“Dead?”
He nodded gravely, then added: “Worse—murdered.”
The girl's face whitened, and then slowly the color flushed back into her cheeks until they were a vivid red. For a moment she looked at us as if not believing what had been said. Then slowly she went to a near-by box and sank down upon it. There was no doubt she was surprised and also horrified at the news she had heard.
As she did not speak, the chief nervously shifted his weight and threw a puzzled glance in my direction. Purposely I turned my eyes away, and in a moment, in an embarrassed voice, he said:
“You see, Florence, it's a bit awkward. You went away from Mr. Warren's very suddenly.”
For the first time the girl showed a bit of temper, as though it had just dawned upon her that the chief would not have taken the long trip from the village just to tell her Mr. Warren was dead. She spoke in a voice a little nervous and at the same time sharp.
“Well, Suppose I did; that's my business, is it not?”
The chief shook his head. “I am afraid not,” was the slow response. “In a sense it's mine—now. You see the remark you made to Mr. Warren's housekeeper made it necessary to find you.”
She looked at him as if not understanding and then half stammered: “What remark?”
“That Mr. Warren ought to be killed,” was the cold reply.