CHAPTER IX—Ivy Hayes
“I’ve no faith in the police, no faith in detectives and no faith in anybody!”
This wholesale skepticism was voiced by Millicent Lindsay, and addressed to her small audience of friends gathered in her library.
“It’s outrageous,” she went on, “nearly a week has passed since my brother’s murder, and no real step has been taken to find his murderer.”
“Steps have been taken,” said Louis, “but they all seem to have been taken in the wrong direction.”
“At any rate they led nowhere,” Millicent went on. “Nobody knows anything; nobody can explain the mystery of the two shots. Nobody knows of any motive for the crime.”
“You’ve ceased to suspect Phyllis, then,” Philip Barry said, his smile a little forced as he eagerly awaited the answer.
“I have and I haven’t,” Millicent returned, speaking slowly. “Of course, it seems absurd to think a young girl like Phyllis would do such a dreadful thing—but—she won’t tell where she was, and, too, she didn’t like my brother—at least, she didn’t welcome his offer of marriage, and if she knew of his will, and I think she did, why shouldn’t I suspect her?”
“Well, quit suspecting her,” Louis growled. “Phyllis is as innocent as a baby. You’re off your head, Millicent, to dream of such a thing.”
“All right, why won’t she tell where she was at the time of the crime, then?”