Rhoda trembled at the recollection.
“Who was the murderer?” she asked in a whisper.
The housekeeper shook her head.
“Nobody knows from that day to this,” she answered. “The inquest was held, after being put off, and they brought it in ‘by some person unknown.’ But people talked, and it was very unpleasant for us all.”
“What did they say?” asked Rhoda hoarsely.
The housekeeper closed the window, and went to the door, looked out and came back again.
“These aren’t things one likes to talk about, even now,” she said. “Of course the thing was really clear enough. It was a thief tried to rob the house, did get in a little way, and poor Langford went down and struggled with him and got killed.”
“How was he killed?” asked Rhoda.
“He must have been flung down into the fireplace with so much force that it killed him, they said. He was found with his head in the stone fireplace, covered with blood and dead. Fractured skull, the doctors said he died of. But his hands were gashed as if he’d been struggling with some one for a knife.”
Rhoda was listening, in a state of stupefaction with horror. But she would not betray herself. Sitting very still, with her head bent, she listened.