Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1900-10-17

what you say. She is still in the hall"
1t was the young man speaking, who
had been left in The hall.
'.Sle Is. is she." exclaimed Fenton
sharply, his admiration for the fascn-
atins stranger having ooZed out at his
companions rebuff. 81 will soon show
her But the words melted into thin
air as he reached the door. The young
girl had disappeared, and only a faint
perfume remained In the place where
she had stood.
"a most extraordinary person."
grumblcd the constable, turning back,
but stopping again as a faint murmur
came u, f.am below.
"fhe gentleman is waking" called
up voice whose lack of music was
quite perceptible at distance.
With bound Mr. Fenton descended
the stairs, followed by Mr.. Sutherland.
Miss Page stood before the door of
the room In which sat Philemon Webb.
As they reached her side she made a
little bow that was half knocking, half
deprecatory, and slipped from tie
house. An almost unbearable sensa-
tion of lncongruity vanished with her,
and Mr. Sutherland, for one, breathed'
like Il man relieved.
II wish the doctor would come"
Fenton said, as they watched the slow
lifting of Philemon Webb's head. Our
fastest rider has gone for him, but he's
out Dorchester way, and it may be an
l,.x, har ~
"Philemonw
Mr.. Sutherland had advanced and
was standing by his old friends side.
philemon, what has become of yoar
guests? You've waited for them here
till morning"
The old man with a dazed Loo. sur
| veyed the two plates set en- either side
| of him and shook his head.
Games and John are getting proud"
said lie, cor they forget, they forget"
James and John. He must mean the
Fables, yet there We're many others
answering to these names in town. Mr..
| Sutherland made another effort
philemon, where is your wife2 l do
not see any place set here for herr"
".Agatha's sick, Agatha's cross; she
don't care for poor old man like me-
"Agatha's dead and you know it.i'
Numbered back the constable with Ill
judged severity. "Who killed her? Tell
me that Who killed herr"
| A sudden quenching of the last spark
of Intelligence in the old mans eye
was the dreadful effect of these words
Laughing with that strange gurgle
| which proclaims an utterly irrcsponsi-
BILE mind, he cried:
"The pussy cat! 1t was the pussy
cat. Who's Killed. Pm not killed
Let's go to Jericho"
I Mr.. Sutherland took him by the arm
and led him upstairs. Perhaps thu
sight of his dead wife would restore
him. But he looked at her with the
same Indifference he showed to every
thing else.
81 don't like her calico dresses" sale
he. "She might have worn silk, but
she wouldn't. Agatha, will you weal
silk to my func.'al:"
The experiment was too painful, ant
they drew him away. But the consta
ble's curiosity had been reused, ant
after they had found some one to TAKE
care Of him he drew Mr.. Sutherland
aside and said:
"What did the old man mean by say
ing she might have worn silk? Are
they better off than they seem?"
Mr.. Sutherland closed the door befor,
replying.
"They are rich," he declared to thu
utter amazement Of the other. "Tha
is, they We're. but they may have beer
robbed; If SO, Philemon was not tn,
wretch who killed her. l have beer
told that she kept her money In IN oil
fashioned cupboard. Do you suppos
they alluded to that oneY
II He pointed to door set In the wal