“Will it make any difference to us?” and Viola included her aunt in her gesture.
“Well, you, Miss Carwell,” and Blossom nodded to the older lady, “have your own money in trust funds. Mr. Carwell could not touch them. But he did use part of the fortune left you by your mother,” he added to Viola.
“I don't mind that,” was her steady answer. “If my father needed my money he was welcome to it. That is past and gone. What now remains to me?”
“Very little,” answered LeGrand Blossom. “I may be able to pull the business through and save something, but there is a lot of money lost—spent or gone somewhere. I haven't yet found out. Your father speculated too much, and unwisely. I told him, but he would pay no heed to me.”
“Do you think he knew, before his death, that his affairs were in such bad shape?” asked the dead man's sister.
“He must have, for I saw him going over the books several times.”
“Do you think this knowledge impelled him to--to end his life?” faltered Viola.
LeGrand Blossom considered a moment before answering. Then he slowly said:
“It was either that, or—or, well, some one killed him. There are no two ways about it.”
“I believe some one killed him!” burst out Viola. “But I think the authorities have made a horrible mistake in detaining Mr. Bartlett,” she added. “Don't you, Mr. Blossom?”