Georgie, feeling the claws beneath the velvet of Miss Wragg’s voice, could only suffer in silence. The three went out together. The two women did the talking, and Millicent soon discovered that Bower had unquestionably paid court to Helen from the first hour of his arrival in the Maloja, whereas Spencer seemed to be an utter stranger to her and to every other person in the place. This statement offered a curious discrepancy to the story retailed by Mackenzie’s assistant. But it strengthened her case against Helen. She grew more determined than ever to go on to the bitter end.
A communal official raised no difficulty about giving the name of the occupant of the grave marked by the seventh cross from the tomb she described. A child was buried there, a boy who died three years ago. With Beryl Wragg’s assistance, she cross examined the man, but could not shake his faith in the register.
The parents still lived in the village. The official knew them, and remembered the boy quite well. He had contracted a fever, and died suddenly.
This was disappointing. Millicent, prepared to hear of a tragedy, was confronted by the commonplace. But the special imp that attends all mischief makers prompted her next question.
“Do you know Christian Stampa, the guide?” she asked.
The man grinned. “Yes, sigñora. He has been on the road for years, ever since he lost his daughter.”
“Was he any relation to the boy? What interest would he have in this particular grave?”
The custodian of parish records stroked his chin. He took thought, and reached for another ledger. He ran a finger through an index and turned up a page.
“A strange thing!” he cried. “Why, that is the very place where Etta Stampa is buried. You see, sigñora,” he explained, “it is a small cemetery, and our people are poor.”