"
"Well, Mr. Damon was queer that way," said his wife. "He wanted to
be independent. I urged him to call you up, but he said he'd fight
it out alone."
"As I said, we sat there, and he kept feeling more and more blue,
and blessing his funeral, and the hearse and all such things as
that. He kept looking at the clock, too, and I wondered at that."
"'Are you expecting someone?' I asked him. He said he wasn't,
exactly, but I made sure he was, and finally, about half-past
eleven, he put on his hat and went out."
"'Where are you going?' I asked him."
"'Oh, just to get a breath of air. I can't sleep,' he said. I
didn't think much of that, as he often used to go out and walk
about a bit before going to bed. So he went out, and I began to
see about locking up, for I never trust the servants."
"It must have been about an hour later when I heard voices out in
front. I looked, and I saw Mr. Damon talking to a man."
"Who was he?" asked Tom, eagerly, on the alert for the slightest
clue.
"I thought at the time," said Mrs. Damon, "that it was one of the
neighbors. I have learned since, however, that it was not. Anyhow,
this man and Mr. Damon stood talking for a little while, and then
they went off together. I didn't think it strange at the time,
supposing he was merely strolling up and down in front with Mr.
Blackson, who lives next door, He often had done that before.
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