“Yes; it’s true. He was murdered and he left a dying statement that women did it. It’s a horrible affair, and I wish you needn’t know the details. Can’t you go away or something till it is all past history?”
“Oh, I don’t want to. I’m no child to be put to bed like that! But Mother has been urging me to go away,—and yesterday she said she’s going to move anyway. If she should send me to Auntie Fayre’s—but she won’t——”
“If she should, what?” cried Richard, eagerly; “Do you mean that in that case, we might meet now and then?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant,—but, we couldn’t if this matter is public property, and I suppose it is, or will be?”
“Yes, of course; but it can’t last long. You see, dear, there’s bound to be an awful disclosure of some sort. Women don’t kill a man without some big reason,—at least big to them.”
“But who did it? What women?”
“We don’t know. The probabilities are that it was some girls he had flirted with. Oh, Dork, don’t ask questions; it’s a disgraceful affair, I fear. I don’t know,—if a man had done it, I should think it merely the result of Uncle’s wild temper. He was awful when in a rage. But the feminine element makes only unpleasant theories possible. And yet, Uncle was a gentleman and a decent one. I believe it was the work of some women who had a fancied grievance and who were jealous or revengeful for some foolish reason. But, of course, there’s no telling what evidence will turn up. And I must be prepared for embarrassing disclosures.”
“You’re the heir, aren’t you, Rick?”
“So far as I know. Uncle made me that, but he may have changed his mind. His lawyers have his will, and I’ve made no inquiries as yet. You see, Dork, there’s so much to see to. Why, I’ve got to take care of Aunt Letty and Eliza,—I mean, shield them from publicity and reporters and all that. I’ve no business to sneak off here with you, but I couldn’t help it!”
“But tell me this; what women are suspected? What ones are possible suspects?”