fled the room, leaving the now screaming woman to the ministrations of the despairing maid.
“You see how matters stand, Mr. Hutchins,” Barham said, as the detective found him and Nelson in an adjoining room. “Mrs. Selden is not demented, but she is irrational at times, mostly because of this shock—but also owing to her naturally excitable disposition and inflammable temper. You may make such use of her statements as you see fit, but in justice to myself, I must ask that you verify them by some more competent testator before you accept them as true.”
“I have no intention of reporting anything Mrs. Selden said,” the detective told him. “I am convinced for myself that she cannot control her speech when the frenzy comes upon her. Moreover, a few moments ago, after you left the room, she greatly modified her expressions of vituperation. Now, I am due at the inquiry to be held in Mr. Locke’s place at eleven o’clock this morning. You need not come, Mr. Barham, but you should be represented.”
“I will represent him,” Nelson said, promptly. “I am a lawyer, and I will do all that is necessary. Also, I will be responsible for Mr. Barham in any and every way.”
“Thank you, Nick—I’m glad to have you help me out like that. Mr. Hutchins, what is this Mr. Locke like? Do you know him?”
“No; nor can I seem to find any picture of him. But I’m told that he is of what is called the artist type—long hair, big glasses, low collar and flowing tie.”
Nelson smiled at the graphic description. “I didn’t know that sort grew nowadays,” he said, “outside the cartoons.”
“They do in Washington Square—lots of them.”
“Do you gather that he is a—a gentleman?” Barham continued.
