“I am wondering,” he began finally, “if you can recall how Mrs. Ward appeared when you found her on your doorstep after discovering the dead man in the library?”
Evelyn wrinkled her brow in thought. “I am afraid I can’t,” she admitted. “I was in a blue funk and I just clutched her; I think I would have clutched almost any one whom I found there—even the murderer!”
Maynard shot a quick look at her. “There is a point which has been bothering me a good bit,” he said slowly. “It occurred to me that perhaps——” he stopped, to add hastily: “Please treat what I am about to say as confidential——”
Evelyn nodded. “Certainly, I promise.”
“Did Mrs. Ward have keys to the house?”
“I suppose so; no, come to think of it she must have given the keys to Jones.” Evelyn rubbed her forehead. “Mrs. Ward was to close the house at Chelsea after the servants had left and join them here.”
Maynard drew out an envelope and pencil and jotted down several words. “Do you recall, Evelyn, hearing the front door bell ring while you were in the library with the dead man?”
Evelyn’s eyes opened. “I didn’t hear any bell—then,” she stated with positiveness. “But a thousand bells might have rung and I would never have heard them in my condition of mind. Oh, if we only knew who rang the library bell we’d know who killed the man in the room.”
Maynard did not answer at once. “I imagine developments in the case depend upon the identification of the dead man,” he said. “When that mystery is solved the other details will follow in their sequence.”
“Have the police made any headway in establishing the man’s identity?”