“Leaving no trace behind?”
“The faint odor of gasoline—and the taste of raspberry jam on my tongue.”
Fibsy snickered, but suppressed it at once, and said, “And he left the little dropper-thing beside your bed?”
“Yes, boy! You seem clairvoyant yourself! He did. It was Sanford, of course; he had killed himself with the poison, and he tried to tell me so—but he couldn’t make any communication—they rarely can—so he left the tiny implement, that we might know and understand.”
“H’m, yes;” and Stone sat thinking. “Now, Miss Ames, you must not be offended at what I’m about to say. I don’t disbelieve your story at all. You tell it too honestly for that. I fully believe you saw what you call a ‘vision.’ But you have thought over it and brooded over it, until you think you saw more than you did—or less! But, leaving that aside for the moment, I want you to realize that your theory of suicide, based on the ‘vision’ is not logical. Supposing your niece were guilty—as the detectives think—might not Mr. Embury’s spirit have pursued the same course?”
Aunt Abby pondered. Then, her eyes flashing, she cried, “Do you mean he put the dropper in my room to throw suspicion on me, instead of on his wife?”
“There is a chance for such a theory.”
“Sanford wouldn’t do such a thing! He was truly fond of me!”
“But to save his wife?”
“I never thought of all that. Maybe he did—or, maybe he dropped the thing accidentally—”