“Please, Miss French, let her tell the story in her own way,” said Rob. “It is perhaps of the utmost importance, and may lead to great results.”
Then Marie went uninterruptedly on.
“She stood in front of the desk, m’sieur; she searched eagerly for papers, reading and discarding several. Then she found some, which she saw with satisfaction, and hastily concealed in her pocket. Miss Morton is a lady who yet has pockets in her gowns. With the papers in her pocket, then, Miss Morton looks about carefully, and, thinking herself unobserved, creeps, but stealthily, to her own room. There—m’sieur, I was obliged to peep at the key-hole—there she lighted a fire in her grate, and burned those papers. With my eyes I saw her. Never would I have told, for it was not my affair, but that I fear for Miss Dupuy. It is in the air that she knows secrets concerning Miss Van Norman’s death. Ah, if one would know secrets, one should question Miss Morton.”
“This is a grave charge you bring against the lady, Marie,” said Fessenden.
“Yes, monsieur, but it is true.”
“I know it is true,” said Kitty; “I have not mentioned it before, but I saw Miss Morton go to Madeleine’s room that night, and afterward go to her own room. I knew nothing, of course, of the papers, and so thought little of the whole incident, but if she really took papers from Madeleine’s desk and burned them, it’s indeed important. What could the papers have been?”
“You know she inherited,” began Fessenden.
“Oh, a will!” cried Kitty.
“Marie, you may go now,” Rob interrupted; “you did right to tell us this, and rest assured you shall never be blamed for doing so. You will probably be questioned further, but for the present you may go. And thank you.”
Marie curtseyed and went away.