and he had bought the house cheap.
John Parrish, late of Philadelphia, a highly esteemed minister in the Society of Friends, who travelled through the South in 1804. "They suffer them, both male and female, to go without clothing at the age of ten and twelve years" Rev. Phineas Smith, Centreville, Allegany, Co., N.Y. Mr.
You know what young female servants are, Miss ..." "And you think that Mr. Greve went to Mr. Parrish to talk about ... me?" Mary Trevert's voice faltered a little. She looked eagerly at the other's fat, smooth face. "I presoomed as much, Miss, I must confess!" "But what did you hear Mr. Greve say?" "I heard nothing, Miss, except just only the sound of voices. After Mr.
Parrish contracted to give up all other work and devote himself to the commission which attracted him greatly. For over a year he made sketches, and finally the theme was decided upon: a bevy of youths and maidens in gala costume, on their way through gardens and along terraces to a great fete, with pierrots and dancers and musicians on the main wall space.
"Better leave things where they are, Miss," he said in a low voice. "Mr. Parrish, I dare say, had his reasons. He's gone to his last account now. What does it matter why he done it ..." The man was agitated, and in his emotion his carefully studied English was forsaking him. But the girl broke in incisively. "Please explain what you mean!" she commanded.
It was an unpleasant thought, unpleasant enough to make me wish I had mentioned last night's adventure to the chief. A constable I knew was on the top landing, and entered the rooms with me. Parrish had not been moved. He was lying by the table; had probably fallen forward out of his chair.
"What time was that?" "A little after five. The tea gong had gone some time. I was going to the library to tell Mr. Parrish that tea was ready ..." Mr. Humphries made a note. He nodded to show he was listening. "I crossed the hall and went down the library corridor. I knocked on the library door. There was no reply. Then I heard a shot and a sort of thud."
He says that Parrish only had the one automatic which he always kept in the same drawer in his dressing-room ..." Robin was silent for a moment. Very deliberately he filled his pipe, lit it, and drew until it burned comfortably. Then he said slowly: "This means that Hartley Parrish was murdered, Bruce, old man.
"I shall be in the lounge when they want me. A dreadful affair! Dreadful!" The little doctor bustled out, leaving Greve and the butler alone in the room with the mortal remains of Hartley Parrish lying where he had fallen on the soft grey carpet. "Now, Bude," said Greve incisively, "get on to the police at once. You'd better telephone from the servant's hall.
"None." "Yet she was killed that way?" "Undoubtedly, and by a long and very narrow blade, larger than a needle but not so large as the ordinary stiletto." "Stabbed while by herself, or what you may call by herself? She had no companion near her?" "None, if we can believe the four members of the Parrish family who were seated at the other end of the room." "And you do believe them?"
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