IV - The Black Squall
IF I had thought Mr. Talcott somewhat indifferent before, I changed my opinion suddenly. His face turned a ghastly white and his eyes stared with horror. There was more than his grief for a friend, though that was evident enough, but his thoughts ran ahead to the larger issues involved by this murder of a bank president and otherwise influential financier.
For murder it was, beyond all doubt. The briefest examination showed Mr. Gately had been shot through the heart, and the absence of any weapon precluded the idea of suicide.
The janitor, overcome at the sight, was in a state bordering on collapse, and Mr. Talcott was not much more composed.
“Mr. Brice,” he said, his face working convulsively, “this is a fearful calamity! What can it mean? Who could have done it?
