“Very well,” returned Avice. “Go on, and get whatever you like. As for me, I’m far more concerned in hunting down my uncle’s murderer. And I doubt if that coroner man will do it. He’s a perfect lump! He’ll never find out anything!”
“Why, Avice,” remonstrated Hoyt, “what could he find out tonight? It is a mysterious affair, and as we here know nothing of the crime, how could Mr. Berg discover anything from us?”
“But he has no brains, no intelligence, no ingenuity!”
“Coroners rarely have. It is their province only to question and learn the circumstances. ‘Sleuthing’ is what you have in mind, and that must be done by detectives.”
“I know it,” cried Avice, eagerly; “that’s what I said at first. Oh, Leslie, won’t you get the very best detectives there are and put them on the case at once?”
“Wait a moment, Avice,” said Mrs. Black, coldly. “I am not sure you are in absolute authority here. I have something to say in the decisions.”
“But surely, Mrs. Black, you want to spare no pains and no expense to learn who killed Uncle Rowly!”
“You talk very glibly of expense, my dear Avice. Until your uncle’s will is read, how do you know who will be in a position to bear these expenses you are so ready to incur?”
Avice looked at the older woman with scorn. “I don’t quite follow you,” she said, slowly; “but surely, whoever inherits my uncle’s fortune, owes first the duty of bringing his murderer to justice!”
Leslie Hoyt looked very grave. “As Mr. Trowbridge’s lawyer,” he said, “I know the contents of the will. It will be read after the funeral. Until then, I am not at liberty to disclose it. I must go now, as I have some investigations to make myself. By the way, Avice, I brought home a Philadelphia afternoon paper, and it contains a glowing account of the début of your friend, Rosalie Banks. But, perhaps, you don’t care to see it, now?”