At last Marigny spoke. His voice was low, his tones monotonous and uninflected.
“Aunt Abby—Aunt Westminster Abbey” the words came slowly.
Miss Ames gave a startled jump. Her face blanched and she trembled as she clutched Fibsy’s arm.
“That’s what Sanford used to call me!” she whispered. “Can it really be his spirit talking to me through the medium!”
“Don’t worry,” the voice went on, “don’t grieve for me—it’s all right—let it go that I took my own life—”
“But did you, Sanford—did you?” Miss Ames implored.
“It would be better you should never know.”
“I must know. I’ve got to know! Tell me, Sanford. It wasn’t Eunice?
“No—it wasn’t Eunice.”
“Was it—oh, San—was it—I?”