Meanwhile, Wilkie stood guard over the man he assumed to have been the cause of the havoc on the walk. The household of Rosewood had been disturbed by the commotion out front, and Vera, Delores’s maid, dashed to her dead mistress and began to weep and wail, much to Wilkie’s discomfort. Then Cardiff, the woman’s father, stepped out and went white with shock. “Is she dead?” he said to Vera. “She ain’t breathin’, sir.” “She ain’t got no pulse,” Wilkie said, who had checked after he had ordered the killer to sit on the stoop and not move a muscle. Gagnon, in shock, did as he was bid, but not before uttering a stream of French at the bewildered Wilkie, who took the foreign lingo as a sign of the fellow’s madness. “I’m sorry, sir,” Wilkie said to Cardiff. “My god! Who has done this?” Cardiff cried, kneeling beside his daughter. “I believe it was the fella over there,” Wilkie said. Cardiff turned and stared at Gagnon. “What have you done?” he said, and made as if to move towards Gagnon.
