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Updated: June 22, 2025
Only one suggests itself. It is that they killed Whitmore to get possession of his estate. "We must remember that had Whitmore died intestate, neither of them would have obtained a penny of his fortune. So that, in order to establish our motive, it is necessary to prove that they had knowledge of the contents of the will. All the evidence I have gathered tends to contradict that assumption.
"That's what I don't know, sir." Mr. Rogers looked at me and rubbed his chin. "I meant to take you to Lydia," he said; "but now that Whitmore's mixed up in this, I'll be shot if I do. That fellow has bewitched her somehow, and where he's concerned " He glanced up the slope and clutched me suddenly by the shoulder: for Whitmore himself was there, walking alone, and coming straight towards us.
Why, search her entire life and see whether you can discover a single base act that she has committed." "My interest is confined to the Whitmore case," said Britz. All this while Mrs. Collins sat outwardly resigned but inwardly rebellious against the injustice which was about to impose on her the humiliation of imprisonment. Now she arose with a sudden accession of new strength.
Should the murderer be discovered and brought to trial the dissensions in the Collins household would be paraded unsparingly in the public press. Innocent as the relations between Whitmore and Mrs.
Collins, who had taken up her abode with her brother; the financially troubled Ward, desperately fighting off ruin, could learn nothing from the silent, inscrutable Beard. Then, one morning, unostentatiously as he had disappeared, Whitmore returned to his office.
"I shall go and leave you right away," she finished tremulously, picking up the tray and hurrying from the room. It was hours later, after the little woman had trailed once more along the Axminster path to the bed in the room beyond and had dropped asleep, that Margaret Whitmore faced her sister with despairing eyes. "Katherine, what shall we do? This thing is killing me!"
"Very well," reluctantly agreed the coroner. "Take him!" Had Herbert Whitmore, in a spirit of diabolical fun, resolved to present the New York police with a baffling murder mystery, he could not have carried out the design more effectively than in the manner of his taking off. Not a clue to the perpetrator of the crime or the manner of its accomplishment, was found in the merchant's home.
Eugene's feeling was that they were a little raw and sketchy that they might not have sufficient human appeal, seeing that they dealt with factory architecture at times, scows, tugs, engines, the elevated roads in raw reds, yellows and blacks; but MacHugh, Dula, Smite, Miss Finch, Christina, the Evening Sun, Norma Whitmore, all had praised them, or some of them.
Hurt badly, does it? Never mind we'll get you to hospital in ten minutes. But what on earth brought you crawling back here?" "Mr. Archibald!" I gasped, "I saw him!" "Him?" "Whitmore!" He stared at me. "You're off your head a bit, boy. You'll be all right when we get you to hospital." "But I saw him, sir! They shot him against the wall. He was a deserter, and they hunted him out."
James G. Whitmore did not consider himself old, though he was constrained to admit, after several hours in the saddle, that rheumatism had searched him out because of his fourteen years of roughing it, he said. Also, there was a place on the crown of his head where the hair was thin, and growing thinner every day of his life, though he did not realize it.
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