The two policemen withdrew. Starr, gliding about with the softness of a panther, found a piece of drapery and covered the body. Helen’s lids contracted as she followed his movements. It struck her as odd that during the entire questioning he had made no reference to the communication Miss Darrow had sent him a few minutes before her death. She wondered whether he had forgotten it or was deliberately withholding it. In the latter case, what could be his reason?
“How about the motive?” suggested Lieutenant Culligore. It was one of the few times he had spoken since the investigation began. “Know of anybody who could have had a reason for getting Miss Darrow out of the way, Mr. Starr?”
Starr stood for a moment with head lowered, deep in thought. Then he slowly shook his finely proportioned head. “No, I don’t. I knew Miss Darrow quite well. As far as I am aware, she had no enemies. I can’t imagine why——”
He checked himself. Then he gaped, and his eyes widened, and he looked as though an important matter had just occurred to him. Finally, with a sheepish smile, he began to search his pockets.
“This dreadful affair has upset me completely,” he murmured; and then, as if in answer to the question that had flashed through Helen’s mind a few moments before, he produced a crumpled piece of paper. “If I had not been so flustered I should have shown you this at once,” he added.
He smoothed out the message and handed it to the stout man. The latter’s face clouded as he read it aloud:
Mr. Shei, like a fool, rushes in where angels might fear to tread.
V. D.
A pause followed the reading. Culligore’s upper lip brushed the tip of his nose, a sign that he had found a problem to ponder. A blank expression came into the stout man’s face. He looked bewilderedly at Starr.
“What do you suppose she meant by that?” he asked.