“So Turnbull's death was accidental after all,” exclaimed Ferguson. “Or was it suicide?”
“Accident,” answered Kent. “I found some nitro-glycerine pills in the umbrella stand by the hall table.” Colonel McIntyre nodded. “Evidently Turnbull put down his pill box before getting a glass of water, and in his attack of giddiness accidentally opened your box of aconitine pills, Mrs. Brewster, instead of his own, and swallowed a fatal dose, thinking they were nitroglycerine.”
Mrs. Brewster bowed her head in agreement. “That must have been it,” she said. “However, I saw Colonel McIntyre tear off the paper wrapping and open my package of pills just before dinner, and when I heard that Jimmie had died from aconitine I—I—” she stammered and stopped short.
“You suspected I had murdered him?” asked McIntyre softly.
“Yes,” she looked appealingly at him. “Forgive me, I should never have suspected you, but the pills, box and all, were missing the next morning from the hall table.”
“Turnbull must have thrown the box into the umbrella stand,” explained Kent. “That was where I found it. Did you get the securities, Sylvester?” turning to the prisoner.
“No,” sullenly. “She did,” and a jerk of his thumb indicated Helen McIntyre.
Helen raised her head and addressed them slowly.
“Jimmie and I expected Barbara to come in at any moment, and he started to leave when we saw you coming downstairs,” she turned to Mrs. Brewster. “Jimmie declared that if we were found together I might be compromised. He couldn't explain his presence without exposing father—we both thought you a forger, father,” she interpolated, as McIntyre took her hand and pressed it understandingly. “So he insisted that I should treat him like an ordinary burglar—we had both forgotten Barbara's silly wager in our horror about father. Jimmie didn't dare take the securities and father's confession with him for fear he'd be searched at the police station, and the scandal would have come out then.”
“True,” agreed McIntyre. “Go on, Helen.”