"True; but this may be nasty business. Captain Tucker says old Anthony
was murdered."
The boy sucked in his breath and was momentarily sorry the telephone that
had called his uncle had awakened him. Crows, cawing faintly, loomed
against the early light of the cold sky. The grass was wet, and saturated
the bottoms of his trousers.
"They--they don't know who did it?"
"That's the trouble, Joe. So many persons might have wanted to." Since
turning into Meadow Road the doctor had been counting paces, and now his
voice changed abruptly. "We should be near there."
"It's right ahead, Uncle David."
Dr. Stone said, "Lady, left," and the great, tawny dog turned obediently.
They went up a weed-bordered path to a house that had once been noble,
but which now lay in peeled-paint neglect.
Captain Tucker let them in. Four men sat in a room off the hall, and they
watched the doorway in silence as Dr. Stone and the dog appeared. Joe,
crowding at his uncle's heels, was conscious of a studied ease and a
cautious wariness in all of them. He identified them as Police Captain
Tucker made them known to the blind man--Ted Lawton, marked by a certain
furtiveness; Ran Freeman, cool and self-contained; Fred Waring, silently
grim, and Otis King, dapper and assured. Lady, restless on her leash,
suddenly gave an eerie, dismal whine.