“And then,” Landon went on, “usually, there’s somebody who had a quarrel with the victim, and so, can be duly suspected. But there’s nothing of that sort in this case.”
“Nobody at odds with Mr. Bruce, wasn’t there?” asked the detective, hopefully.
“Nobody,” declared Landon. “Now you may as well know all there is to know, Peterson. Mr. Braye here, is the heir to Mr. Bruce’s large fortune. After him, I inherit. If these facts are of the nature of straws to show you which way the wind blows, make the most of them. But do it openly. If you suspect Mr. Braye or myself, even in the slightest degree, tell us so. Don’t work behind our backs. We’re ready and willing to help you. That’s so, Braye?”
“Rather, Wynne! Moreover, if there’s any way to use it, the fortune of Uncle Bruce is at the disposal of anybody who can bring the criminal to justice. I don’t want the money,—at least, I can’t enjoy it, and don’t want it, considering the way it has come to me. I shall endow a hospital or something with it. For, truly,—I may be foolish, but I can’t seem to see myself living luxuriously on money that has come to me as this has. I don’t wonder that to an outsider, it might look very much as if I had removed these two people in order that I might acquire riches, or, it would have looked so, if I had been here at the time. I doubt if the most fertile imagination can invent a way I could have been the criminal when I was in East Dryden shopping with Mrs. Landon.”
“Also, Mr. Peterson,” Landon resumed, “remember that I am the next to inherit, and if I could have compassed the taking off of these two, I could doubtless have later despatched Mr. Braye, and so have come into the fortune myself.”
“Wynne,” pleaded Milly, “don’t say those things! They’re too absurd!”
“Not that, Milly dear. Mr. Peterson might easily take up some such line of deduction, and while I’m willing he should do so, and proceed in any way he chooses, I repeat that I want him to do it openly, and not try to convict Rudolph or myself, behind our backs. When I proffer him my help, it is in a real and sincere offer of assistance, and I want him to be equally frank and outspoken.”
“I guess you’re pretty safe in your attitude,” said Peterson, smiling. “Criminals don’t speak right out in meeting, like that. And I don’t suspect you gentlemen, if you are heirs to the property. I think there’s others to be suspected, and I promise you, sir, if I’m led toward any of your party here, I’ll tell you what I’m up to.”
“That’s enough, Peterson, I trust you to keep your word, and you may rely on us to help in any way we can.”
And so life at Black Aspens settled down to its former routine, at least in matters of daily household affairs. But the actuating principle of the psychic investigators had changed. Those who thoroughly believed in occultism, sought expectantly for further proofs. Those who were still uncertain, awaited developments. And those who had little or no belief in the supernatural sought some clues or hints that might point to a human criminal.