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Updated: June 8, 2025
"I do not suppose you remember me," said my friend, as soon as the door was closed. "I fancy that, until last night, you never saw me without my wig and gown. It makes a difference. I was Mrs. Hepworth's senior counsel." It was unmistakable, the look of relief that came into the old, dim eyes. Evidently the incident of the previous evening had suggested to him an enemy.
She only could have known that such things were in the house. It must have been she who had planned the exchange of clothes in Hepworth's office, giving him the key. She it must have been who had thought of the pond, holding open the door while the man had staggered out under his ghastly burden; waited, keeping watch, listening to hear the splash.
The incident had puzzled the Jetsons, especially that involuntary flash of contempt that had come into Mrs. Hepworth's eyes. She had always appeared to adore her husband, and of the two, if possible, to be the one most in love with the other. They had no friends or acquaintances except the Jetsons.
I think you will enjoy them." Then Gordon would have recourse to the unfailing authority, Van Hepworth. Sometimes he felt too slack to copy out the questions at all. On such occasions he would simply read Van Hepworth's essay straight out of the old, battered book. "I hope you won't mind my reading this to you, but I was in rather a hurry and I doubt if you could quite read my handwriting."
Inquiries at Liverpool had procured him the information that Hepworth's father, a shipowner in a small way, had been well known and highly respected. He was retired from business when he died, some three years previous to the date of the murder. His wife had survived him by only a few months.
"I never saw a realer scene, not even down at Sandy Hook; why, you can fairly feel the dampness from it." "Yes, I know just what you mean," said the boy; "it's a jolly picture, isn't it? They say it's one of Hepworth's best." "I don't know anything about pictures," said Patty frankly, "and so I don't like to express definite opinions." "It's always wiser not to," said the boy, still smiling.
It sounded a little precarious, but as there was nothing else to do, and Florence Douglass begged them to put somebody anybody in her place and let her go home, they all agreed to avail themselves of Mr. Hepworth's services. And it was fortunate they did, for though the rest of the characters were bright and clever representations, yet it was Mr.
For the first time she realized, with a pang of apprehension, the step she was so blindly encouraging. What if Lord Hope took offense at the letter, or should condemn her for the intimacy which had led to it? She was afraid of her husband, and each movement of Hepworth's pen struck her with dread.
Rachael shrank back in her seat, uttering these two words in a voice so full of pathetic sorrow, that it brought the pain of coming tears into Hepworth's eyes. He was glad to turn the subject. "Then you are not willing that I should go away?" "It would almost kill me to lose you again, Hepworth."
They would have turned him over to feel for his heart. Have closed his eyes, most probably, not liking their stare. "It would be the woman who first thought of it. She has seen them both lying with closed eyes beside her. It may have always been in her mind, the likeness between them. With Hepworth's watch in his pocket, Hepworth's ring on his finger!
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