The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-06-02
Whispering
 Pines

ban or SuSplcl0n ana the disgrace or arrest-had certainly been hard, but it was nothing to beholding another in I the same plight through my own rash | and ill advised attempt to better my | position and Carmel's by what I had | considered totally harmless subter- | fuge. Forced by doubt to open my eyes, I ! met Clifton's full look turned watch fully on me- The result was calm ing. Even to my apprehensive gaze 1t 1 betrayed no new enlightenment. My struggle had been all within. No to- ken of it had reached him. l This he showed still more plainly | when he spoke.
 "There will be a close sitting of evi- dence at the inquest. You will not enjoy this, but the situation, hard as it may prove, has certainly improved so far as you are concerned. That should hasten your convalescence." "Poor Arthur burst from my lips, and the cry was echoed in my heart. 'eWhat sort of man would you make him out to be when you accuse him of robbing the wine vault on top of a murderous assault on his sister,"
 "I know. It argues a brute, but he"-
 Arthur Cum berland is selfish, unre sponsive and hard, but he is not brute. I'm disposed to give him the benefit of my good opinion to this ex- tent, Charlie. I cannot believe he first poisoned and then choked that noble woman"
 Clifton drew himself up in his turn, astonishnent battling with, renewed distrust
 Either he or you, Ranelagh" he ex- claimed firmly. 'There is no third person. This you must realize" Was Arthur in the clubhouse when I first stepped into it? It was just pos sible I had been led to prevaricate as to the moment entered the lower gate
 way, and he may have done the same as to the hour he left by the upper hall window Whatever his denials on this or any subject, I was convinced that he knew as well as that Carmel had been in the building with her sister and was involved more or less person ally in the crime committed there. Might it not be simply as his acces- sory after the fact? If only could be- neve this,
 But she had gone in disguise to the Whispering Pines, and she had re- turned home in the same suspicious fashion.
 The wearing of her brother Arthur's hat. and coat over her own womanIy garments was no freak. There had been purpose tn it-a purpose which demanded secrecy. That Adelaide should have accompanied her under these circumstances was a mystery. But then the whole affair was a mys- tery, totally out of keeping in all its details with the characters of these women, save-and what a fearful ex- ception I here make-the awful end, which, alas, bespoke the fiery rush and impulse to destroy which marked Car mel's unbridled rages
 Of less emotional attack she would be as incapable as any other good woman. Poison she would never use. It's presence there was due to anoth- er's forethought, another's determina- tion. But the poison had not killed. Both glasses had been emptied, but ah, those glasses! What explanation had the police now for those two emptied glasses? They had hitherto supposed me to be the second person who had joined Adelaide in this totally uncharacteristic drinking.
 Knowing nothing of Carmel having been on the scene, they must ascribe this act either to Arthur or to me, and when they came to dwell upon this point more particularly they must see the improbability of her drinking with him under any circumstances. Then their thoughts would recur to me. and I should find myself again a sus- pect. The monstrous suggestion that Arthur had brought the liquor there himself, had poured it out and forced her to drink it, poison and all, out of revenge for her action at the dinner table a short time before, did not oc- cur to me then, but if it had there were the three glasses-he would not bring three, nor would Adelaide, nor, as I saw it, would Carmel.
 Chaos-however one looked at it, chaos, Only one fact was clear-that Carmel knew the whole story and might communicate the same if ever her brain cleared and she could be brought to reveal the mysteries of that hour
 Did I really desire such a consum- nation? Only God could tell. I only know that the fear and expectation of such an outcome made my anguish for the next two weeks.
 Would she live? Would she die? The question was on every tongue. The crisis of her disease was approaching, and the next twenty-four hours would decide her fate, and in consequence my own, if not her brother Arthur's. As I contemplated the suspense of these twenty-four hours I revolted madly for the first time against the restrictions of my prison. I wanted air, movement, the rush into danger, which my horse or my automobile might afford-anything which would drag my thoughts from that sick room and the anticipated stir of that lovely form into conscious life and suffering.
 Clifton told me no one was allowed in the sick room but the nurse and the doctor. Even Arthur was denied admission and was wearing himself out in his own room as I was wearing