“I know she has, and I admire her for it.” Mrs. Porter spoke warmly, and Vera colored with pleasure. “Do put your clever wits to work, Vera, and arrange it so that Dorothy can get leave from her office and spend a week here at the least. Her cheerful society will do Millicent good. I wish, my dear, that I could see more of you,” and Mrs. Porter impulsively kissed her. “But you sleep all day and work all night, and I sleep all night.” She rose abruptly. “I must go back to Millicent; the child is grieving her heart out.” She made a hesitating step toward the door leading into Vera’s bedroom. “Did you mention in your testimony at the inquest this afternoon that you saw Millicent down in the library when you went to telephone to the coroner?”
“No.” Vera caught the look of relief which lighted Mrs. Porter’s eyes for a brief instant, then the older woman continued on her way to the door, but she stopped again on its threshold.
“Do you know what became of the key to the next room after they removed Mr. Brainard’s body to the morgue in Alexandria?” she asked.
“No, I was asleep at that hour.” Vera came nearer. “Is the bedroom locked?”
“Yes. I suppose the police—” Mrs. Porter’s voice trailed off, then she added, “Good night,” and was gone.
Vera went thoughtfully over to the bedside and, seeing that Craig Porter still slept, she moved over to the desk and, picking up a pad and pencil, tried to reduce her ideas to writing. The words repeated to her by Mrs. Hall, who had been told the jury’s verdict by the coroner, recurred to her:
“We find that Bruce Brainard came to his death while spending the night at the residence of Mrs. Lawrence Porter, between the hours of two and five in the morning of January 8th, from the severing of the carotid artery in his throat, and from the nature of the wound and other evidence produced here we find that he was foully murdered by a party or parties unknown.”
“By a party unknown,” Vera murmured, dashing her pencil through the words she had scrawled on her pad. “But how long will the ‘party’ remain ‘unknown’— Merciful God! If there was only someone I could turn to!” and she wrung her hands as she gazed despairingly at the desk calendar.
A low tap at the hall door aroused her and, hastening across the room, she looked into the hall. Murray was standing by the door.
“Your sister is out on the portico, miss,” he announced in a low voice.