“He'd like us to think he does,” said Guy scornfully. “And if you can tell me what the devil could make him want to dispose of Aunt Harriet you're darned clever. I thought he might have had a hand in uncle's death, though I still can't see how, but setting aside the fact that he wasn't here when aunt died, why should he do it?”
“I don't know. I mean, I don't think he did do it. But everything's like a nightmare, and at least he's sane.” She gripped her hands together nervously. “Why did you come out with all that rubbish about Aunt Harriet's money?”
Guy laughed. “Well, it's perfectly true, and it's bound to come out, so why should I try and conceal it?”
“Guy, you won't do anything silly, will you?” she asked anxiously.
“I'm not likely to. You keep your hair on,” he said, and walked away towards the morning-room.
It was not until after dinner that Randall rang up. As soon as she heard his soft voice Stella said: “Oh, it's you at last! Where have you been? I—”
“At the races, sweetheart. And what do you want with my unworthy self?”
“Randall, the most ghastly thing's happened. Aunt Harriet's dead!”
There was a slight pause. “Aunt Harriet is what?” asked Randall.
“Dead,” Stella repeated. “This morning. And they think it's poison.” The silence that greeted this pronouncement was so prolonged that she said: “Are you there? They think she was poisoned, I tell you!”