Fred’s voice cracked; and I put my hand on his arm without saying anything. Old Win, if he had played the fool towards the end of his life, at least had showed good nerve at the finish; and when everything else was said, he was Fred’s father. When Fred was a boy, Winton Scofield had been a good father; no one called him a fool then. Every one knows the thousand touches of memories of fondness from a father; and Fred was thinking of them. He went on telling: “Shirley ran down to him as soon as he fell; she must have been nearly behind him when he got the second bullet. She wasn’t hurt but she certainly took a big chance to help father. Rowan reached him maybe a minute later.” “Rowan, the butler?” I said. “That’s right.” “How long has he been in your family?” “I can’t remember when he hasn’t been.” “He saw the actual shooting, as the papers say?” “Not the firing of the shots. Father was down when Rowan arrived at the top of the stairs; but Jerry wasn’t gone. Rowan saw him plainly. That’s one of the surest things.” “What is?” “That Jerry showed himself; he made no effort either to hide when father came down or to get away immediately afterwards.” “Where was Thurston when he saw Jerry?” “He’d just come in from the wing through that door.” “He shot at Jerry, they say.” “Yes; and missed. Jerry fired once at him and grazed him. Then Jerry got out.” Fred and I looked each other over. I was thinking, “Jerry didn’t do that but it is no use telling you so.” Fred said to me, “You ran into Shirley last night.” I admitted it. He went on. “After you’d had me to lunch to talk over father’s affairs, Steve. I’ve not mentioned that to the reporters or even to the police yet; but of course I’ve been thinking about it.” “Mentioning it?” I said. “I wanted this talk with you first, Steve. Why did you call me yesterday and afterwards smash Shirley’s car? What did you know?” I stared at him and shook my head. “Yesterday at lunch,” Fred kept at me, “you asked me particularly about father’s engagements for last night; you asked whether Shirley would drive down to meet him. I told you she would.” I had nothing to do but to nod at this. Fred asked directly, “You smashed into her car to stop her?” I stared at him and kept thinking of Jerry’s “Not a word to any one” and the message Klangenberg brought me from “Kidnapped” and “Westward Ho” which begged me “to stick.” Yet I had to say something here or I might as well, since my actions already had spoken for me. “Yes, Fred; I smashed into her to stop her from meeting your father.” “I was sure of it. You had reason to think, yesterday, that something was going to happen to him?” There was nothing for it but another nod at this. “Where did you get your reason?”