“Miss Leaton!—not of Allworth Abbey!—not the daughter of Lord Leaton?” questioned the stranger in the strongest agitation.
“Oh, Lord, no, sir; not the daughter of Lord Leaton, but his niece. Lord, sir, haven’t you heard about it? I thought the story had gone all over England.”
“I have but just arrived in the country, and know nothing of the affair, but I am interested in hearing the particulars, if you will do me the favor of relating them.”
“Oh, yes, sir, certainly, with great pleasure,” said the man.
And it was indeed with very great pleasure that he commenced and related to a perfectly fresh hearer the oft-repeated awful tragedy of Allworth Abbey.
The stranger listened with the deepest interest. At the conclusion of the narrative, he said:
“The circumstances, indeed, seem to point out this young Eudora Leaton as the criminal; but from the glimpse I caught of her lovely face, she is just the last person in the world I should suspect of crime.”
“Oh, sir, we mustn’t judge by appearances. Who looked more innocent nor William Palmer? He had just the most sweetest and benevolentness face as ever was seen.”
“I know nothing of the man of whom you speak; but the face of this young girl is certainly not that of a poisoner. And so I should like you to name over to me every individual of the drawing-room circle at Allworth Abbey at the time of Lord Leaton’s sudden death.”
“Yes, sir; that is easily done, for there were very few—Lord and Lady Leaton; their only child, Miss Leaton; their niece, Miss Eudora; and their guest, the Princess Pezzilini.”