“Yes,” said Crowell, more decidedly now, “I have had cases before where murder was committed in such an almost undiscoverable way as this. Never a case quite so mysterious, but nearly so.”
“What is your theory of the method?” asked Elliott, who was staggered by the rush of thoughts and conclusions made inevitable by the Examiner’s report.
“That’s the greatest mystery of all,” Crowell replied. He was quite calm now—apparently it was concern for the family that had made him so disturbed.
“Poison was not taken by way of the stomach, that is certain. Therefore, it must have been introduced through some other channel. But we find no trace of a hypodermic needle—”
“How utterly ridiculous!” Eunice exclaimed, her eyes blazing with scorn. “How could any one get in to poison my husband? Why, we lock all our doors at night—we always have.”
“Yes’m—exactly, ma’am,” Crowell began, rubbing his hands again; “and now, please tell me of the locking up last night. As usual, ma’am, as usual?”
“Precisely. Our sleeping rooms are those three,” she pointed to the bedrooms. “When they are locked, they form a unit by themselves, quite apart from the rest of the apartment.”
Dr. Crowell looked interested.
The apartment faced on Park Avenue, and being on the corner had also windows on the side street.
Front, enumerating from the corner and running south, were the dining-room, the large living-room, and the good-sized reception hall.