“None.”
“Found any weapon?”
“No.” Ferguson’s tone was glum. His gaze, shifting about the room, happened to light on Richards and he saw him start and stiffen in a listening attitude.
Ferguson’s eyes brightened, and he checked further speech. Suddenly he caught the sound of a soft footfall and, as Richards started forward, he interposed his bulky form between him and the folding doors as they were pushed apart and Judith Richards stepped into the library. With a shove which sent the detective sprawling, Richards gained his wife’s side.
“Why have you come down, dearest?” he asked tenderly, bending his head until his mouth almost touched her ear.
She shook her head, as her hand crept into his and leaned her weight on his protecting arm.
“I came down to find,” she commenced, and her soft voice, though low-pitched, reached the two listening men, then she stopped in fright as, moving slightly forward, she caught a glimpse over Richards’ shoulder of Penfield regarding her. “Joe—who is that?”
“Ah, eh—” Richards stammered, then caught himself up. “It is Mr. Penfield, dearest.” She raised her eyes and regarded him closely, and more slowly he repeated, “Dr. Penfield.”
She shook her head in bewilderment, and drew her silk wrapper more closely about her; the movement brought into view the large sewing bag suspended by its cord from her wrist.
“I came down to find,” she commenced again——