Miss Ganett retired, crushed.
“What were you saying about Flora Ackroyd?” asked Caroline, after a moment or two devoted to the game. “Was she with any one?”
“Very much so,” said Miss Ganett.
The eyes of the two ladies met, and seemed to exchange information.
“Really,” said Caroline interestedly. “Is that it? Well, it doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“We’re waiting for you to discard, Miss Caroline,” said the colonel. He sometimes affects the pose of the bluff male, intent on the game and indifferent to gossip. But nobody is deceived.
“If you ask me,” said Miss Ganett. (“Was that a Bamboo you discarded, dear? Oh! no, I see now—it was a Circle.) As I was saying, if you ask me, Flora’s been exceedingly lucky. Exceedingly lucky she’s been.”
“How’s that, Miss Ganett?” asked the colonel. “I’ll Pung that Green Dragon. How do you make out that Miss Flora’s been lucky? Very charming girl and all that, I know.”
“I mayn’t know very much about crime,” said Miss Ganett, with the air of one who knows everything there is to know, “but I can tell you one thing. The first question that’s always asked is ‘Who last saw the deceased alive?’ And the person who did is regarded with suspicion. Now, Flora Ackroyd last saw her uncle alive. It might have looked very nasty for her—very nasty indeed. It’s my opinion—and I give it for what it’s worth, that Ralph Paton is staying away on her account, to draw suspicion away from her.”
“Come, now,” I protested mildly, “you surely can’t suggest that a young girl like Flora Ackroyd is capable of stabbing her uncle in cold blood?”