I
Dreeme sat gloomily in front of Humphrey Lathrop and waited for the old
doctor to deliver any advice that he might have to give.
“There you are,” he had concluded, an exasperated perplexity lining
his face. “I’m out! It’s a closed community so far as I am concerned.
A murder is committed, a murder as obvious as the nose on your face,
and I can do nothing about it. I’ve tried. I’ve run about town in the
boiling sun all afternoon, I’ve even been to Leeminster. What’s the
result? Nothing!”
Humphrey Lathrop pursed his great lips and looked wise. “He’s the
frog,” thought Dreeme. He was thinking of the old story of the frog
who puffed herself up until she burst. The little frog had seen a cow.
He had described it to his mother. It was big, enormous. “Was it as
large as this?” she had inquired, puffing herself up to formidable
proportions. “Larger,” the little frog had said. The big frog scowled
(imagine a frog scowling!) and had puffed herself still bigger. Her
abdomen had distended to an horrendous bulge. “As large as this?” she
had asked proudly. “Larger,” responded the little frog. The mother was
beside herself. She had puffed valiantly again and her green skin had
stretched and swelled wonderfully. She was a rotund circle of emerald.
“As large as this?” she had shrieked. “Oh, larger,” the little frog
answered gloomily. He had probably become a bit bored by this time and
had wanted to go off and sit on a lily pad and snap at flies. With a
last desperate effort the great frog indrew a huge breath. There was
a pop and then no frog. The little frog had looked up in the sky and
then down at the ground but he had failed to discover his mother. She
had burst into fragments, disappeared entirely. Humphrey Lathrop puffed
himself up in this way. Some day he would burst and disappear. And then
Dreeme felt quite ashamed of his malicious analogy. Humphrey Lathrop
was a kind helpful old man. His importance was only the privilege of
age. He was not consciously puffing himself to impossible proportions.
He was merely trying to ease Dreeme’s mind, to act the wise counsellor.
The young doctor observed him and nearly smiled. Then his levity
abruptly died away as his reason thrust him back among his grievances.
“There you are,” he had said. “What’s the result? Nothing!”
“It’s always the result,” said Humphrey Lathrop gloomily.
Dreeme reiterated himself.
“After I saw the body I questioned the coroner. I wanted to study the
wooden pegs. I gave him the scrap of paper with the goat’s head on it.
I wanted to talk about time, about possible murderous weapons, about
a dozen and one things. He put me off with silly generalities. I went
to Bidwell, who seemed to have the confidence of those infernally
silent farmers, and pleaded for an investigation without loss of
time. He evaded me. I talked to the damned selectmen or whatever they
are, Winship and Collender. There was nothing doing. Nothing but
antagonism in sleepy little suspicious eyes. The constable was busy
getting in some parched hay. He knew nothing about it and didn’t want
to know anything about it. He was a hopeless fool. Finally I went to
Leeminster. The officials there referred me back to Marlborough. I tell
you, Humphrey, it is impossible to start a serious investigation of
this murder. By God, I’ll write to Boston. I’ll telegraph Washington.”
He paused breathless. Lathrop broke into a low chuckle.
“You can’t do anything,” he said.
They sat in silence after that and Dreeme smoked moodily. The twilight
drooped its dark wing over the valley. The white hawks that had hovered
in the sky were gone now. Shadows crept up the tree-lined street and
squirmed into the corners of the houses. There was a shadow over the
Saccarac River. A shadow over the trampled bank where Wagner’s body
had crushed the reeds. It would be night soon. The sable mantle would
drop and the lights would be extinguished.
“It’s impossible,” said Lathrop. The great chair creaked as he shifted
his huge body. “Go away, Daniel. Don’t worry yourself. Marlborough will
look out for itself as it has always looked out for itself. You can do
nothing about it.”
The air seemed to sigh about them.
“An investigation is not too much to expect,” said Dreeme doggedly.
Lathrop shook his mountainous shoulders. His three chins quivered with
the gesture.
“Don’t expect anything here,” he said after a moment. The shadow of
night was in his eyes.