The Red Seal [49]
Stone. Kent had only waited long enough to convince himself that Helen was out of danger, and then had departed.
It was nearly one o'clock when he finally stepped inside his office, and he found his clerk and a dressy female bending eagerly over a newspaper. They looked up at his approach and Sylvester came forward.
"This is my wife, sir," he explained, and Kent bowed courteously to Mrs. Sylvester. "We were just reading this account of Mr. Rochester's disappearance; it's dreadful, sir, to think that the police believe him guilty of Mr. Turn bull's murder."
"Dreadful, indeed," agreed Kent; the news had been published even sooner than he had imagined. "What paper is that?"
"The noon edition of the Times." Sylvester handed it to him.
"Thanks," Kent flung down his hat and spread open the paper. "Who have been here to-day?"
"Colonel McIntyre, sir; he left a card for you." Sylvester hurried into Kent's office, to return a moment later with a visiting card. "He left this, sir, for you with most particular directions that it be handed to you at once on your arrival."
Kent read the curt message on the card without comment and tore the paste-board into tiny bits.
"Any one else been in this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." Sylvester consulted a written memorandum. "Mr. Black called, also Colonel Thorne, Senator Harris, and Mrs. Brewster."
"Mrs. Brewster!" The newspaper slipped from Kent's fingers in his astonishment. "What did she want here?"
"To see you, sir, so she said, but she first asked for Mr. Rochester," explained Sylvester, stooping over to pick up the inside sheet of the Times which had separated from the others. "I told her that Mr. Rochester was unavoidably detained in Cleveland; then she said she would consult you and I let her wait in your office for the good part of an hour."
Kent thought a moment then walked toward his door; on its threshold he paused, struck by a sudden idea.
"Did Colonel McIntyre come with Mrs. Brewster?" he asked.
"No, Mr. Kent; he came in while she was here."
"And they went off together," volunteered Mrs. Sylvester, who had been a silent listener to their conversation. Kent started; he had forgotten the woman. "Excuse me, Mr. Kent," she continued, and stepped toward him. "I presume, likely, that you are very interested in this charge of murder against your partner, Mr. Rochester."
"I am," affirmed Kent, as Mrs. Sylvester paused.
"I am too, sir," she confided to him. "Cause you see I was in the court room when Mr. Turnbull died and I'm naturally interested."
"Naturally," agreed Kent with a commiserating glance at his clerk; the latter's wife threatened to be loquacious, and he judged from her looks that it was a habit which had grown with the years. As a general rule he abhorred talkative women, but - "And what took you to the police court on Tuesday morning?"
"Why, me and Mr. Sylvester have our little differences like other married couples," she explained. "And sometimes we ask the Court to settle them." She caught Kent's look of impatience and hurried her speech. "The burglar case came on just after ours was remanded, and seeing the McIntyre twins, whom I've often read about, I just thought I'd stay. Let me have that paper a minute."
"Certainly," Kent gave her the newspaper and she ran her finger down the columns devoted to the Turnbull case with a slowness that set his already excited nerves on edge.
"Here's what I'm looking for," she exclaimed triumphantly, a minute later, and pointed to the paragraph:
"Mrs. Margaret Perry Brewster, the fascinating widow, added nothing material to the case in her testimony, and she was quickly excused, after stating that she was told about the tragedy by the McIntyre twins upon their return from the Police Court."
"Well what of it?" asked Kent.
"Only this, Mr. Kent;" Mrs. Sylvester enjoyed nothing so much as talking to a good looking man, especially in the presence of her husband, and she could not refrain from a triumphant look at him as she went on with
It was nearly one o'clock when he finally stepped inside his office, and he found his clerk and a dressy female bending eagerly over a newspaper. They looked up at his approach and Sylvester came forward.
"This is my wife, sir," he explained, and Kent bowed courteously to Mrs. Sylvester. "We were just reading this account of Mr. Rochester's disappearance; it's dreadful, sir, to think that the police believe him guilty of Mr. Turn bull's murder."
"Dreadful, indeed," agreed Kent; the news had been published even sooner than he had imagined. "What paper is that?"
"The noon edition of the Times." Sylvester handed it to him.
"Thanks," Kent flung down his hat and spread open the paper. "Who have been here to-day?"
"Colonel McIntyre, sir; he left a card for you." Sylvester hurried into Kent's office, to return a moment later with a visiting card. "He left this, sir, for you with most particular directions that it be handed to you at once on your arrival."
Kent read the curt message on the card without comment and tore the paste-board into tiny bits.
"Any one else been in this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." Sylvester consulted a written memorandum. "Mr. Black called, also Colonel Thorne, Senator Harris, and Mrs. Brewster."
"Mrs. Brewster!" The newspaper slipped from Kent's fingers in his astonishment. "What did she want here?"
"To see you, sir, so she said, but she first asked for Mr. Rochester," explained Sylvester, stooping over to pick up the inside sheet of the Times which had separated from the others. "I told her that Mr. Rochester was unavoidably detained in Cleveland; then she said she would consult you and I let her wait in your office for the good part of an hour."
Kent thought a moment then walked toward his door; on its threshold he paused, struck by a sudden idea.
"Did Colonel McIntyre come with Mrs. Brewster?" he asked.
"No, Mr. Kent; he came in while she was here."
"And they went off together," volunteered Mrs. Sylvester, who had been a silent listener to their conversation. Kent started; he had forgotten the woman. "Excuse me, Mr. Kent," she continued, and stepped toward him. "I presume, likely, that you are very interested in this charge of murder against your partner, Mr. Rochester."
"I am," affirmed Kent, as Mrs. Sylvester paused.
"I am too, sir," she confided to him. "Cause you see I was in the court room when Mr. Turnbull died and I'm naturally interested."
"Naturally," agreed Kent with a commiserating glance at his clerk; the latter's wife threatened to be loquacious, and he judged from her looks that it was a habit which had grown with the years. As a general rule he abhorred talkative women, but - "And what took you to the police court on Tuesday morning?"
"Why, me and Mr. Sylvester have our little differences like other married couples," she explained. "And sometimes we ask the Court to settle them." She caught Kent's look of impatience and hurried her speech. "The burglar case came on just after ours was remanded, and seeing the McIntyre twins, whom I've often read about, I just thought I'd stay. Let me have that paper a minute."
"Certainly," Kent gave her the newspaper and she ran her finger down the columns devoted to the Turnbull case with a slowness that set his already excited nerves on edge.
"Here's what I'm looking for," she exclaimed triumphantly, a minute later, and pointed to the paragraph:
"Mrs. Margaret Perry Brewster, the fascinating widow, added nothing material to the case in her testimony, and she was quickly excused, after stating that she was told about the tragedy by the McIntyre twins upon their return from the Police Court."
"Well what of it?" asked Kent.
"Only this, Mr. Kent;" Mrs. Sylvester enjoyed nothing so much as talking to a good looking man, especially in the presence of her husband, and she could not refrain from a triumphant look at him as she went on with