If it is always good weather when good fellows get together, it was certainly a most delightful day as the colonel and his two hosts sat on the shady veranda of the Maraposa Golf Club.They talked of many things, and, naturally, the conversation veered around to the death of Mr.Carwell.Out of respect to his memory, an important match had been called off on the day of his funeral.But now those last rites were over, the clubhouse was the same gay place it had been.Though more than one veteran member sat in silent reverie over his cigar as he recalled the friend who never again would tee a ball with him.
"It certainly is queer why Harry Bartlett doesn't come out and say what it was that he and Mr.Carwell had words about," commented Sharwell."There he stays, in that rotten jail.Bah! I can smell it yet, for I called to see if I could do anything.And yet he won't talk.""It is queer," said Garrigan."If he'd only let his friends speak for him it could be cleared.We all know what the quarrel was about.""What?" asked the colonel.He had his own theory, but he wanted to see how it jibed with another's.
"It's an old story," went on Bruce Garrigan."It goes back to the time, about three years ago, when the fair Viola and Harry began to be talked about as more than ordinary friends.Just about then Mr.Carwell lost a large sum of money in a stock deal, or a bond issue, or something - I've forgotten what - and he always said that Harry and his clique engineered the plan by which he was mulcted.""And did Mr.Bartlett have anything to do with it?" asked the colonel."Well, some say he did, and some say he didn't.Harry himselfdenied all knowledge of it.Anyhow the colonel lost a stiffish sum, and some of Harry's people took in a goodly pile.Naturally there was a bit of coldness between the families, and I did hear Harry was told his presencearound Viola wasn't desired.
"If he was so warned he didn't heed it, for they went out together as much as ever, though I can't say he called at the house very often.""And you think it was about this he and Mr.Carwell quarreled just before Mr.Carwell was stricken?" asked the colonel.
"I think so, yes," answered Garrigan."And I think Harry refuses to admit it, from a notion that it would be dragging in a lady's name.But it wouldn't be airing anything that isn't already pretty well known.Mr.Carwell has a violent temper - or he had one - and Harry isn't exactly an angel when he's roused, though I'll say say for him that I have rarely seen him angry.And there you are.Boy, another bottle, and have it colder than the last.""Yes," mused the colonel, "there you are - or aren't, according to your viewpoint."And so the day grew more sunshiny and mellow, and Colonel Ashley did not regret the fish that the golf ball cheated him of, for he added several new cards to his index file and jotted down, mentally, new facts on some already in it.
"Will return to-morrow.Viola too restless here."That was the telegram Colonel Ashley received the day following his acquaintance at the nineteenth hole with Bruce Garrigan and Tom Sharwell.
"She stayed away longer than I thought she would," mused the detective, "Yes, sah!""See if that French chauffeur, Forette, can drive me into town." "Yes, sah, Colonel."A little later Jean brought the roadster to the ront of the house and waited for Colonel Ashley.The latter came forth holding a slip of paper in his hand, and, to the chauffeur, he said:
"Do you know where Dr.Baird lives?" "Oh, yes, sir.""Take me there, please.He was one of the physicians called in when Mr.Carwell was poisoned, was he not?" "Yes," and the chauffeur nodded and smiled."You are not ill, I hope, monsieur.If you are, thereis a physician nearer - "
