“Aside from these most regrettable deaths…” he paused. “Not casting either blame or aspersion, Fred,” he continued, “Please forgive my annoyance. I must know. I must know. And no, it was not instinct that led to my suspicion, although what I expected you might find—no matter…” The elastic silence was broken by the intemperate tapping of what must be Clayton’s pencil against the surface of Fred’s desk. “Shall I tell you my darkest fear?” Clay asked again. “If you must, now that the subject has be...en broached.” Clay’s anguished voice squeezed out the words, “William Bliss Baker.” “Name doesn’t ring a bell,” Fred said. “Not the remotest chime or clunk. Who is he? Agent for that lady in Arkansas?” “You know the name, for heaven’s sake, Fred. Think! He was a painter. A younger man. Student of Bierstadt. Good gracious. I am saying the name aloud. On the telephone!MoreLessRead More Read Less
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