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Updated: June 11, 2025
Nell Gwyn was much with Charles; and after his tempestuous scenes with Barbara Villiers, and the feeling of dishonor which the Duchess of Portsmouth made him experience, the girl's good English bluntness was a pleasure far more rare than sentiment. Somehow, just as the people had come to mistrust "Madam Carwell," so they came to like Nell Gwyn.
"You mean you have found out who killed Mr. Carwell?" he asked, and his tongue went quickly around his dry lips. "Not that," the colonel answered. "But we have found some letters that seem to need explaining. Here they are." Then when Viola had told how she discovered them, she asked: "Did my father ever owe Captain Poland any money?" "Yes," answered LeGrand Blossom, frankly, "he did."
I'll try both for your sake and that of the memory of your father. I loved him very much." The day passed, and night settled down on the house of death. Throughout Lakeside and Loch Harbor, as well as the neighboring seaside places, talk of the death of Mr. Carwell under suspicious circumstances multiplied with the evening editions of many newspapers.
Blossom," asked the prosecutor, after some preliminary questions, "it has been intimated not here but outside that the financial affairs of Mr. Carwell were not in such good shape as might be wished. Do you know anything about this?" "I do, sir. "Tell what you know." "I know he was hard pushed for money, and had to get loans from the bank and otherwise." "Was that unusual?" "Yes, it was.
You'll lose out," advised Garrigan. "It can do eighty on fourth speed, and Carwell is sporty enough to slip it into that gear if he needed to." "Um! Guess I'll wait until I get my new machine, then," decided the captain. There was more talk, but Bartlett gradually dropped out of the conversation and went to walk about the club grounds.
That Jean Forette sure is a card!" "Then he really seemed afraid to speed the Dilat car?" "That's it. And he spoke of Mr. Carwell going to get a more powerful French machine. He said then he'd never driven it to the limit, and didn't want to handle it at all. And he spoke the truth, for I heard that he and the old man didn't get along at all with that red, white and blue devil Mr.
"Into that room." "Tut, child! 'twas the shadow," cried Mrs. Carwell, angrily, because she was frightened. "I moved the candle." But she clutched one of the poles of the chair, which leant against the wall in the corner, and pounded the floor furiously with one end of it, being afraid to pass the open door the child had pointed to.
"I did not hear you come in," said Miss Carwell, as she poured the coffee. "No, I did not want to disturb any one," answered the colonel. "I saw a light under Miss Viola's door, and reported myself to her," he went on. "But I don't imagine you slept much more than I did, for your eyes are not as bright as usual," and he smiled at the girl. "Aren't they?" countered Viola.
There was not much new in the papers. Harry Bartlett was still held as a witness, and the prosecutor's detectives were still working on the case. As yet no one had connected Colonel Ashley officially with the matter. The reporters seemed to have missed noting that a celebrated not to say successful detective was the guest of Viola Carwell.
Carwell just before the latter's death. And even to Viola, when, in the seclusion of her home, she asked Harry about it after the trial, or rather, the verdict, he replied: "I can not tell. It was nothing that concerns you or me or this case. I will never tell." And Colonel Ashley, hearing this, pondered over it more and more.
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