“Miss Deane”—Noyes stepped close to her side—“what are the latest developments in the Brainard”—he hesitated—“tragedy?”
“So far as I know there are no new developments, except those published in the morning newspapers.” Vera watched him narrowly, and noticed the worn lines in his face and his harassed air. “The police appear nonplussed.”
“Have they discovered any clues?” Noyes’ anxiety was palpable, and Vera looked at him with increased earnestness.
“I am not in their confidence, doctor,” she said quietly. “If they have discovered new clues I am not aware of it.”
Noyes took a quick turn up and down the room, and thereby imperiled numerous pieces of bric-à-brac as, blindly ignoring the congested arrangement of Mrs. Porter’s choice heirlooms, he thought over Vera’s statements.
“Have they decided whether Brainard’s death was suicide or murder?” he inquired, pausing in front of her.
“I believe they consider that—that—he did not kill himself.”
Noyes listened to her halting sentence with marked impatience.
“In other words, you mean that the police believe Brainard was murdered?” She nodded assents. “I gathered that was the consensus of opinion when reading the morning newspapers. And what is your opinion, Miss Deane?”
The question was unexpected, and Vera drew back. “I am not qualified to judge,” she commenced confusedly. “From the nature of the wound—”