Page:Argosy All-story Weekly v123 n03 (1920-07-24).djvu/173

Peggy sobbed, mastered herself, and continued: "He told me afterward that he had come back to kill the parrot—"

"Then you've seen him?"

The girl gave a hysterical assent. "That night," she panted, "the night a man was in my room. It was Bob—"

"And you protected him!" gasped Brent, "when he had killed—"

"He didn't do it," protested the girl piteously. "Bob was shiftless; weak, a ne'er-do-weel—but he couldn't do that—" Horror stood in the girl's eyes.

"Oh, just at first, I thought so, too," she breathed, reading the doubt in Brent's face. "But I saw that he couldn't—I know that he didn't."

"What then?" asked Brent.

"Bob was a wanderer," continued Peggy. "His wife—that girl you were called in to see—he left her. Mother discovered she was living at a little village in Connecticut and brought her to the cottage. And he was always turning up and asking for money—that was why I changed my name to Peggy Archer—he couldn't face mother as easily as me, but she must have helped him out a great many times."

The girl paused again, gathered herself, and went on: "He says it was money he was after that night. It was the first time he had been home in nearly three years. He had a key to the kitchen door—he opened it—mother was in her room in the front of the house, off the parlor.

"Bob—he called himself Bob Genroe—"

"The man Madden talks of," said Brent.

Peggy nodded. "Bob went to that loose brick—"

"He was going to steal—"

"No," said the girl, "he told me he wanted to find how much money was there so he would know what to ask for. While he was there mother came in from the front of the house. His back was to her. She did not recognize Bob. Evidently all she saw was the man at the hiding-place of her money—and she must have screamed: 'Police! Robbers! Help!' for it is all true about the parrot. Bob is in terror of the parrot."

Again the girl paused.

"The shock of discovery must have killed mother," she resumed, "for as Bob faced her she fell forward—her head struck the table—"

"But the finger-prints?" objected Brent.

"When Bob saw she was dead," explained the girl, "he was afraid that he would be held for murder. He took some of the gray hairs and stuck them on the table to strengthen the explanation that she had fallen."

"He took the money," observed Brent.

"Yes," faltered Peggy, "but I've told you he was weak—it's pitiful."

"You say he came back that night to kill the parrot," puzzled Brent. "Why didn't he do it before he left?"

"He told me that it didn't occur to him then," she explained. "All he could think of was getting away from those screams of: 'Police! Robbers! Help!' over and over again. It wasn't until later that he became afraid of the consequences—then it was too late."

There was a long pause before Brent asked: "Why did you take all your things from the house?"

"Can't you see?" asked the girl. "I've made a fearful mess of things. I believed Bob's story, but I didn't think others would. It seemed certain that he would be brought to trial. It was a fearful thing—fearful. I didn't believe they could convict Madden of murder! Why, he's innocent!"

"I didn't think so, either," said Brent grimly. "I never realized before what a terrible mistake could be made."

When he spoke again it, was to repeat the question: "Why did you leave the house?"

"Could I stay," she asked quickly, "when within an hour or so I'll be in the nastiest kind of scandal—my brother a murderer—oh, they'll accuse him of it—and I—don't they call it 'an accessory after the fact'?" She laughed hysterically. "Can't you see what it will mean when I admit that I kept quiet all the time the man was on trial? I went to the Inn, to spare Nan—and you—"

"But you meant all the time to tell if the case was going against Madden?" Brent was trying to construct a defense.

Peggy shook her head. "No, no," she