"And so could I," said Dr. Barnard. "It's a case for a wiser head than mine."
"It's a case for the detectives," said Dr. Bethel, firmly. "If this unknown foe thinks to drive me from Trafton, he must try other measures. I intend to remain, and to solve this mystery."
A moment's silence followed this decided announcement.
The old doctor nodded his approval, his daughter looked hers.
Miss Manvers sat with eyes fixed upon a spot in the carpet, biting nervously at her full red under lip, and tapping the floor with the toe of her dainty boot.
I had no desire to take a prominent part in the discussion which followed, and became as much as I could a mere observer, but, as after events proved, I made very good use of my eyes that night.
Having exhausted the subject of the grave robbery without arriving at any new conclusions, the social old doctor proposed a game of whist, cards being his chief source of evening pastime. The game was made up, Miss Manvers taking a seat opposite Dr. Barnard, and Dr. Bethel playing with Mrs. Barnard.
After watching their game for a time, Miss Barnard and myself retired to the piano. She sang several songs in a tender contralto, to a soft, well-rendered accompaniment, and as I essayed my thanks and ventured to praise her singing, she lifted her clear eyes to mine, saying, in an undertone:
"Don't think me odd, or too curious—but—will you answer a question—frankly?"