As Colonel Thornton bowed low over her small, blue-veined hand, he noticed the heavy lines and dark shadows which fatigue and sorrow had traced under her eyes, and his hand closed over hers in silent sympathy.
“It is good of you to come, Colonel,” she began, seating herself in a large armchair next the sofa, “and still kinder to offer to advise me, I feel stunned”—she put her hand to her head with a gesture pathetic in its helplessness, and her sad eyes filled with unbidden tears. Eleanor put out her hand, and it was instantly clasped by the older woman. “Forgive me, Colonel.” She blinked the tears away, and by a visible effort regained her lost composure. “My brother was very dear to me, and——”
“I know no man who had more friends,” replied Thornton gravely, as she paused and bit her trembling lips.
“Exactly, therefore his violent death seems monstrous!” declared Mrs. Winthrop. “Who would commit such a deed? My brother’s greatest fault was his kind heart—he accomplished so much good unobtrusively. Now, Colonel, the first thing I wish to consult you about is offering a reward for the discovery of his murderer. Can you arrange it for me?”
“Certainly. I think it a wise suggestion. How much shall it be?” Thornton drew out his notebook.
“Five thousand dollars;” then, noting Thornton’s expression, asked: “You think it too much?”
“It would perhaps be better to commence with a smaller sum—say one thousand dollars—then you can increase it, if that amount brings no results.”
“That is a capital plan. Well, James, what is it?” to the footman who had entered a second before and approached her chair.
“Mr. Brett wants to know, ma’am, if you will see him an’ Mister Hunter fo’ a few minutes. They want to ax yo’ a few questions.”