There could be no doubt that the old lady had been fearfully attacked. Nor could there be any doubt of robbery. The ransacked desk, the open safe, the cut-out pocket, added to the state of the body itself, left no room for theories of accident or self-destruction.
"Holler for the doctor," commanded Purdy, instinctively taking the helm. "You telephone him, Campbell, and then he'll see about the coroner—or whoever he wants. And I think we'd oughter call up Mr. Bowen, what say, Miss Iris?"
"Mr. Bowen—why?"
"Oh, I dunno; it seems sorter decent, that's all."
"Very well, do so."
"I—I suppose I ought to telephone to Mr. Bannard——"
"Sure you ought to. But let's get the people up here first, then you can get long distance to New York afterward."
Once over the first shock of horror, Purdy's sense of responsibility asserted itself, and he was thoughtful and efficient.
"All of you go outa this room," he directed, "I'll take charge of it till the police get here. This is a mighty strange case, an' I can't see any light as to how it could 'a' happened. But it did happen—poor Mis' Pell is done for, an' I'll stand guard over her body till somebody with more authority gets here. You, Agnes, be ready to wait on the door, and Polly, you look after Miss Iris. Campbell, you telephone like I told you——"
Submissively they all obeyed him. Iris, with an effort, rose from the couch and went out to the living room. There, she sat in a big chair, and stared at nothing, until Polly, watching, became alarmed.