Judith’s pretty color, which had come when she found him waiting for her in the boudoir, had waned. “Lately?” she queried. “Do you mean within the last few days?”
“Yes; to be exact, since Austin’s Hale’s mur—death,” he caught himself up. “Don’t mind, darling,” observing the shadows which had gathered in her eyes. “I am sorry I mentioned the subject. Your father, like the rest of us, is upset by the tragedy—we will all return to normal when the mystery is solved.”
“When?” Judith contemplated her well-fitting suède slipper and the embroidered silk stockings just peeping beneath her skirt. “Have the police advanced any new theories?”
“Only that the crime was premeditated.”
Judith looked up. “Premeditated? Then some one must have known of Austin’s plans to come here Tuesday night.” She drew in her breath sharply. “Some bitter enemy.” She again looked directly up at Richards and found him gazing in the fire. “What is your theory?”
“My theory? I hardly knew—know anything of Austin, therefore it is difficult for me to form a theory.” Judith took silent note of his quickly covered confusion, and her hand, still resting in his, moved uneasily. “Was Austin the type of man to have an implacable enemy?”
“N—no,” Judith drawled out the word. “He sometimes had a nasty way of speaking, which used to annoy Uncle John; but he was generally very agreeable, and some people found him fascinating.”
“Meaning women?” Judith did not reply at once, and Richards’ eyes narrowed. “You think that Austin was killed on impulse?”
“So it appears to me,” she confessed and suppressed a shudder.
There was a brief silence, then Richards roused himself. “I agree with you,” he said. “The nature of the weapon used proves that.”