Beyond the bare announcement of Julian’s detention nothing was known. Enterprising reporters managed to get pictures of the buildings at the Farm, including the famous kennel, modeled on one near Middleburg, Virginia. The fact that they included a cook room where the food for the hounds was prepared, a feeding room, washing and dipping rooms, and an exercise court as well as hospital and quarters for the kennelmen, made good copy. I think, times being what they are, that account of what was called the Dog Palace did more to prejudice general opinion throughout the country than any other one thing.

The whole business was incredible to me, but I could not take it too seriously. It was a mistake. Even knowing what I did, I could not see Julian actually standing in the dock. I was in bed for a week, with everybody smothering me with kindness. Andy picked his best flowers from the conservatory to fill my rooms, Tony brought me books, and one day a small aquarium from the five-and-ten-cent store arrived from Jim Conway. It contained four goldfish and a card reading: Something fishy about all this. Even Pierre came up in the mornings to see what I would like and—to Amy’s annoyance—chattered to me in French. “You need the flesh, mademoiselle. It is to me no credit that you grow in four or five months so thin. I could blow you away. Poof and you go.”

“Tell that Frenchman to stop blowing garlic into the room and get out,” Amy said one day. “What’s he saying anyhow?”

“He is telling me I am beautiful and he loves me.”

“Like master, like man!” said Amy. “The fat fool!”

Had it not been for Julian and Margery I could have been happy that week. It was a long time since I had been so cared for. But by the time I was able to sit up the case was before the grand jury. The State being the plaintiff, the twenty-three men of the grand jury listened to Stewart and a few witnesses, and indicted Julian without hesitation. Tony, looking rather sick, brought me the news that night.

“We’ve got Brander Jones to defend him,” he said. “Elliott’s purely a corporation lawyer. Stoddard never did it, Pat.”

“No,” I said drearily, “but I’ve helped to send him to the chair. I’ll never forgive myself.”

I remember Tony that day, standing by the window staring out. Winter had come at last. The trees were bare, and the playhouse was in full view. He spoke without turning. “Who would want to kill Mother, Pat?” he said. “She never did a wrong thing in her life.”

“Maybe there is a crazy man around, Tony.”

“How would he get hold of my gun?”

“She may have taken it with her that night. After what had happened at the playhouse—”

“She met someone there,” he said dully. “She went there to meet someone, and he killed her.”

He came over to where I was sitting, bolstered by pillows, in a chair by the fire and looked down at me.