LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter X.

       Was It Supernatural?

       Table of Contents

      Late that afternoon Braye returned from New York. He looked weary and exhausted, as if under hard and continuous strain.

      Norma and Eve had both been watching for him from different windows and met on the stairs in their sudden rush to meet him in the hall.

      It was easily apparent that both girls desired to see him first and tell him the further awful development of the disappearance of Vernie’s body.

      “What!” he exclaimed, “more horrors! Wait a minute, till I get off this dust coat.”

      Before Eve or Norma could say more, the others, hearing Braye, came trooping to the hall, and all began to talk at once.

      “I can’t understand——” and Braye wearily passed his hand across his brow,—“tell me all that happened after I left last evening.”

      “Nothing especial,” said Tracy, quietly. “We all went to bed early, at least, we went to our rooms. Professor Hardwick and I sat up half the night, talking. But we left Thorpe on guard in the hall here, and of course, it never occurred to any of us there was need of further precaution.”

      “Nor was there,” said Eve, fixing her great eyes on Braye. “Nobody could possibly come in from outside and take that child away. The house is too securely locked for that, as we all know.”

      “Why should any one want to?” queried Braye, his face blank with amazement.

      “No one did want to,—no one did do it,” returned Eve. “You must admit, Rudolph, that the whole thing is supernatural,—that——”

      “No, Eve, I can’t do that.” Braye spoke positively. “When I’m up here with you psychists, and in this atmosphere of mystery,—and Lord knows ‘Black Aspens’ is mysterious!—I get swayed over toward spiritualism, but when I go down to the city and talk with rational, hard-headed men, I realize there’s nothing in this poppycock!”

      “Oh, you do!” and Eve’s penetrating glance seemed to bore into his very soul, “then, pray, how do you explain the fact that Vernie—isn’t there?”

      “I don’t know, Eve,—I don’t know. But some fiend in human shape must have managed to get into the house——”

      “And get out again?” said Tracy, “and carry the body with him,—when Thorpe sat right here in the hall——”

      “Where was Thorpe?” asked Braye, suddenly.

      “In a chair there, by that table,” and Eve indicated a position well back in the great hall.

      “Then he couldn’t see the doors of both rooms——” began Braye, but Professor Hardwick interrupted: “Nonsense, man, both doors were open, if any move had been made, Thorpe must have heard it.”

      “Both doors open,” said Braye, “Norma, you said they were closed when you came down to breakfast.”

      “I asked Thorpe about that,” said Tracy. “He told me that at daybreak, or soon after, he closed the doors, without looking in the rooms. He was scared, I think, though he won’t admit that. He says, he thought the ladies would be coming down and the doors better be closed.”

      “That’s all right, but it’s strange that he didn’t glance into the rooms.”

      “I don’t think so,” said Landon. “Thorpe was in charge, but he had no reason to think there had been any disturbance, and he is pretty well scared up over the whole matter. And I don’t wonder.”

      “Nor I,” said Braye. “It’s all inexplicable. What’s Crawford going to do next?”

      “I’m not sure,” said Tracy, “but I think he’ll hold an inquest. Of course, he thinks it’s a case of murder——”

      “How absurd!” cried Eve. “What more does the man want in confirmation of the supernatural? First, those two deaths, impossible of human achievement, and now, the taking away of poor little Vernie, in circumstances that deny any mortal hand in the matter!”

      “If that’s true, Eve,” Braye spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, “it will do no harm to let the coroner proceed along his own lines. He can’t convict a murderer if there isn’t one,—and if there is one, we all want him convicted, don’t we?”

      “Of course,” said Landon, “but suppose they pitch on an innocent man?”

      “It’s all supposition,” declared Braye. “I never heard of such a moil! I can’t see how it can be murder, or body-snatching, yet I can’t stand for ghost-work, either. Say it’s murder,—where’s a motive, for anybody?”

      “I think you ought to know, Rudolph,” Eve said, slowly, “that that Crawford person asked who would inherit Mr. Bruce’s money, and——”

      “And we owned up that you were the next of kin, old chap,” put in Landon, smiling grimly. “Any remarks?”

      “Don’t be flippant, Wynne,” said Braye, seriously, “of course, I’ve thought of that. I can’t very well be charged with the murder, as I wasn’t here at the time, but I do feel deeply embarrassed at the thought that I am, without a doubt, the next heir. That can, I suppose, draw suspicion on me, as I may be said to have motive. But I am not afraid of that, for there’s no possible way I could have turned the trick. But, if it was murder, if there’s the slightest indication of foul play, I’m ready to devote all of Uncle Gifford’s money, if need be, in bringing the criminal to justice.”

      “Of course, there’s no sense in tacking the crime on you, Braye,” and Landon sighed. “If it was a crime, and if anybody here committed it, they’ll more likely suspect me, for I’m the next heir after you, and if I could despatch two intervening heirs, I could also bump you off, I suppose.”

      “Don’t talk like that, Wynne,” implored Milly. “It’s not like you, and I——”

      “I’m only preparing you, Milly, dear, for what may come. That mutton-headed coroner can’t rest till he fastens murder on somebody,—and it might as well be me.”

      “I want to go home, Wynne,—I want to go back to New York,” and Milly began to cry.

      “You may, dear, just as soon as you like. But I must stay and see what happens up here. For me to run away would be, to say the least, suspicious.”

      “Talk sense, Wynne,” broke in Braye; “I wasn’t here, you know, when those two people died. Tell me again, just where were you all?”

      “Mr. Bruce and Professor Hardwick sat in those two chairs, confabbing,” Wynne explained; “I was passing things round, so was Mr. Tracy. Eve was running the tea things, Vernie was jumping about here and there, and Norma,—where

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