“Wait!” she commanded imperiously. “I’ve just thought of something. Chet’s revolver! I know where it went.—She took it.” Again she pointed accusingly at Ada. “I saw her in Chet’s room the other day, and I wondered then why she was snooping about there.” She gave Vance a triumphant leer. “That’s specific, isn’t it?”
“What day was this, Miss Greene?” As before, his calmness seemed to counteract the effect of her venom.
“What day? I don’t remember exactly. Last week some time.”
“The day you were looking for your emerald pin, perhaps?”
Sibella hesitated; then said angrily: “I don’t recall. Why should I remember the exact time? All I know is that, as I was passing down the hall, I glanced into Chet’s room—the door was half open—and I saw her in there . . . by the desk.”
“And was it so unusual to see Miss Ada in your brother’s room?” Vance spoke without any particular interest.
“She never goes into any of our rooms,” declared Sibella. “Except Rex’s, sometimes. Julia told her long ago to keep out of them.”
Ada gave her sister a look of infinite entreaty.
“Oh, Sibella,” she moaned; “what have I ever done to make you dislike me so?”
“What have you done!” The other’s voice was harsh and strident, and a look almost demoniacal smouldered in her levelled eyes. “Everything! Nothing! Oh, you’re clever—with your quiet, sneaky ways, and your patient, hangdog look, and your goody-goody manner. But you don’t pull the wool over my eyes. You’ve been hating all of us ever since you came here. And you’ve been waiting for the chance to kill us, planning and scheming—you vile little——”