Once more he was the searcher. “I confess it. ” She replied. \"Sure, but you'll have to call from my Mom and Dad's room. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. He nodded silently, too full for words. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours.
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