LITMIR.BIZ

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question fell like a bombshell. It had not been thought of, or at least not spoken of, by any of the party. The bareness of it, the implication of it, gave a shock, as of a sudden accusation.

      “I hadn’t thought of that,” Wynne Landon said, slowly.

      “But you know?” queried Crawford.

      “Of course I know. Unless Gifford Bruce left a contradictory will, his estate must revert to Rudolph Braye, the son of Mr. Bruce’s half-brother——”

      “Why, Wynne,” interrupted Milly, “you’re a cousin.”

      “I am,” and Landon flushed unaccountably, “but I’m a second cousin. Braye would inherit, unless a will made other proviso.”

      “Where is Mr. Braye?”

      “He went to New York last evening and has not yet returned.”

      “You expect him soon?”

      “This afternoon, probably. Of course, he has realized that he is the heir of a great fortune, but naturally he would not discuss it last evening, when we were all so alarmed and excited over the awfulness of the situation.”

      “Was Mr. Braye present at the time of the—tragedy?”

      “No;” Landon stopped to think. “He wasn’t. Where was he?”

      “He was with me,” said Milly. “We went in his car to East Dryden. We went to the markets and did some other shopping at the stores.”

      “And when you returned it was—all over?” Doctor Crawford looked gravely at her.

      “Yes,” said Milly, “we were both away, and oh, I am so glad! I couldn’t have stood it!”

      She broke down and sobbed in her husband’s arms, but Crawford went on asking questions.

      “The autopsy will show,” he said, “but I will ask if any of you can show cause to suspect that a poison of any sort could have been administered to the victims of this disaster.”

      “Not possibly,” said Professor Hardwick. “We were at tea, and had all been served from the same teapot and from the same plates of cakes. I can affirm this, for I’ve thought over every moment of the occasion. Mr. Bruce had taken part of his tea, and had eaten part of his cake,——”

      “Are you sure of this?” the coroner interrupted.

      “I am sure that he sat next to me, that he was talking to me, and that he received his tea at the same time I did. We sat stirring our cups, and nibbling our cake as we discussed a matter in which we were both interested. Less than a half minute before that man died, he was as well as he had ever been. The scene is perfectly before my eyes. He held his cup and saucer in one hand, his spoon in the other,—when I saw his eyes open queerly, his face change to a clayey gray, and his fingers relaxed, letting his cup fall to the floor. I set down my cup quickly and sprang toward him, but in an instant it was all over.”

      A hush fell on the group as all remembered the details, so exactly as the Professor had related them.

      “And the young lady,” said Crawford, at last, rousing himself from thought, “did she too drink tea?”

      “No,” said Eve Carnforth, musingly. “I remember I was just fixing Vernie’s tea. She liked it sweet, and I was adding a lump of sugar when the commotion began.”

      “I noticed Miss Reid first, I think,” offered Tracy; “at least, I happened to look toward her when Mr. Bruce fell forward in his chair. She made a slight sound, as of horror, and when I glanced her way, she looked so stunned I thought she was going to collapse, so I stepped across toward her. As I did so, she looked suddenly very strange, and I feared she was ill,—aside from her shock at sight of Mr. Bruce. I grasped her by the shoulders just as she was about to fall. She cried out as if in pain, and then Miss Carnforth came to my assistance, and we laid the child on that sofa. In an instant, she, too, was gone.”

      “She had taken no tea?”

      “No,” said Eve, positively. “Nor any cakes. As a rule, the elders were served first and Vernie last. So there is no chance of there having been poison in the tea or cakes,—nor could it be possible, anyway, as we all ate them,—didn’t we?”

      Every one present affirmed that they had partaken of the tea and the cakes, and declared they were both harmless and just such as they had had served every afternoon since their arrival.

      “That settles that point, at any rate,” and the coroner nodded his head. “There can be no question of poison after what you’ve told me. Unless, either or both of them took poison themselves or gave it to the other intentionally.”

Chapter IX.

       Conflicting Theories

       Table of Contents

      In the kitchen the discussion was going on in less guarded terms.

      “It’s murder,” Thorpe declared flatly. “No spooks ever killed off those two people in a minute, just like that!”

      “Murder, your grandmother!” snorted Stebbins. “Who done it, and how? I ask you that! Those folks came up here to hunt ghosts, and I should say they found ’em, good and plenty! You know’s well’s I do, this house has always been ha’nted, ever since that woman killed her husband in that very room where the little girl’s lyin’ now. I wouldn’t go in that there room for a fortune, I wouldn’t!”

      “Now Eli, don’t be foolish,” and Thorpe shook his head. “How could a spook kill two folks at onct,—right out in the open, as you may say?”

      “For that matter, how could anybody murder two people at once? Nobody was around but their own crowd, and that lot of people ain’t for murderin’ each other! I know that!”

      “It was spooks,” declared Hester, with an air of settling the matter; “I’ve smelled ’em of late. That smell of bitter almonds is been in the air a heap, and I ain’t had none for flavourin’ or anything. Land, I’d never flavour a cake with that! I put vanilla even in my ‘Angel Food.’”

      “I’ve smelled it too,” spoke up Nannie, a helper of the older woman’s; “when I’ve been a-dustin’ round in that there ha’nted room, I’ve smelled it—not strong, you know, but jest a faint whiff, now’n then. I skittled out ’s fast’s I could, I kin tell you!”

      “Nope, you’re all wrong,” insisted old Thorpe. “’Tain’t spooks, it’s murder. That’s what it is.”

      “Who done it, then?” demanded his wife.

      “That I dunno. But I have my s’picions. How,—I dunno, either. But that’s neither here nor there. Murder’s been done, but I’ll bet that mutton-headed Crawford ain’t got brains enough to see it.”

      “He ain’t got brains enough to go in when it rains,” agreed Stebbins, “but you’re ’way off, Thorpe, a surmisin’ murder. Why, jest f’r instance, now, how could it ’a’ been done?”

      “Now how can I tell that!” Thorpe spoke with fine scorn. “I don’t know all the goin’s on of them hifalutin folks, but if you’d heard ’em talkin’ ’s much as I have, you’d know that they’re up to lots of things such as us ignorant people don’t know nothin’ about.”

      “They do talk awful hifalutin,” corroborated Hester. “I’ve heard ’em say things that hadn’t no meanin’ whatsoever to me, and yet they was plain English too.”

      “Well, if you ask me,” and Thorpe looked important, “I’d jest say keep your eye on one of them women.”

      “You mean that red-headed varmint, I know,” said his wife. “Well,

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