At this point the other detective was heard from.
“I would like to ask,” Hallen said, “what Mrs. Wheeler meant by crying out that it was the work of a ‘phantom burglar’?”
“Not burglar—bugler,” said Mrs. Wheeler, suddenly alert.
“Bugler!” Hallen stared. “Please explain, ma’am.”
“There is a tradition in my family,” Mrs. Wheeler said, in a slow, sad voice, “that when a member of the family is about to die, a phantom bugler makes an appearance and sounds ‘taps’ on his bugle. This phenomenon occurred last night.”
“Oh, no! Spooks! But Mr. Appleby is not a member of your family.”
“No; but he was under our roof. And so I know the warning was meant for him.”
“Well, well, we can’t waste time on such rubbish,” interposed Burdon, “the bugle call had nothing to do with the case.”
“How do you explain it, then?” asked Mrs. Wheeler. “We all heard it, and there’s no bugler about here.”
“Cut it out,” ordered Burdon. “Take up the bugler business some other time, if you like—but we must get down to brass tacks now.”