“That walk upon the roof of Miss Anna’s villa must give a fine view of the surrounding country.”
“Fine indeed, and it has a history, and a mystery. About twenty-five years ago, Mr. Joshua Farnsworth died there, it is believed, by an unknown hand.”
“In what manner?” asked his visitor, full of interest.
“As I was informed by my wife and others of the residents of the neighborhood, Mr. Farnsworth, who was in his usual excellent health the evening of his death, had gone to the village postoffice, and while perusing a letter just received, a hand was laid upon his shoulder by a stranger, who said in a low tone, ‘Joshua!’
“Mr. Farnsworth turned very pale, the two went out, and walked to ‘My Lady’s Manor,’ talking earnestly. Later in the evening they were seen upon the roof, seated upon the bench that lines the ironwork balustrade, still engaged in earnest conversation, and a few hours after, the villagers were shocked to hear that Mr. Farnsworth was found there, dead, and the stranger gone, no one knew when nor where.”
“But was there no investigation as to the cause of his death?”
“Yes, and the verdict at the inquest was death from heart failure; but those who witnessed the meeting at the postoffice, and the villagers who saw them on the walk upon the roof believe that the stranger took his life.”
“And you say that no one knew how and when the stranger left the place?”
“No. Judge and Mrs. Lacy were visiting there at the time. They and Mrs. Farnsworth had retired, as had the servants, all the doors and windows were locked for the night and the shutters closed; and thus they were found when about midnight search was made for Mr. Farnsworth. Not a footfall had been heard, or sound of any kind giving token of the departure of the stranger. It was, and has remained a mystery.”
An elegant suburban home indeed was “My Lady’s Manor”—a three-storied granite building, light gray in color, with sea-green cornice and shutters and partly screened by maple trees from the road leading to Dorton.