"Take the seat over there, Sexton. You came in to see me from Fairlawn?"
"No, sir, I didn't. The fact is, I'm not out there any longer."
"Not there! What do you mean?"
"I've been discharged, sir, with two other servants, since the funeral
yesterday."
"Discharged! Why I understood you had been employed there for years."
"Several years, sir."
"And now discharged! By whom? Not Miss Natalie surely?"
"Yes, sir. She didn't give no reason; just said we were not wanted any
longer. That's one reason why I came here to see you, sir."
"But I hardly know how I can be of help. I have no house of my own,
and--well, the truth of the matter is, Sexton, just at present I am not
on very good terms with the young lady myself."
"I know that, sir," more confidently. "And it isn't a position I am
seeking, at all. I have quite a tidy bit of money laid away, and could
get plenty of work. That's not the point, sir. Why should Miss Natalie
tell me to go like that? It isn't a bit like her, sir; she ain't seemed
natural at all lately, and I tell you there's something wrong goin' on
out there. I'm sure o' that, sir."
"Sure of what?"
"Well, for one thing, it's my opinion that Percival Coolidge never killed
himself, sir."
West sat up stiffly, as though struck a blow. These words startled him;
drove his own mind into sudden activity.
"What makes you think that, Sexton?" he questioned slowly.
"Well, there's more than one thing," as though glad to have made the
plunge, and anxious to justify himself.
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