“Of course not!” Fessenden declared heartily. “Don’t be absurd. But have I your permission to put a few questions to Miss Burt, not in your presence?”
“Of course you have. I trust you to be kind and gentle with her, for she is a sensitive little thing; but I know whatever you may say to her, or she to you, will only make you see more clearly what a dear girl she is.”
Fessenden was far from sure of this, but, having gained Carleton’s permission to interview Miss Burt, he said no more about her just then.
For a long time the two men discussed the situation. But the more they talked the less they seemed able to form any plausible theory of the crime. At last Fessenden said, “There is one thing certain: if we are to believe Harris’s statement about the locks and bolts, no one could have entered from the outside.”
“No,” said Carleton; “and so we’re forced to turn our attention to some one inside the house. But each one in turn seems so utterly impossible. We cannot even suggest Mrs. Markham or Miss Morton——”
“I don’t altogether like that Miss Morton. She acted queerly from the beginning.”
“Not exactly queerly; she is not a woman of good breeding or good taste, but she only arrived that afternoon, and it’s too absurd to picture her stabbing her hostess that night.”
“I don’t care how absurd it is; she profited by Miss Van Norman’s death, and she was certainly avid to come into her inheritance at once.”
“Yes, I know,” said Schuyler almost impatiently. “But I saw Miss Morton when she first came downstairs, and though she was shocked, she really did nobly in controlling herself, and even in directing others what to do. You see, I was there, and I saw them all, and I’m sure that Miss Morton had no more to do with that dreadful deed than I had.”
“Then what about her burning that will as soon as Miss Van Norman was dead?”