You can’t do anything.”
“I know it. But it would have been awful to be away making merry when uncle was – was breathing his last! Who do you suppose did it?”
“Some highway robber, of course. I always told your uncle he ought not to go off, in those lonely woods all by himself. He ran a risk every time. And now the tragedy has occurred.“
“It doesn’t seem like a highway robber to use a dagger. They always have a club or a – what do they call it? a blackjack.”
“You seem to know a lot about such things, Avice. Well, I’m going to my room, and you’d better do the same. We’ve a hard day before us tomorrow. I think it’s dreadful to have an inquest here. I thought they always held them in the court-room or some such place.”
“They do, sometimes. Inquests are informal affairs. The coroner just asks anybody, hit or miss, anything he can think of. That’s why I wish we had a cleverer coroner than that Berg person. I can’t bear him.”
“I don’t care what he’s like, if he’ll only get the scene over. Shall we have to be present?”
“Gracious! You couldn’t keep me away. I want to hear every word and see if there’s any clue to the truth.”
The two went up to their rooms, but neither could sleep. Avice sat in an easy chair by her open window, wondering and pondering as to who could have been the criminal. Mrs. Black, on the other hand, thought only of herself and her own future.
She was a very beautiful woman, with finely cut features and raven black hair, which she wore in glossy smooth waves partly over her small ears. Her eyes were large and black and her mouth was scarlet and finely curved. She was of Italian parentage, though born in America. Her husband had been a New York lawyer, but dying, left her in greatly straitened circumstances and she had gladly accepted the position of housekeeper in the Trowbridge home. At first, she had rejected the advances of Rowland Trowbridge, thinking she preferred a younger and gayer man. But the kindness and generosity of her employer finally won her heart, or her judgment, and she had promised to marry him. It is quite certain, however, that Eleanor Black would never have come to this decision, had it not been for Rowland Trowbridge’s wealth.
Late into the night, Avice sat thinking. It seemed to her that she must by some means ferret out the facts of the case, – must find the dastardly villain who killed her uncle and let justice mete out his punishment. But where to turn for knowledge, she had no idea.
Her mind turned to what Mr. Berg had said about enemies. It couldn’t be possible that either of the men she had mentioned could be implicated, but mightn’t there be some one else? Perhaps some one she had never heard of. Then the impulse seized her to go down to her uncle’s library, and look over his recent letters. She might learn something of importance. Not for a moment did she hesitate to do this, for she knew she was the principal heir to his fortune, and the right to the house and its contents was practically hers.
And her motives were of the best and purest. All she desired was to get some hint, some clue, as to which way to look for a possible suspect.
Walking lightly, though taking no especial precautions of silence, she went slowly down stairs, and reached the door of the library. From the hall, as she stood at the portière, she heard some one talking inside the room. Listening intently she recognized the voice of Eleanor Black at the telephone.
“Yes,” Mrs. Black was saying: “keep still about it for the present, – yes, – yes, I’ll do whatever you say, – but don’t come here tonight. You see it was an Italian – yes, I’ll meet you tomorrow at the same time and same place. No, don’t call me up, – when I can, I’ll call you.”
Hearing the click that told of the hanging up of the receiver Avice quickly stepped aside into an alcove of the hall, where she could not be seen.
But apparently, Mrs. Black had no thought of any one near her, for she turned off the library table light she had been using, and softly went upstairs. A low hall light was sufficient illumination for this, and Avice saw her go.
After waiting a few moments, the girl went into the library, and first closing the door, she switched on the light.
Taking up the telephone, she said to the operator, “Please tell me that number I just had. I can’t remember it, and I want to preserve it.”
Sleepily the girl responded, telling the number and exchange.
“Thank you,” said Avice, and hanging up the receiver she went to the desk and jotted down the number.
“Not that I have the least suspicion of Eleanor,” she said to herself, “but if I’m going to investigate, I mustn’t leave a stone unturned, especially anything so unusual as a midnight telephoning.”
And then Avice set herself to the task she had come for. But she found nothing definite or incriminating. There were some old and carefully preserved notes from men who were very evidently angry with her uncle, but they were not sufficiently strong to point to anything criminal. There was the usual collection of bills, business letters and memoranda, but nothing to interest or alarm her, and finally, growing wearied, she went back upstairs.
As she passed Mrs. Black’s door it softly opened, and the lady herself, wrapped in a kimono, looked out. Her long black hair hung in two braids, and her eyes were very bright.
“Avice, where have you been? At this time of night!”
“Just down in the library, looking after some matters.”
“Well, it’s time you were in bed,” and the door closed again.
“H’m,” thought Avice, “she is afraid I heard her telephoning! That’s why she’s on the watch!”
And now, her momentary weariness gone, Avice was again widely awake.
“I’ve got to think it out,” she told herself. “I don’t for a minute imagine Eleanor is implicated in Uncle Rowly’s death, but what was she telephoning for? And she said ‘it was an Italian,’ and she’s Italian herself, and there’s something queer. I’m glad I got that telephone number, but I doubt if I’ll ever use it. It doesn’t seem quite right now, though it did when I asked Central for it. I believe I’ll tear it up.”
But she didn’t.
CHAPTER III
PINCKNEY, THE REPORTER
“There’s no use mincing matters,” said Mrs. Black, as she and Avice sat at breakfast next morning: “I was your uncle’s promised wife and I feel that it is, therefore, my right to assume the head of the household and give orders.”
Avice looked at her sadly. “I have no objection to your giving orders so long as they in no way interfere with my plans or wishes. But I think it would be pleasanter for us both if you were to drop that defiant air, and let us be on a more friendly footing. I quite appreciate your position here, but you must remember that though you were engaged to my uncle you were not married to him and that – ”
“That makes no difference in reality! As his future wife, I have every right of a wife already, so far as this house is concerned. Indeed, it is already mine, by will as you are soon to find out.”
“Very well, Mrs. Black,” said Avice, wearily, “let’s not quarrel over it. I’m sure I don’t
