Craig’s finger remained motionless for a longer period, then once again it spelled a message to her, and as she caught its full significance, she with difficulty checked a scream. With shaking fingers she tapped out the question:
“Who murdered Bruce Brainard?”
Breathlessly she waited for the response.
Slowly, very slowly Craig’s finger checked off the answer, and Dorothy, her senses reeling, leaned far over the bed and looked into Craig’s eyes. They held the light of reason. With a choking sob she sank senseless to the floor.
CHAPTER XXI
BLIND MAN’S BUFF
VERA glanced neither to the right nor to the left as she walked with firm steps toward the library, and thereby missed seeing a face peering at her from behind the folds of the portières which hung in front of the reception-room entrance. Her fixed resolve to get the interview with Detective Mitchell over and done with aided her in suppressing all sign of agitation, and her demeanor was calm and collected when she approached Mrs. Porter, who occupied her customary seat before the library table. Mitchell had planted himself at the opposite side of the table and spread several typewritten sheets before him. He did not rise on Vera’s entrance.
Mrs. Porter, who sat with one eye on the door, was the first to address Vera.
“Detective Mitchell desires to question you, Vera,” she said. “Sit here by me.” And she touched the girl reassuringly.
Vera almost exclaimed aloud at the coldness of her fingers. “Are you having a chill, Mrs. Porter?” she asked in alarm, observing the bluish hue of her lips. “Would you like some brandy?”
“No.” Mrs. Porter’s tone did not encourage further solicitude. “As soon as Mr. Mitchell completes his visit I shall go for a walk. Continue your remarks, Mr. Mitchell.”