“You did it to get her money, now, to go on with your work in the bed of the Nile. Then, in order to get your cousin’s share of the fortune, you sent her away to die in the desert, having first induced her to will you her money.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Loria, feebly. “Poor joke, Stone, pretty poor joke, I say! Murdered my own aunt! Not much I didn’t!”
“Carr Loria, listen!” Impressively Stone held up his finger, to adjure silence, and at the same time he bent on Loria a glance of accusation that made him cringe. But, fascinated, he stared into Stone’s eyes, and in the death-like silence came a voice,—the voice of Lucy Carrington,—in a burst of ringing laughter! Loria’s eyes seemed to start from his head, and the sweat gathered in great drops on his forehead, as the voice of his aunt spoke: “This song is one of Carr’s favorites,” they heard, distinctly. “I’ll sing it for him.”
Then, in Miss Lucy’s high, clear notes, came the song, “Oh, Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms.”
Before the last strains came, Loria was raving like a maniac. He had never heard of the phonograph records of his aunt’s songs, for they had meant to surprise him with them on his next trip home.
“Have mercy!” he cried: “stop her! Oh, my God! what does it all mean?”
“Confess,” ordered Fleming Stone.
“I will confess! I do confess! I did send her the powder, just as you say. I wrote her to dress up like Cleopatra, and put on her pearls, and scarabs, and fasten an asp, a paper one, at her throat, and take the stuff, and it would cause Cleopatra’s beauty to come to her. I told her to hold in her hand something belonging to the man she loved. It was a great scheme,—a fine scheme,——” Loria was babbling insanely now. “I don’t see how any one ever found it out. I was so careful! I made her promise to burn all my notes and letters about it, before I would send the powder. Who suspected it? I planned everything so carefully—so carefully—Made her promise to burn everything,—everything—letters of instruction, powder-papers, everything must be burned, I said—everything,—and she said, yes, Carr, everything. Over and over I wrote it. Told her that if she left anything unburnt the charm wouldn’t work, and it didn’t. Ha, ha,” with a demoniac chuckle, “it didn’t!”
“Take me away, I can’t stand it,” moaned Pauline.
Again there was a silence. The phonograph had ceased; Loria sat, with his head fallen forward on his hands, at his table. He was still, and Stone wondered if he were alive. Then, suddenly, he lifted his head, and cried out.