Lunch was a rather quiet affair and it was not until we had gone out on the veranda for our smoke that any one mentioned the inquest. Then, when we had settled back in our chairs to enjoy the thirty minutes which remained before our return to the Court House, I asked what they thought of the morning session.
Carter, watching the smoke from his cigar as it curled away in the breeze, replied:
“Well, Pelt. It was not productive of any information. The most remarkable thing to me was the fact they did not ask that housekeeper a single question about the secretary. After her remarks last evening one would have expected that they would have been followed up.”
“I have an idea,” said Ranville, “they may have saved that for this afternoon. There was only one thing that interested me.”
“What was that?” I asked.
There was a thoughtful look on his face as he replied:
“The statement of the gardener about some one in a boat.”
“Why, you don't think there was anything in that?” was my surprised comment. “He did not even know if the boat had come from Warren's shore.”
“Maybe,” drawled the Englishman. “You want to remember that so far there has been no evidence of any one who had been to the house except the Chinaman. Now the housekeeper says she heard some one in the library just as she knocked on the door; heard the glass break. Perhaps she did, and if so, I have an idea that Warren had already been killed, and maybe she heard the murderer.”
“But, good God, Ranville,” came Carter's disgusted voice, “that means you think the murderer smashed the glass to steal a book. I cannot believe that Warren was killed for a fool erotic book.”