"I didn't notice," said Iris, wearily. "Aunt Ursula was a creature of moods. She was grave or gay without apparent reason. I put up with her silly jokes usually, but to-day's performance seemed unnecessary and unkind. However, it doesn't matter now."
"No," declared Winston Bannard, "and it does no good to rake over the old lady's queer ways. We all know about her habit of playing tricks, and I, for one, don't wonder that Polly thought she screamed out to trick somebody. Nor does it matter. If Polly hadn't thought that, she couldn't have done any more than she did do to get into that room as soon as possible. Could she, now?"
"No," agreed the coroner. "Nor does it really affect our problem of how the murder was committed."
"Let me have a look into that room," said Bannard, suddenly.
"You a detective?" asked Timken.
"Not a bit of it, but I want to see its condition."
"Come on in," said the other. "They've put Mrs. Pell's body on the couch, but, except for that, nothing's been touched."
Hughes went in with Bannard and the coroner, and the three men were joined by Lawyer Chapin.
Silently they took in the details. The still figure on the couch, with face solemnly covered, seemed to make conversation undesirable.
Hughes alertly moved about peering at things but touching almost nothing. Bannard and Mr. Chapin stood motionless gazing at the evidences of crime.