Halsey kissed her tenderly, and I noticed evidences of
strain and anxiety in both young faces.
"Is everything--right?" she asked.
"Right as can be," with forced cheerfulness.
I lighted the living-room and we went in there. Only a half-hour
before I had sat with Mr. Jamieson in that very room,
listening while he overtly accused both Gertrude and Halsey of at
least a knowledge of the death of Arnold Armstrong. Now Halsey
was here to speak for himself: I should learn everything that
had puzzled me.
"I saw it in the paper to-night for the first time," he was
saying. "It knocked me dumb. When I think of this houseful of
women, and a thing like that occurring!"
Gertrude's face was still set and white. "That isn't all,
Halsey," she said. "You and--and Jack left almost at the time it
happened. The detective here thinks that you--that we--know
something about it."
"The devil he does!" Halsey's eyes were fairly starting from his
head. "I beg your pardon, Aunt Ray, but--the fellow's a
lunatic."
"Tell me everything, won't you, Halsey?" I begged. "Tell me
where you went that night, or rather morning, and why you went as
you did. This has been a terrible forty-eight hours for all of
us."
He stood staring at me, and I could see the horror of the
situation dawning in his face.
"I can't tell you where I went, Aunt Ray," he said, after a
moment. "As to why, you will learn that soon enough. But
Gertrude knows that Jack and I left the house before this thing--
this horrible murder--occurred.
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