The Washington times., 1911-02-26

l
Alden's departure.
And it was a good thing that Wilkes
and the rest of them hadn't thought to
call young DR.. Alden this morning, too
Barker presumed that DR.. Alden was
discreet enough-but he was young, too,
and since he knew nothing whatever
about the death, nothing whatever
could slip from him to any inquisitiye
persons. Barker nodded to himself; he
had chatted with the local chief of DO
lice in the early afternoon, and learned
| that that official entertained a pleas
| antly profound respect for Stedmor's 8
first family. Fitch. too, was quite all
right; the whole unhappy business
| would quietly become a matter of rec
ord, and. with good luck, the family
| would escape notoriety that could bene-
| fit no one.
The verdict was rendered: Norman
Deston had died from a gunshot wound,
inflicted by his own hand, while tempo
rarily insane, and blame attached to no
| one.
1t was over.
| Yes, it was over, and Barker watched
| the men leave the Deston house and
when the last one had disappeared down
| the drive, he still stared on through the
gathering night Until at last, when
chilly stiffness had settled on the big
house again and darkness had quite set
| tied in, the lawyer turned from the win
= dow to find himself alone with Wilkes
DeSton.
The latter had just entered, and the
lawyer hesitated a moment before:
Amy sign Of Gerald?"
No"
ANYONE still out looking for him."
Wilkes glanced at him and away
once more.
here that l could trust absolutely to go
on long search" he said, softly. He
has just returned"
"Well?"
He has spent most of the day, stop
ping casually at every hotel within
twenty miles in every direction, looking
for Gerald. Hc"-the elder brothers
voice thiCkened a little-"he hasn't ap-
peared at any of them, in spite of the
rain. Mr.. Barker"
The lawyer faced him, frowning.
This is new trick, isn't it-tramp-
ing until this hOur?"
Gerald is usually back from his
walks by or little after"
AT the latest?"
Yes"
''As a matter of fact, Wilkes, has he
ever remained away as late as this
when tramping?"
Never"
Then the boys hurt" the lawyer
cried sharply. He must have gone into
the woods and fallen, or something Of
that sort
Destons eyes met the others steadily.
Mr.. Barker" he said slowly there
Is only one road that Gerald ever takes
to these Milridge woods-in fact, it is
the only road he could take without
walking five or six miles out of the
way. There's a farmer by the name of
StOll, up there, and he knows Gerald.
Fabre met him this morning, and quite
by accident. Stoll mentioned Gerald and
asked after him and wondered why he
hadn't seen him for several weeks"
''Well?"
1t is a curious thing" Deston con-
tirued, but StOll sat up all last night
until after seven this morning indeed
with a shotgun, waiting for the thieves
who have been after his chickens. Not
many people travel that road at any
time, you know, and Stoll was perfect
ly positive that Gerald hadn't gone that
way up to or $50. l don't understand
it, but Gerald evidently wasn't headed
for the woods"
Then where the deuce" escaped
from Barker.
He stopped and smiled, family and
Sheepishly.
Then he has turned into somebody's
house, and they've kept him there
that's all" he said. Hell be back
by dinner time. and" The lawyer shook
his head sadly. Il believe that 1 had
better stroll down to the gates and
wait for him there, Wilkes, and break
The other nodded, and Barker depart
ed
And Barker returned, long after the
dinner hour, alone and silent.
It was a sad, silent affair. that meal
"a series of habitual motions rather
than a time of necessary eating. The
three men spoke rarely. Wilkes stared
at his plate.
AmatO, now and then, put in an ir-
relevant wordCor two in his nervous
way. AmatO had his own hard task |
ahead. that of jOurneying to New York |
that night and carrying the news of her |
fanCe's death to Nina-and the prospect |
seemed to have shaken him very nearly |
as much as the tragedy itself.
For BarSer's part. sorrOwful retro |
speCtion prevented speech as he made |
a pretense of eating and actually spent |
his time in glancing about the huge, |
rather gloomy dining-room.
The Deston family had narrowed down |
in his time!
First the mother. fifteen-no seventeen
years ago. Then her sister, Gerald's
widowed mother. had followed and the
boy had come to live at the DestOn |
home when out Of his boarding-school. |
Next, death had claimed John Deston
even after the lapse of |
months, Barker could not look toward !
the head of the table without expect
ing to see him sitting there, big and |
broad, with the merry eyes and the |
gray hair and the face
of which Norman's had been the very
Ard now Norman was gone. too. In
eXplicable, incredible, as it still seemed, |
Norman was gone forever. and the |
chairs were only four in number tonight |
and one of those remained empty, |
waiting for Gerald. In a way, the |
scene chilled even practical Barker's |
blood. Why, neither Amato nor himself |
was member of the household. If only
the Deston family were at that board |
Just now, Wilkes would be sitting alb
alone!
Of course, in the natural order of
things, people had to die one way or
another, and so on-but Barker wished
most heartily that Gerald Forbes would
Amato was leaving on the early
evening train. The silent motor was
waiting for him when they arose, and
Amato hurried his adieus. He was plain
" glad to go, and Barker did not blame
him They would see him again on
Thursday, the day of the funeral, of
course, and Nina as well, and now he
must rush for the train. AS Barker
stood alone upon the vast veranda and
the little red light of the au-
omObile disappear into the blackness Of
he main drive. he thought rather rue
-ullv of certain brilliant, cozy club
on a busy, brilliant avenue, and-he
urned back and into the house alb
'uptly.
of This Story VIII BE
Found in TOmOrrOw's Issue
Of The TfmeRl