The detective needed no second bidding.
“Another point,” he began. “There never would have been a post-mortem examination if Miss Helen McIntyre hadn't asked for it. She knew of the ill-feeling between the men and suspected foul play on Rochester's part.”
“Wait,” commanded Kent. “Has Miss McIntyre substantiated that statement?”
“Not yet,” admitted Ferguson. “I stopped at her house, but the butler said the young ladies had retired and could not see any one.” Kent, who had called there on the way to keep his dinner engagement with Clymer, had been met with the same statement, to his bitter disappointment. He most earnestly desired to see the twins and to see them together, to make one more effort to induce them to confide in him; for that they had some secret trouble he was convinced; he longed to be of aid, but his hands were tied through lack of information.
“Don't imply motives to Miss McIntyre's act until you have verified them, Ferguson,” he cautioned. “Go on with your theories.”
“One moment,” Clymer broke into the conversation. “Did Rochester tell you, Ferguson, that he had recognized Turnbull in his burglar disguise?”
“No, sir; I never had an opportunity to ask him, for he disappeared Tuesday night and has not been seen or heard of since,” Ferguson rejoined.
“Hold on,” Kent checked him with an impatient gesture. “I had a telegram from Rochester this morning, stating he was in Cleveland.”
“I didn't forget about the telegram,” retorted Ferguson. “It was to consult you about that, that I hunted you up to-night. That telegram was bogus.”
“What!” Kent half rose from his chair.