I

I

Dreeme sat gloomily in front of Humphrey Lathrop and waited for the old doctor to deliver any advice that he might have to give.

“There you are,” he had concluded, an exasperated perplexity lining his face. “I’m out! It’s a closed community so far as I am concerned. A murder is committed, a murder as obvious as the nose on your face, and I can do nothing about it. I’ve tried. I’ve run about town in the boiling sun all afternoon, I’ve even been to Leeminster. What’s the result? Nothing!”

Humphrey Lathrop pursed his great lips and looked wise. “He’s the frog,” thought Dreeme. He was thinking of the old story of the frog who puffed herself up until she burst. The little frog had seen a cow. He had described it to his mother. It was big, enormous. “Was it as large as this?” she had inquired, puffing herself up to formidable proportions. “Larger,” the little frog had said. The big frog scowled (imagine a frog scowling!) and had puffed herself still bigger. Her abdomen had distended to an horrendous bulge. “As large as this?” she had asked proudly. “Larger,” responded the little frog. The mother was beside herself. She had puffed valiantly again and her green skin had stretched and swelled wonderfully. She was a rotund circle of emerald. “As large as this?” she had shrieked. “Oh, larger,” the little frog answered gloomily. He had probably become a bit bored by this time and had wanted to go off and sit on a lily pad and snap at flies. With a last desperate effort the great frog indrew a huge breath. There was a pop and then no frog. The little frog had looked up in the sky and then down at the ground but he had failed to discover his mother. She had burst into fragments, disappeared entirely. Humphrey Lathrop puffed himself up in this way. Some day he would burst and disappear. And then Dreeme felt quite ashamed of his malicious analogy. Humphrey Lathrop was a kind helpful old man. His importance was only the privilege of age. He was not consciously puffing himself to impossible proportions. He was merely trying to ease Dreeme’s mind, to act the wise counsellor. The young doctor observed him and nearly smiled. Then his levity abruptly died away as his reason thrust him back among his grievances.

“There you are,” he had said. “What’s the result? Nothing!”

“It’s always the result,” said Humphrey Lathrop gloomily.

Dreeme reiterated himself.

“After I saw the body I questioned the coroner. I wanted to study the wooden pegs. I gave him the scrap of paper with the goat’s head on it. I wanted to talk about time, about possible murderous weapons, about a dozen and one things. He put me off with silly generalities. I went to Bidwell, who seemed to have the confidence of those infernally silent farmers, and pleaded for an investigation without loss of time. He evaded me. I talked to the damned selectmen or whatever they are, Winship and Collender. There was nothing doing. Nothing but antagonism in sleepy little suspicious eyes. The constable was busy getting in some parched hay. He knew nothing about it and didn’t want to know anything about it. He was a hopeless fool. Finally I went to Leeminster. The officials there referred me back to Marlborough. I tell you, Humphrey, it is impossible to start a serious investigation of this murder. By God, I’ll write to Boston. I’ll telegraph Washington.”

He paused breathless. Lathrop broke into a low chuckle.

“You can’t do anything,” he said.

They sat in silence after that and Dreeme smoked moodily. The twilight drooped its dark wing over the valley. The white hawks that had hovered in the sky were gone now. Shadows crept up the tree-lined street and squirmed into the corners of the houses. There was a shadow over the Saccarac River. A shadow over the trampled bank where Wagner’s body had crushed the reeds. It would be night soon. The sable mantle would drop and the lights would be extinguished.

“It’s impossible,” said Lathrop. The great chair creaked as he shifted his huge body. “Go away, Daniel. Don’t worry yourself. Marlborough will look out for itself as it has always looked out for itself. You can do nothing about it.”

The air seemed to sigh about them.

“An investigation is not too much to expect,” said Dreeme doggedly.

Lathrop shook his mountainous shoulders. His three chins quivered with the gesture.

“Don’t expect anything here,” he said after a moment. The shadow of night was in his eyes.