“I don’t believe it was a will; and, in fact, I’m not sure she burned anything.”
“Oh, yes, she did; I heard that French maid’s story, when she first told it, and it was impossible to believe she was making it up. Besides, Miss French saw Miss Morton rummaging in the desk.”
“She is erratic, I think, and perhaps, not over-refined; but I’m sure she never could have been the one to do that thing. Why, that woman is frightened at everything. She wouldn’t dare commit a crime. She is fearfully timid.”
“Dismissing Miss Morton, then, let us take the others, one by one. I think we may pass over Miss French and Miss Gardner. We have no reason to think of Mr. Hunt in this connection, and this brings us down to the servants.”
“Not quite to the servants,” said Carleton, with a peculiar look in his eyes that caught Rob’s attention.
“Not quite to the servants? What do you mean?”
Carleton said nothing, but with a troubled gaze he looked intently at Fessenden.
“Cicely!” exclaimed Rob. “You think that?”
“I think nothing,” said Carleton slowly, “and as an innocent man who was suspected, I hate to hint a suspicion of one who may be equally innocent. But does it not seem to you there are some questions to be answered concerning Miss Dupuy?”
Fessenden sat thinking for a long time. Surely these two men were just and even generous, and unwilling to suspect without cause.