“You are impossible! How dare you speak to me of my marriage with anybody, when my husband is only just dead? One word more, Alvord, on the subject, and I shall forbid you my house!”
“All right, my lady! Put on your high and mighty air, if you choose—but before you marry that man—make sure that he did not himself prepare the way for the wedding!”
“What do you mean? Are you accusing Mason of—”
“I make no accusations. But—who did kill Sanford? I know you didn’t do it—and Elliott has engaged Stone to prove that you didn’t. It is absurd, we all know, to suspect Aunt Abby—I was out of town—who is left but Mason?”
“Hush! I won’t listen to, such a suggestion! Mason was at his home that night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure! And I don’t have to have it proved by a detective either! And now, Alvord Hendricks, you may go! I don’t care to talk to anyone who can make such a contemptible accusation against a lifelong friend!”
But before Hendricks left, Elliott himself came in.
He was grave and preoccupied. He bowed a little curtly to Hendricks, and, as he took Eunice’s hand, he said, “May I see you alone? I want to talk over some business matters—and I’m pressed for time.”
“Oh, all right,” Hendricks said, “I can take a hint. I’m going. How’s your sleuth progressing, Elliott? Has Mr. Stone unearthed the murderer yet?”