Eunice started up again. “Aunt Abby,” she said, “if you begin that pack of fool nonsense about a vision, I’ll leave the room—I vow I will!”
“Leave, then!” retorted Aunt Abby, whose patience was also under a strain.
But Stone said, “Wait, please, I want a few more matters mentioned, and then, Miss Ames, I will listen to your ‘fool nonsense!’ First, what is this talk about money troubles between Mr. and Mrs. Embury?”
“That,” Eunice seemed interested, “is utter folly. My husband objected to giving me a definite allowance, but he gave me twice the sum I would have asked for, and more, too, by letting me have charge accounts everywhere I chose.”
“Then you didn’t kill him for that reason?” and the dark eyes of the detective rested on Eunice kindly.
“No; I did not!” she said, curtly, and Stone returned,
“I believe you, Mrs. Embury; if you were the criminal, that was not the motive. Next,” he went on, “what about this quarrel you and Mr. Embury had the night before his death?”
“That was because I had disobeyed his express orders,” Eunice said, frankly and bravely, “and I went to a bridge game at a house to which he had forbidden me to go. I am sorry—and I wish I could tell him so.”
Fleming Stone looked at her closely. Was she sincere or was she merely a clever actress?
“A game for high stakes, I assume,” he said quietly.