"He's the Bat."
Ordinarily Miss Cornelia would have dismissed her words with a smile.
But by now her brain felt as if it had begun to revolve like a
pinwheel in her efforts to fathom the uncanny mystery of the various
events of the night.
She addressed Doctor Wells.
"I didn't tell you, Doctor--I sent for a detective this afternoon."
Then, with mounting suspicion, "You happened in very opportunely!"
"After I left the Johnsons' I felt very uneasy," he explained. "I
determined to make one more effort to get you away from this house.
As this shows--my fears were justified!"
He shook his head sadly. Miss Cornelia sat down. His last words
had given her food for thought. She wanted to mull them over for
a moment.
The Doctor removed muffler and topcoat--stuffed the former in his
topcoat pocket and threw the latter on the settee. He took out
his handkerchief and began to mop his face, as if to wipe away some
strain of mental excitement under which he was laboring. His breath
came quickly--the muscles of his jaw stood out.
"Died instantly, I suppose?" he said, looking over at the body.
"Didn't have time to say anything?"
"Ask the young lady," said Anderson, with a jerk of his head. "She
was here when it happened."
The Doctor gave Dale a feverish glance of inquiry.
"He just fell over," said the latter pitifully. Her answer seemed
to relieve the Doctor of some unseen weight on his mind. He drew
a long breath and turned back toward Fleming's body with comparative
calm.
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