The Red Seal | Page 7

them into the court room an hour before.
"My God! Too late!" stammered Rochester under his breath, and he
turned in desperation to Benjamin Clymer. The bank president's state of
mind at the extraordinary masquerade and sudden death of his popular
and trusted cashier bordered on shocked horror, which had made him a

passive witness of the rapidly shifting scene. Rochester clutched his
arm in his agitation. "Get the twins out of here - do something, man!
Don't you know that Turnbull was in love with -"
His fervid whisper penetrated further than he realized and one of the
McIntyre twins looked inquiringly in their direction. Clymer, more
startled than his demeanor indicated, wondered if she had overheard
Rochester's ejaculations, but whatever action the banker contemplated
in response to the lawyer's appeal was checked by a scream from the
girl on his right. With ashen face and trembling finger she pointed to
Turnbull's body which suddenly confronted her as she walked forward.
"Who is it?" she gasped. "Babs, tell me!" And she held out her hand
imploringly.
Her sister stepped to her side and bent over Turnbull. When she looked
up her lips alone retained their color.
"Hush!" she implored, giving her sister a slight shake. "Hush! It is
Jimmie Turnbull. Can you not see for yourself, dear?"
It seemed doubtful if Helen heard her; with attention wholly centered
on the dead man she swayed on her feet, and Dr. Stone, thinking she
was about to fall, placed a supporting arm about her.
"Do you not know Jimmie?" asked her sister. "Don't stare so, dearest."
Her tone was pleading.
"Perhaps the young lady has some difficulty in recognizing Mr.
Turnbull in his disguise," suggested Ferguson, who stood somewhat in
the background but closely observing the scene.
"Disguise!" Helen raised her eyes and Ferguson, hardened as he had
become to tragic scenes, felt a throb of pity as he caught the pent-up
agony in her mute appeal.
"Yes, Miss," he said awkwardly. "The burglar you caught in your house
was Mr. Turnbull in disguise.

Barbara McIntyre released her grasp of her sister's arm and collapsed
on a chair. Stone, still supporting Helen, felt her muscles grow taut and
an instant later she stepped back from his side and stood by her sister.
As the two girls faced the circle of men, the likeness between them was
extraordinary. Each had the same slight graceful figure, equal height;
and feature for feature, coloring matching coloring, they were identical;
their gowns, even, were cut on similar lines, only their hats varied in
shape and color.
"Do I understand, gentlemen," Helen began, and her voice gained
steadiness as she proceeded, "that the burglar whom Officer O'Ryan
and I caught lurking in our house was James Turnbull?"
"He was," answered Ferguson, and Stone, as the twins looked dumbly
at him, confirmed the detective's statement with a brief, "Yes."
The silence that ensued was broken by Barbara rising to her feet.
"Jimmie won his wager," she announced. Her gaze did not waver
before the concentrated regard of the men facing her. "He broke into
our house - but, oh, how can I pay my debt to him now that he is dead!"
"Hush!" Helen laid a cautioning hand on her sister's arm as the latter's
voice gained in shrillness, the shrillness of approaching hysteria.
"I am all right, Helen." Barbara waved her away impatiently. "What
caused Jimmie's death?"
"Angina pectoris," declared Rochester. "Too much excitement brought
on a fatal attack." Barbara nodded dazedly. "I knew he had heart
trouble, but -" She stepped toward Turnbull and her voice quivered
with feeling. "Don't leave Jimmie lying there; take him to his room,
doctor," turning entreatingly to Stone.
The physician looked at her compassionately. "I will, just as soon as the
coroner views the body," he promised. "But come away now, Babs; this
is no place for you and Helen." He signed to the deputy marshal to
open the door as he walked across the room, Barbara keeping step with

him, and her sister following in their wake. At the door Barbara paused
and looked back.
"Will there be an inquest?" she asked.
"That's for the coroner to decide," responded Ferguson. "As long as Mr.
Turnbull entered your house on a wager and died from an attack of
angina pectoris the inquest is likely to be a mere formality. Ah, here is
the coroner now," as a man paused in the doorway.
Helen McIntyre moved back from the door to make room for Coroner
Penfield. Having had occasion to attend court that morning, he was
passing the door when attracted by the group just inside the room.
Courteously acknowledging Helen's act, Penfield stepped briskly across
the threshold and stopped abruptly on catching sight of the lonely
figure on the floor.
"Won't you