“And Miss Carew, who is an equally important witness, is still confined to her bed,” volunteered Brett. “Miss Thornton tells me that she cries whenever the subject of the murder is mentioned, and that she is completely unstrung by the tragedy.”
“By the way, who is this Miss Thornton?” asked Douglas. “And what does she look like?”
“She is a cousin of Mrs. Truxton, of Georgetown”—Douglas whistled in surprise; Brett glanced at him sharply, then continued: “I am told she is Miss Carew’s most intimate friend, although about five years older. Miss Thornton must be about twenty-three. She is tall and dark, and has the most magnificent blue eyes I have ever seen in a woman’s head.”
Douglas drew in his breath sharply. “It must be the same girl whom I knew in Paris, but I had no idea then that she was related to old family friends of mine in Georgetown.” He changed the conversation abruptly. “Come, Brett, what theory have you formed?” he asked again with more emphasis.
“I think both Winthrop and Hamilton have a guilty knowledge of Senator Carew’s death, but how deeply Winthrop is implicated we have yet to learn.”
“But the motive?” argued Douglas. “It is highly improbable that Winthrop killed the Senator because he discharged a worthless servant.”
“If we could find that letter which I am convinced the Senator was writing when Winthrop entered the room yesterday afternoon, we would know the motive fast enough,” retorted Brett.
“Have you searched Carew’s belongings?”
“Yes, all of them, and all the furniture in his bedroom, sitting-room, and bath, as well as the rooms on this floor; but I couldn’t find a trace of it. I have also thoroughly searched his office at the Capitol.”
“Did you think to examine the landau? The Senator might possibly have tucked it under the carriage seat.”