so soon, and she said that he
had not come in, and I am sure he has not done so since."
"Then I will not intrude any longer. I shall place one of my men in
front of the house and one behind, and if he comes home his arrest will
be managed quietly, and we will not bring him in here at all. It will
save a painful scene."
When the officer had left, Frank returned to his aunt.
"What is it, Frank?" she asked.
"Well, Aunt, it is a more absurd affair than the other; but, absurd as
it is, it is very painful. There is a warrant out for the arrest of
Julian on the charge of attempting to murder Mr. Faulkner."
Mrs. Troutbeck gave a cry, and then burst into a fit of hysterical
laughter. After vainly trying to pacify her, Frank went out for the
servant, but as her wild screams of laughter continued he put on his
hat and ran for the family doctor, who lived but a few doors away. He
briefly related the circumstances of the case to him, and then brought
him back to the house. It was a long time before the violence of the
paroxysm passed, leaving Mrs. Troutbeck so weak that she had to be
carried by Frank and the doctor up to her room.
"Don't you worry yourself, Aunt," Frank said, as they laid her down upon
the bed; "it will all come out right, just as the last did. It will all
be cleared up, no doubt, in a very short time."
As soon as the maid had undressed Mrs. Troutbeck, and had got her into
bed, the doctor went up and gave her an opiate, and then went down into
the parlour to Frank, who told him the story in full, warning him that
he must say nothing about the deposition of Mr. Faulkner until it had
been read in court.
"It is a very grave affair, Frank," the old doctor said. "Having known
your brother from his childhood, I am as convinced as you are that,
however much of this deposition be true or false, Julian never fired the
shot; and what you say about the bullet makes it still more conclusive,
if that were needed—which it certainly is not with me. Your brother had
an exceedingly sweet and even temper. Your father has often spoken to me
of it, almost with regret, saying that it would be much better if he had
a little more will of his own and a little spice more of temper. Still,
it is most unfortunate that he hasn't returned. Of course, he may have
met some friend in the town and gone home with him, or he may have
stayed at Mr. Merryweather's."
"I don't think he can have stopped in the town anyhow," Frank said; "for
the first thing he would have heard when he got back would have been of
the shooting of Faulkner, and he would have been sure to have come home
to talk it over with me. Of course, he may have stopped with the
Merryweathers, but I am afraid he has not. I fancy that part of
Faulkner's story must be true; he could never have accused Julian if he
had not met him near his gate—for Julian in that case could have easily
proved where he was at the time. No, I think they did meet, and very
likely had a row. You know what Faulkner is; and I can understand that
if he met Julian he would most likely say something to him, and there
might then be a quarrel; but I think that his story about Julian coming
out and looking at him is either pure fancy or a lie. No doubt he was
thinking of him as he rode along; and, badly wounded as he was, perhaps
altogether insensible, he may have imagined the rest."
"That is all quite possible," the doctor agreed; "but in that case
Julian's not coming home is all the more extraordinary. If he met
Faulkner between two and three o'clock, what can he have been doing
since?"
This was a question Frank could not answer.
"I can't tell, sir," he said after a long pause; "I really can't
imagine. Still, nothing in the world would make me believe that Julian
did what he is charged with."
Several times Frank went outside the door, but the constable was still
there. At last, after sitting and looking at the fire for some time he
put on his cap and went to the residence of the chief constable.
"Excuse me,
had not come in, and I am sure he has not done so since."
"Then I will not intrude any longer. I shall place one of my men in
front of the house and one behind, and if he comes home his arrest will
be managed quietly, and we will not bring him in here at all. It will
save a painful scene."
When the officer had left, Frank returned to his aunt.
"What is it, Frank?" she asked.
"Well, Aunt, it is a more absurd affair than the other; but, absurd as
it is, it is very painful. There is a warrant out for the arrest of
Julian on the charge of attempting to murder Mr. Faulkner."
Mrs. Troutbeck gave a cry, and then burst into a fit of hysterical
laughter. After vainly trying to pacify her, Frank went out for the
servant, but as her wild screams of laughter continued he put on his
hat and ran for the family doctor, who lived but a few doors away. He
briefly related the circumstances of the case to him, and then brought
him back to the house. It was a long time before the violence of the
paroxysm passed, leaving Mrs. Troutbeck so weak that she had to be
carried by Frank and the doctor up to her room.
"Don't you worry yourself, Aunt," Frank said, as they laid her down upon
the bed; "it will all come out right, just as the last did. It will all
be cleared up, no doubt, in a very short time."
As soon as the maid had undressed Mrs. Troutbeck, and had got her into
bed, the doctor went up and gave her an opiate, and then went down into
the parlour to Frank, who told him the story in full, warning him that
he must say nothing about the deposition of Mr. Faulkner until it had
been read in court.
"It is a very grave affair, Frank," the old doctor said. "Having known
your brother from his childhood, I am as convinced as you are that,
however much of this deposition be true or false, Julian never fired the
shot; and what you say about the bullet makes it still more conclusive,
if that were needed—which it certainly is not with me. Your brother had
an exceedingly sweet and even temper. Your father has often spoken to me
of it, almost with regret, saying that it would be much better if he had
a little more will of his own and a little spice more of temper. Still,
it is most unfortunate that he hasn't returned. Of course, he may have
met some friend in the town and gone home with him, or he may have
stayed at Mr. Merryweather's."
"I don't think he can have stopped in the town anyhow," Frank said; "for
the first thing he would have heard when he got back would have been of
the shooting of Faulkner, and he would have been sure to have come home
to talk it over with me. Of course, he may have stopped with the
Merryweathers, but I am afraid he has not. I fancy that part of
Faulkner's story must be true; he could never have accused Julian if he
had not met him near his gate—for Julian in that case could have easily
proved where he was at the time. No, I think they did meet, and very
likely had a row. You know what Faulkner is; and I can understand that
if he met Julian he would most likely say something to him, and there
might then be a quarrel; but I think that his story about Julian coming
out and looking at him is either pure fancy or a lie. No doubt he was
thinking of him as he rode along; and, badly wounded as he was, perhaps
altogether insensible, he may have imagined the rest."
"That is all quite possible," the doctor agreed; "but in that case
Julian's not coming home is all the more extraordinary. If he met
Faulkner between two and three o'clock, what can he have been doing
since?"
This was a question Frank could not answer.
"I can't tell, sir," he said after a long pause; "I really can't
imagine. Still, nothing in the world would make me believe that Julian
did what he is charged with."
Several times Frank went outside the door, but the constable was still
there. At last, after sitting and looking at the fire for some time he
put on his cap and went to the residence of the chief constable.
"Excuse me,
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