“Why?”
“Because without the arm he could not have committed the crime; therefore, if he is guilty the first thing he would do would be to get rid of the arm—if innocent he would have continued to use it.”
“But his motive?” Dorothy frowned in perplexity. “The only person he might protect by such a subterfuge never murdered Bruce Brainard.”
Wyndham studied her intently as he drew a degree closer. “Are you so very positive you know who really is guilty?” he questioned, with peculiar intonation; the look she flashed at him was her only answer, for Mrs. Porter’s entrance put an effectual end to the tête-à-tête.
“Good morning, Hugh,” she said, returning her nephew’s kiss with warmth. Pad and pencil in hand, she was on her way to make her weekly inventory of household supplies, a habit clung to as year succeeded year, and never delegated to the most trusted servant. She seldom permitted circumstances to alter the daily routine. “Dorothy, will you be here all day?”
“Yes, Mrs. Porter; this is my day off from the Tribune.”
With a relieved air Mrs. Porter walked toward the pantry. “Will you stay upstairs with Millicent, Dorothy, until I return?” she asked. “Mrs. Hall is still with her, but—” Mrs. Porter let the swing door close and beckoned her nephew and Dorothy to come nearer. “I am dissatisfied with Mrs. Hall,” she went on in an undertone. “In the last week her manner to me is totally altered—”
“Perhaps she resents your fondness for Vera,” suggested Wyndham, as Dorothy made no remark. “Professional jealousy may account for any peculiarity of manner.”
“That is possible,” acknowledged Mrs. Porter. “She is an excellent nurse, and until lately has been eminently satisfactory. I shall be greatly obliged, Dorothy, if you will go at once to Millicent and stay with her until I return.” And, not waiting for an answer, she entered the pantry. Wyndham accompanied Dorothy into the hall and strove by an appealing gesture to detain her for a few more words.
“I really can’t stop,” she protested, as he imprisoned her hand. “Mrs. Porter is frightened about Millicent—and yet, Mrs. Hall told me it was only a feverish cold, and that while she was running a temperature, she was not seriously ill. What induced Millicent to go for a walk in the grounds after midnight?” Getting no response, she added nervously, “What was her object?”