Part 13 (1/2)
Her method of narrative was puzzling.
”You mean,” said Garrison, ”that after Mr. Scott had called and gone, Mr. Hardy went out temporarily, and in his absence Mr. Scott returned and remained for a time in his room?”
”I didn't git up to see what he wanted, or how long he stayed,” said Mrs. Wilson. ”I hate gittin' up when once I'm abed.”
”And he went before Mr. Hardy's return?”
”Yes, I stayed awake for that; for although Charlie Scott may be honest enough, he's inventin' some crazy fiddlede-dee, which has been the crown of thorns of that dear woman all these----”
”Did they seem to be friends, Mr. Scott and Mr. Hardy?” Garrison interrupted mildly. ”A clever woman, you know, can always tell.”
”Ain't you New York men the quick ones to see!” said Mrs. Wilson. ”Of course they was friends. The day he come Mr. Hardy was over to Charlie's all the livelong afternoon.”
”Did Mr. Hardy get very many letters, or anything, through the mail?”
”Well, of course, I offered to go to the post-office, and bring him everything,” said Mrs. Wilson, ”but he went himself. So I don't know what he got, or who it come from. Not that I read anything but the postals and----”
”Did he get any packages sent by express?”
”Not that come to my house, for little Jimmie Vane would have brought 'em straight to me.”
Garrison went directly to the mark around which he had been playing.
”Who delivered his birthday present--the box of cigars?”
”Oh, that was his niece, the very first evenin' he was here--and she the prettiest girl I ever seen.”
”His niece?” echoed Garrison. ”Some young lady--who brought them here herself?”
”Well, I should say so! My, but she was that lovely! He took her up to Branchville to the train--and how I did hate to see her go!”
”Of course, yes, I remember he had a niece,” said Garrison, his mind reverting to the ”statement” in his pocket. ”But, upon my word, I believe I've forgotten her name.”
”He called her Dot,” said Mrs. Wilson.
”But her real name?” said Garrison.
”Her real name was Dorothy Booth before she was married,” replied Mrs.
Wilson, ”but now, of course, it's changed.”
Garrison had suddenly turned ashen. He managed to control himself by making a very great effort.
”Perhaps you know her married name?” he said.
”I never forget a thing like that,” said Mrs. Wilson. ”Her married name is Mrs. Fairfax.”
It seemed to Garrison he was fighting in the toils of some astounding maze, where sickening mists arose to clog his brain. He could scarcely believe his senses. A tidal wave of facts and deductions, centering about the personality of Dorothy Booth-Fairfax, surged upon him relentlessly, bearing down and engulfing the faith which he strove to maintain in her honesty.
He had felt from the first there was something deep and dark with mystery behind the girl who had come to his office with her most amazing employment. He had entertained vague doubts upon hearing of wills and money inheritance at the house where she lived in New York.
He recalled the start she had given, while playing at the piano, upon learning he was leaving for Hickwood. Her reticence and the strangeness of the final affair of the necklaces, in connection with this present development, left him almost in despair.