“That is easily proven,” declared Kent. “An autopsy—”
“Helen asked the coroner to hold one.”
Kent stared—the twins were certainly in earnest.
“My advice to you is to wait until you hear the result of the post-mortem from Coroner Penfield,” he said gravely. “Until we know definitely what killed Jimmie, speculation is idle.”
Barbara rose at once. “I thought you would be more sympathetic,” she remarked, and her voice was a bit unsteady. “I am sorry to have troubled you.”
In an instant Kent was by her side. “Barbara,” he entreated. “I promise solemnly to aid you in every possible way. My only happiness is in serving you,” his voice was very tender. “I slave here day in and day out that I may sometime be able to make a home for you. Don't leave me in anger.”
“I was not angry, only deeply hurt,” Barbara confessed. “I have so longed to see you. I—I needed you! I—” The rest was lost as she bowed her head against Kent's broad shoulder, and his impassioned whispers of devotion brought solace to her troubled spirit.
“I must go,” declared Barbara ten minutes later. “Father would make a fearful scene if he knew I had been here to see you.” She picked up her hand-bag, preparatory to leaving. “Then I can tell Helen that you will aid us?”
“Yes.” Kent stopped on his way to the door. “I will try and see the coroner this afternoon. In the meantime, Babs, can't you tell me what makes you suspect that Jimmie might have been killed?”
“I have nothing tangible to go on,” she admitted. “Only a woman's instinct—”