The men exchanged significant glances,
and Warner got a lantern.
"He can't have gone far," he said. "He was trembling so that he
couldn't stand, when I left."
Jamieson and Halsey together made the round of the lodge,
occasionally calling the old man by name. But there was no
response. No Thomas came, bowing and showing his white teeth
through the darkness. I began to be vaguely uneasy, for the
first time. Gertrude, who was never nervous in the dark, went
alone down the drive to the gate, and stood there, looking along
the yellowish line of the road, while I waited on the tiny
veranda.
Warner was puzzled. He came around to the edge of the veranda
and stood looking at it as if it ought to know and explain.
"He might have stumbled into the house," he said, "but he could
not have climbed the stairs. Anyhow, he's not inside or outside,
that I can see." The other members of the party had come back
now, and no one had found any trace of the old man. His
pipe, still warm, rested on the edge of the rail, and inside on
the table his old gray hat showed that its owner had not gone
far.
He was not far, after all. From the table my eyes traveled
around the room, and stopped at the door of a closet. I hardly
know what impulse moved me, but I went in and turned the knob.
It burst open with the impetus of a weight behind it, and
something fell partly forward in a heap on the floor. It was
Thomas--Thomas without a mark of injury on him, and dead.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159