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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Euphemia is in bed," Mrs. Klopton said gravely. "Is your meat cut small enough, Mr. Lawrence?" Mrs. Klopton can throw more mystery into an ordinary sentence than any one I know. She can say, "Are your sheets damp, sir?" And I can tell from her tone that the house across the street has been robbed, or that my left hand neighbor has appendicitis.
Is it because the male is so restricted to gloom in his every-day attire that he blossoms into gaudy colors in his pajamas and dressing-gowns? It would take a Turk to feel at home before an audience in my red and yellow bathrobe, a Christmas remembrance from Mrs. Klopton, with slippers to match. So, naturally, when I saw a feminine figure on the platform, my first instinct was to dodge.
How do the police know I was accused of that thing?" "The young lady who sent the flowers she isn't likely to talk, is she?" "No. That is, I didn't say it was a lady." I groaned as I tried to get my splinted arm into a coat. "Anyhow, she didn't tell," I finished with conviction, and McKnight laughed. It had rained in the early morning, and Mrs. Klopton predicted more showers.
"For Heaven's sake, go down to the telephone, you make my head ache," I said savagely. I hardly know what prompted me to take out the gold purse and look at it. It was an imbecile thing to do call it impulse, sentimentality, what you wish. I brought it out, one eye on the door, for Mrs. Klopton has a ready eye and a noiseless shoe. But the house was quiet.
And I recall a spirited discussion in which Hotchkiss told the detective that he could manage certain cases, but that he lacked induction. Richey and I were mainly silent. My thoughts would slip ahead to that hour, later in the evening, when I should see Alison again. I dressed in savage haste finally, and was so particular about my tie that Mrs. Klopton gave up in despair.
"Now why don't you open that window?" Mrs. Klopton succumbed. "Because there are queer goings-on in that house next door," she said. "If you will take the beef tea, Mr. Lawrence, I will tell you." The queer goings-on, however, proved to be slightly disappointing. It seemed that after I left on Friday night, a light was seen flitting fitfully through the empty house next door.
"And if you knew the owner of that house as I do you would know that if there was any one at that window he is paying rent for the privilege." Mrs. Klopton rapped at the door and spoke discreetly from the hall. "Did Mr. McKnight bring the evening paper?" she inquired. "Sorry, but I didn't, Mrs. Klopton," McKnight called. "The Cubs won, three to nothing."
"Now what is it, Mrs. Klopton?" I demanded finally, when she had informed me, in a patient and long-suffering tone, that she felt worn out and thought she needed a rest. "When I lived with Mr. Justice Springer," she began acidly, her mending-basket in her hands, "it was an orderly, well-conducted household. You can ask any of the neighbors.
Klopton closed the house with ostentatious caution, about eleven, and hung around waiting to enlarge on the outrageousness of the police search. I did not encourage her. "One would think," she concluded pompously, one foot in the hall, "that you were something you oughtn't to be, Mr. Lawrence. They acted as though you had committed a crime." "I'm not sure that I didn't, Mrs.
Before we got into Washington I had made an arrangement with Johnson to surrender myself at two the following afternoon. Also, I had wired to Alison, asking her if she would carry out the contract she had made. The detective saw me home, and left me there. Mrs. Klopton received me with dignified reserve. The very tone in which she asked me when I would dine told me that something was wrong.
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