“No need to worry about father; he can find his way about in the dark like a cat,” responded Barbara with unabated cheerfulness. “Seems to me, Margaret, you and father are getting mighty chummy these days.”
The sudden darkness into which Barbara's impatient fingers, pressing against the electric light buttons, plunged the library and its occupants, prevented her seeing the curious glance which Mrs. Brewster shot at her. Helen, who had listened to their chatter with growing impatience, looked back over her shoulder.
“Hurry, Barbara, and come upstairs. Now, Margaret,” and she piloted the widow along the hall toward the staircase without giving her an opportunity to answer Barbara's last remark. Barbara, pausing only long enough to pull back the portieres of the hall door and arrange them as they hung customarily, turned to go upstairs just as Grimes came down the hall from the dining room carrying a large tray with pitchers of ice water and glasses.
“I thought you had gone to your room, Grimes,” she remarked, as the butler waited respectfully for her to pass him.
“I've just come in, miss, and found Murray had left the tray in the dining room,” explained Grimes hurriedly. “I hope, miss, I'll not disturb the ladies by knocking at their doors now with this ice water.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Brewster and Miss Helen have only just gone upstairs.” Barbara paused in front of the butler and poured out a glass of water. “I can't wait, Grimes, I am too thirsty.”
“Certainly, miss, that's all right.” Grimes craned his head around and looked up and down the hall, then leaning over he placed the tray on a convenient table and stepped close to Barbara.
“I've been reading the newspapers very carefully, miss,” he began, taking care to keep his voice lowered. “Especially that part of Mr. Turnbull's inquest which tells about the post-mortem.”
“Well, what then?” asked Barbara quickly as the butler paused and again glanced up and down the hall.
“Just this, miss,” he spoke almost in a whisper. “The doctors do say poor Mr. Turnbull was poisoned by acca—aconitine,” stumbling over the word. “It's a curious thing, miss, that I brought some of that very drug into this house last Sunday.”