"Her
husband. Name's Pell."
"Sorry for you, lady," said Bradley, perfunctorily, as he might have said
"Good-morning." He turned now to go. "Don't touch him till the coroner
comes," he commanded. "Mind what I say."
"But officer--" began Hardy.
"Can't stop," Bradley waved him aside. "Now we _gotter_ get him." He went
out as swiftly as he had come in. Every instant was precious. There was not
a second to be lost.
And still Lucia did not stir a muscle. It was as if she had been turned to
stone. A silence fell upon them all. "Red" sat down on the little
window-seat, his Angela beside him. Hardy tried to smoke. They could hear
the clock ticking on and on--that little clock which had heard so much as
its hands moved around the dial during the last few pregnant hours.
Suddenly Uncle Henry, who had been looking at Morgan Pell's huddled form,
cried out;
"Hey, what's comin' off?" Had the darkness deceived him?
"Red" jumped at the question. "What's the matter?" His nerves were on edge.
"He moved!" cried Uncle Henry, excited now, and rising in his chair, which
he wheeled out into the room.
"Moved!" cried "Red." "You're crazy! He's stone dead, if ever anyone was.
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