“It doesn’t with me,” said Hardy, bluntly. “There’s no room for conjecture. It simply piles up the proof against Miss Stuart, and all your skill and even your will can’t get her off.”
A low moan was heard and a sound as of a falling body. Stone sprang to the door, and flinging it open, disclosed Pauline lying on the floor where she had just fallen. With a low exclamation, Stone picked her up and carried her to a couch. In a moment she sat up and cried, “What do you mean, Mr. Hardy? Do you think I killed Aunt Lucy?”
“There, there, Miss Stuart, don’t ask foolish questions,” and Hardy, deeply embarrassed, stood at bay. It was one thing to assert his suspicions to Fleming Stone, and quite another to have them overheard by this beautiful and indignant girl.
“How dare you!” Pauline went on. “I was at the door and I heard all you said. No, I am not ashamed of listening, I’m glad I did. Now I know what I have to fight against! And you, Mr. Stone, do you think me a murderer?”
Pauline cringed not at all. She looked more like an avenging goddess, as she confronted the two men, and her blazing eyes and frowning face challenged their replies.
“I do not, Miss Stuart,” said Stone, quietly, but Pauline responded, “How do I know? If you did, you’d say you didn’t! I have no friend, no one to stand up for me. I shall send for Carr. He will defend me.”
With a disdainful glance round, she left the room. The two men looked at one another.
“Guilty,” said Hardy.
“Never!” said Stone, and then the two went their different ways.
Hardy’s way led to the Police Headquarters, and his report there, which included Stone’s story of the tested glass, was heard with interest.