“Very good of you to say so,” returned the doctor, with gentle sarcasm. She glanced toward the parrot’s perch. “How’s Tony? He, at least, must miss Louie a lot.”
“Tony’s dead,” said Madden bruskly.
“What! Tony, too!” The doctor was silent for a moment. “A rather memorable visit, this one of yours,” she said slowly. “Please give my regards to your daughter. She is not with you?”
“No,” returned Madden. “She is not with me.” That was all.
“A great pity,” Doctor Whitcomb replied. “I thought her a charming girl.”
“Thank you,” Madden said. “Just a moment. My boy will show you to your car.”
“Don’t trouble,” put in Bob Eden. “I’ll attend to that.” He led the way through the bright living-room, past Mr. Gamble deep in a huge book. In the yard the doctor turned to him.
“What a man!” she said. “As hard as granite. I don’t believe the death of Louie means a thing to him.”
“Very little, I’m afraid,” Eden agreed.
“Well, I rely on you. If he doesn’t repeat my story to the sheriff, you must.”
The boy hesitated. “I’ll tell you something—in confidence,” he said. “Everything possible is being done to find the murderer of Louie. Not by Madden—but by—others.”
The doctor sat silent for a moment in the dark car under the dark, star-spangled sky. “I think I understand,” she said softly. “With all my heart, I wish you luck, my boy.”
