“But it isn’t rubbish, Marjorie!” interrupted Marie Louise. “When we got to the tea-house, Lily suggested that we go out to the garage just for fun to see whether the dog was still there—or whether anything had happened to him. And, as I said before, we found him dead!”
“Really?” asked Marjorie, incredulously. “Had he been shot, or hurt in any way?”
“No, we looked closely, and we couldn’t find a single mark on his body. He must have died of heart failure!”
“Poor little fellow!” murmured Marjorie. “Well, I’m glad he got one good square meal before he died.”
“Marj,” asked Marie Louise in surprise, “aren’t you concerned with the reason for his death?”
“I can pretty well guess it,” replied the other, lightly. “He probably was starving when he came to us yesterday, and then all that food was just about too much for his stomach—all at once. We ought to have had better sense, and fed him more gradually. But he seemed to enjoy it so!”
“Marj, look me straight in the eyes and tell me you don’t believe there was any other reason for his death!”
Marjorie smilingly acquiesced; she really was sincere in her refusal to attach any significance to the incident.
“I honestly don’t believe one word of all that supernatural stuff!” she said, with assurance. “Now—what did you do with the dog?”
“Left him there, of course. Wouldn’t one of the boys come and bury him?”