“My sweet, you're not yourself. You mustn't let it get on your nerves, you know.”
She gave a reluctant laugh. “Well, it is on them. You've got to help, Randall.”
He did not answer for a moment, and then he said with a marked drawl: “What leads you to suppose that I can help?”
“You did. You practically said you knew something.”
“Your imagination runs away with you, my pet. I said I didn't want the mystery to be solved.”
“Well, it's got to be!” said Stella fiercely.
“I'm very much afraid that it may be,” said Randall.
“Randall, what is it you know? Why do you say you're afraid it may be? You didn't kill Aunt Harriet!”
“Certainly not,” he replied calmly. “In fact, I regard Aunt Harriet's death as an entirely needless complication. You had better tell me how it happened.”
“Well, she said she didn't feel well at breakfast. Dinner the evening before had been about the worst ever, and Guy suggested it might have something to do with it.”