I'll go on from here and tell what happened at Firehill. I've pieced it
out from the testimony at the inquest and from what the Gilseys
afterward told in the village.
The Doctor and Mills went straight out there from the Exchange. When
they arrived Gilsey told him Mr. Reddy wasn't up yet, but he'd call him.
The Doctor, however, said the matter was urgent and they couldn't lose a
minute, so the three of them went upstairs together and Gilsey knocked
at the door. After he'd knocked twice a sleepy voice called out, "Come
in," and Gilsey opened the door.
It led into a sitting-room with a bedroom opening off it. On a sofa just
opposite the door was Jack Reddy, dressed and stretched out as if he'd
been asleep.
At first he saw no one but Gilsey and sat up with a start, saying
sharply:
"What's the matter? Does anyone want me?"
Gilsey said, "Yes, two gentlemen to see you," and stepped to one side to
let the Doctor and Mills enter.
When Reddy saw the Doctor he jumped to his feet and stood looking at
him. He didn't say "Good morning" or any sort of greeting, but was
silent, as if he was holding himself still, waiting to hear what the
Doctor was going to say.
He hadn't to wait long. The Doctor, in the doorway, went right to the
point.
"Mr. Reddy," said he, "where's my daughter?"
Reddy answered in a quiet, composed voice:
"I don't know, Dr. Fowler."
"You do!" shouted the Doctor. "You ran away with her last night. What
have you done with her?"
Reddy said in the same dignified way:
"I haven't done anything. I know nothing about her. I haven't any more
idea than you where she is."
At that the Doctor got beside himself. He shouted out furiously:
"You have, you d----d liar, and I'll get it out of you," and he made a
lunge at Reddy to seize him. But Mills jumped in and grabbed his arm.
Holding it he said, trying to quiet down the Doctor:
"Just wait a minute, Dr. Fowler. Maybe when Mr. Reddy sees that we
understand the situation, he'll be willing to explain." Then he turned
to Reddy: "There's no good prevaricating. Your letter to Miss Hesketh
has been found. Now we're all agreed that we don't want any talk or
scandal about this. If you want to get out of the affair without trouble
to yourself and others you'd better tell the truth. Where is she?"
"Who the devil are you?" Reddy cried out suddenly, as mad as the Doctor,
and before Mills could answer, the branch telephone on the desk rang.
Reddy gave a loud exclamation and made a jump for it. But Mills got
before him and caught him. He struggled to get away till the Doctor
seized him on the other side. They fought for a moment, and then got him
back against the door, all the time the telephone ringing like mad. As
they wrestled with him Mills called over his shoulder to Gilsey:
"Answer that telephone, quick."
Gilsey, scared most out of his wits, ran to the phone and took down the
receiver. Anne Hennessey was at the other end with her awful message.
When he got it Gilsey gave a cry like he was stabbed, and turned to Mr.
Reddy, pinioned against the door.
"Good Lord, have mercy, Mr. Jack," he gasped out. "Miss Hesketh's dead.
She's murdered--on the turnpike--murdered last night!"
The Doctor dropped Reddy, tore the instrument out of Gilsey's hand and
took the rest of the message.
Reddy turned the color of ashes. There wasn't any need to hold him. He
fell back against the door with his jaw dropped and his eyes staring
like a man in a trance. Gilsey thought he was going to die and was for
running to him, crying out, "Oh, Mr. Jack, don't look that way." But
Mills caught the old servant by the arm and held him back, watching
Reddy as sharp as a ferret.
The Doctor turned from the phone and said: "It's true. Miss Hesketh's
been murdered."
There was a dead silence. The click of the receiver falling into its
hook was the only sound. The three other men--the Doctor as white as
death, too--stood staring at Reddy. And then, seeing those three faces,
he burst out like he was crazy:
"No--she's not--she can't be! I was there; I went the moment I got her
message. I was on the turnpike where she said she'd be. I was up and
down there most of the night. And--and----" he stopped suddenly and put
his hands over his face, groaning, "Oh, my God, Sylvia--why didn't you
tell me?"
He lurched forward and dropped into a chair, his hands over his face,
moaning like an animal in pain.