[CHAPTER XXI]
AN INTERNATIONAL INTRIGUE
AS her voice ceased on the last solemn word Eleanor read astonishment and incredulity written on her listeners’ faces, and her heart sank. She bit her lips to hide their trembling.
“How did you discover Senator Carew was dead, Miss Thornton?” asked the Secretary harshly. “It has been testified that the interior of the landau was dark and that the carriage lamps had been extinguished.”
“I did not see he was dead,”—Eleanor hesitated. “After opening the carriage door I spoke to him several times. On getting no reply, I put out my hand and accidentally touched his chest, and my fingers encountered the round base of the letter file.” Her large eyes filled with horror at the recollection. “I did not, of course, know what it was then, but I realized that something was dreadfully wrong. The Senator’s silence, the touch of that cold metal in such a place terrified me. I drew back, instinctively closed the carriage door, and fled to my house. The next morning I heard of the murder from Annette.”
“Why did you not come forward with this information then?” asked Brett sternly.
“Because I was afraid.” Eleanor threw out her hands appealingly. “I had no one to verify my statements, and I feared I would be charged with the crime. Confident of my own innocence, I did not think any information I might furnish would assist the arrest of the guilty person.”
“You should have spoken sooner,” said Colonel Thornton sharply. He tempered his rebuke by rising and leading Eleanor to his own comfortable chair, into which she sank wearily. “But the harm your silence has done can fortunately be remedied. Philip Winthrop,”—swinging around on the young man,—“your plea that you lacked the weapon used is puerile; you could easily have picked one up at the club; letter files are kept on most desks. Knowing where Senator Carew was to be on Monday night, you laid your plans carefully beforehand, and with devilish ingenuity picked out an unusual weapon, so that it would be harder to trace the murder to you.”
“You lie!” growled Winthrop fiercely; then, addressing them all, “I had nothing whatever to do with the Senator’s death. She did it, though your misplaced sympathy blinds you to the truth.”