“Yes; it is a favorite one with her. An heirloom, from a Colonial ancestor. It encircled the entire back of her head, when whole.”
“At what time was she killed?” asked Gray Haviland. He had stood, till now, a silent listener to the conversation between Pauline and the Doctor.
“Oh, many hours ago,” returned Stanton; “six or eight at least. Evidently she was preparing for bed, and trying the effect of some new finery.”
“Those things are not new,” put in Anita; “she has had them all a long time. But she must have been admiring herself, for when we found her she had on all her finest jewels.”
“What?” cried Dr. Stanton; “where are they?”
“I took most of them off,” replied Pauline, quietly, “and put them in the safe. If the police people must come, I am not willing to have a fortune in jewels here to tempt their cupidity. And I have a right. It is no secret that my cousin Carrington and I are her heirs. But that snake perplexes me beyond all else. If you knew her aversion to them,—even pictured ones——”
“I do know it,” returned the doctor; “I have often heard her say so. Ah,” as he stepped carefully about, “she was adorning herself; see, here is powder scattered on the floor. She used this powder-puff, shaking it over the rug and floor.”
“I saw that the first thing!” cried Pauline, excitedly; “and there was a——” she stopped, looking in amazement at the white dust on the floor. For where she had seen a distinct footprint, as of a stockinged foot, there was now merely a blurred whirl! Some one had obliterated that footprint!
“A what?” asked the doctor, sharply.
“Nothing. A—a lot of powder spilled,—I was going to say.”