"You are going to lie down, Margery," he said, holding out his hand to help her up. "Mrs. Mellon will come over to Aunt Letitia, and you must get some sleep."
"Sleep!" she said with scorn, as he helped her to her feet. "Sleep, when things like this are occurring! Father first, and now dear old Aunt Jane! Harry, do you know where my father is?"
He faced her, as if he had known the question must come and was prepared for it.
"I know that he is all right, Margery. He has been—out of town. If it had not been for something unforeseen that—happened within the last few hours, he would have been home to-day."
She drew a long breath of relief.
"And Aunt Jane?" she asked Hunter, from the head of the attic stairs, "you do not think she is dead?"
"Not until we have found something more," he answered tactlessly. "It's like where there's smoke there's fire; where there's murder there's a body."
When they had both gone, Hunter sat down on a trunk and drew out a cigar that looked like a bomb.
"What do you think of it?" I asked, when he showed no disposition to talk.
"I'll be damned if I know," he responded, looking around for some place to expectorate and finding none.