Talcott inquired.

“Yes, sir,—that is, unless they’re Mr. Gately’s personal friends,—like Miss Raynor or somebody.”

“Who is Miss Raynor?” I broke in.

“His ward,” said Mr. Talcott, briefly. “Go on, Jenny; nobody had gone through your room?”

“No, sir; and so, I was startled to hear somebody scrapping with Mr. Gately.”

“Scrapping?”

“Yes, sir; sort of quarreling, you know; I——”

“Did you listen?”

“Not exactly that, sir, but I couldn’t help hearing the angry voices, though I didn’t make out the words.”

“Be careful, Jenny,” Talcott’s tones were stern, “don’t assume more than you can be sure was meant.”

“Then I can’t assume anything,” said Jenny, crisply, “for I didn’t hear a single word,—only I did feel sure the two of ’em was scrapping.”

“You heard, then, angry voices?”

“Yes, sir, just that. And right straight afterward, a pistol shot.”

“In Mr. Gately’s room?”

“Yes, sir. And then I ran in there to see what it meant,——”

“Weren’t you frightened?”

“No, sir; I didn’t stop to think there was anything to be frightened of. But when I got in there, and saw——”

“Well, go on,—what did you see?”

“A man, with a pistol in his hand, running out of the door——”

“Which door?”

 Prev. P 16/170 next