“Yes, of course,” Varian answered, but his slight hesitation made the sheriff eye him keenly.
“We want the truth, you know,” he said, thoughtfully. “If them two wasn’t on good terms, you might as well say so,—’cause it’ll come out sooner or later.”
“But they were,—so far as I know.”
“Oh, well, all right. I can’t think yet, the girl shot her father. I won’t think that,—lessen I have to. But, good land, man, you say you’ve looked all over the house,—where’s the murderer, then?”
“Suicide?” laconically said the man who had come with the sheriff.
It was the first time he had spoken. He was a quiet, insignificant chap, but his eyes were keen and his whole face alert.
“Couldn’t be, Bill,” said the sheriff, “with no weapon about.”
“Might ’a’ been removed,” the other said, in his brief way.
“By whom?” asked Doctor Varian.
“By whoever came here first,” Bill returned, looking at him.