The Red Seal [62]
he explained, and looking around Kent recognized Sylvester. "There's been three telephone calls for you in succession from Colonel McIntyre to hurry to his home."
"Thanks, Sylvester." Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. "Would you mind driving me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there."
Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. "Home, , Harris," she directed, as the chauffeur listened for the order.
Neither spoke as the big car started up the street but as they swung past old St. John's Church, Mrs. Brewster broke her silence.
"Mr. Kent," she drew further back in her corner. "I claim a woman's privilege - to change my mind. Forget that I ever expressed a wish to consult you professionally, and remember, I am always glad to meet you as a friend."
"Certainly, Mrs. Brewster, as you wish." Kent's tone, expressing polite acquiescence, covered mixed feelings. What had caused the widow to change her mind so suddenly, and above all, what had she wished to consult him about? He faced her more directly. She was charmingly gowned, and in spite of his perplexities, he could not but admire her air of quiet elegance and the soft dark eyes regarding him in friendly good-fellowship. Suddenly realizing that his glance had become a fixed stare, he hastily averted his eyes from her face, catching sight, as he did so, of the gold mesh bag lying in her lap. The glint of sunlight brought into prominence the handsomely engraved letter "B" on its surface. An unexpected swerve of the limousine, as the chauffeur turned short to avoid a speeding army truck, caused both Kent and Mrs. Brewster to sway forward and the gold mesh bag slid to the floor, carrying with it the widow's handkerchief and gold vanity box. Kent stooped over and picked up the articles as well as the contents of the mesh bag, which had opened in its descent and spilled her money and papers over the floor of the limousine.
"Oh, thank you," exclaimed Mrs. Brewster, as he handed her the bag, box, and bank notes. "Don't bother to look for that quarter; Harris will find it at the garage."
Kent ignored her remark as he again searched the floor of the car; he was glad of the pretext to avoid looking at the widow. He wanted time to collect his thoughts for, in Picking up her belongings, her handkerchief had caught his attention - he had seen its mate in the possession of Detective Ferguson, and clinging to it the broken portions of the capsules of amyl nitrite which Jimmie Turnbull had inhaled just before his mysterious death.
Into Kent's mind flashed Mrs. Sylvester's statement that Mrs. Brewster was in the police court at the time of the tragedy, although in her testimony at the inquest she had sworn she had not heard of Jimmie's death until the return of Helen and Barbara McIntyre. She had been in the police court, and Jimmie had used her handkerchief - a mate to the one she was then holding, the letter "B" with its peculiar twist was unmistakable - and "B" stood for Brewster as well as for Barbara! Kent drew in his breath sharply.
"My handkerchief, please," the widow held out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Kent gave it to her.
"Pardon me," he apologized. "I was struck by the handkerchief's appearance."
Mrs. Brewster turned it over. "In what way is the handkerchief unique?" she asked, laughing.
"Because Jimmie Turnbull crushed amyl nitrite capsules in its mate just before he died," explained Kent quietly. "Detective Ferguson claims that Jimmie unintentionally broke more than one capsule in the handkerchief, was overcome by the powerful fumes and died."
"But the inquest proved that Jimmie was killed by a dose of aconitine poison," she reminded him, as she tucked the handkerchief up her sleeve.
Kent did not reply immediately. "A man does not usually carry a woman's handkerchief about with him," he commented slowly. "Odd, is it not, that Jimmie should have used a handkerchief of yours in the police court just prior to his death, while you were sitting a few feet away?"
"I?" Mrs. Brewster turned and regarded
"Thanks, Sylvester." Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. "Would you mind driving me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there."
Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. "Home, , Harris," she directed, as the chauffeur listened for the order.
Neither spoke as the big car started up the street but as they swung past old St. John's Church, Mrs. Brewster broke her silence.
"Mr. Kent," she drew further back in her corner. "I claim a woman's privilege - to change my mind. Forget that I ever expressed a wish to consult you professionally, and remember, I am always glad to meet you as a friend."
"Certainly, Mrs. Brewster, as you wish." Kent's tone, expressing polite acquiescence, covered mixed feelings. What had caused the widow to change her mind so suddenly, and above all, what had she wished to consult him about? He faced her more directly. She was charmingly gowned, and in spite of his perplexities, he could not but admire her air of quiet elegance and the soft dark eyes regarding him in friendly good-fellowship. Suddenly realizing that his glance had become a fixed stare, he hastily averted his eyes from her face, catching sight, as he did so, of the gold mesh bag lying in her lap. The glint of sunlight brought into prominence the handsomely engraved letter "B" on its surface. An unexpected swerve of the limousine, as the chauffeur turned short to avoid a speeding army truck, caused both Kent and Mrs. Brewster to sway forward and the gold mesh bag slid to the floor, carrying with it the widow's handkerchief and gold vanity box. Kent stooped over and picked up the articles as well as the contents of the mesh bag, which had opened in its descent and spilled her money and papers over the floor of the limousine.
"Oh, thank you," exclaimed Mrs. Brewster, as he handed her the bag, box, and bank notes. "Don't bother to look for that quarter; Harris will find it at the garage."
Kent ignored her remark as he again searched the floor of the car; he was glad of the pretext to avoid looking at the widow. He wanted time to collect his thoughts for, in Picking up her belongings, her handkerchief had caught his attention - he had seen its mate in the possession of Detective Ferguson, and clinging to it the broken portions of the capsules of amyl nitrite which Jimmie Turnbull had inhaled just before his mysterious death.
Into Kent's mind flashed Mrs. Sylvester's statement that Mrs. Brewster was in the police court at the time of the tragedy, although in her testimony at the inquest she had sworn she had not heard of Jimmie's death until the return of Helen and Barbara McIntyre. She had been in the police court, and Jimmie had used her handkerchief - a mate to the one she was then holding, the letter "B" with its peculiar twist was unmistakable - and "B" stood for Brewster as well as for Barbara! Kent drew in his breath sharply.
"My handkerchief, please," the widow held out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Kent gave it to her.
"Pardon me," he apologized. "I was struck by the handkerchief's appearance."
Mrs. Brewster turned it over. "In what way is the handkerchief unique?" she asked, laughing.
"Because Jimmie Turnbull crushed amyl nitrite capsules in its mate just before he died," explained Kent quietly. "Detective Ferguson claims that Jimmie unintentionally broke more than one capsule in the handkerchief, was overcome by the powerful fumes and died."
"But the inquest proved that Jimmie was killed by a dose of aconitine poison," she reminded him, as she tucked the handkerchief up her sleeve.
Kent did not reply immediately. "A man does not usually carry a woman's handkerchief about with him," he commented slowly. "Odd, is it not, that Jimmie should have used a handkerchief of yours in the police court just prior to his death, while you were sitting a few feet away?"
"I?" Mrs. Brewster turned and regarded