“He couldn’t, eh? Well, will you tell me where he died in my house?” Burnham’s manner waxed truculent. “I have searched every room with Palmer and Detective Mitchell and we found no trace of any one, let alone two persons, having been there drinking—what was it? Oh, yes, cherry brandy.”
“Every room was in order,” added Palmer. “No sign of confusion. Frankly, I agree with Burnham, the man must have been taken to his house, dead.”
Maynard stared at the speaker. “Do you mean to tell me seriously that you two men believe a dead body was carried into Burnham’s house in broad daylight between the hours of three and five in the afternoon without any one seeing it done?”
“I do,” announced Burnham firmly. “As to the hours, don’t place too much reliance on Evelyn’s statement regarding the time she found the body; Evelyn is very heedless and a few hours miscalculation in time wouldn’t disturb her.”
A subtle change in Burnham’s tone as he mentioned Evelyn’s name caught Maynard’s attention and looking up quickly he saw Palmer was watching Burnham, a curious glint in his eye which Maynard found difficult to fathom.
“Evelyn told me that she had her watch examined and that it keeps excellent time,” stated Hayden. “Of course we are all liable to make mistakes in the hour; but in this instance Evelyn is unshaken in her belief that she found the body in the library at about four o’clock, and that it was not there when she was in the room at half past two.”
“There would be no object in Evelyn lying as to the time,” exclaimed Palmer, and his heavy frown indicated his temper was rising. “I hardly think, Burnham, you can impugn her testimony.”
“Don’t be a fool!” retorted Burnham hotly. “The girl is proverbially careless; carelessness is at the bottom of the confusion in time.”
Only Hayden’s strong hand kept Palmer in his seat. “Don’t excite yourself, Burnham,” he advised sternly, “and tell us quietly just what your theory is regarding the murder. As for you, Palmer, shut up!” His half-bantering tone conveyed a deeper meaning and Palmer, observing Burnham’s flushed countenance, held back his angry answer.
“My theory,” repeated Burnham thoughtfully, as he passed a damp handkerchief across his face. “The man was taken to my house dead and the murderer made his escape before Evelyn came up from the kitchen.”