“Did you hear anyone pass your door—pass along the hall of the wing—between six-thirty and seven-thirty?”
“No, don’t believe I did.”
“What did you find in the front room when you got there?” Landis continued.
“Well, let’s see. Miss Mount was there. Susan was in hysterics. Isabelle lay on the floor in a faint. And—Anita was there, too, staring down at her father. Then Mrs. Graham and Helen, the other maid, turned up, and Allen, I guess. The butler was back and we were trying to revive Isabelle by this time. Finally I carried her up to her room, came down to tell Graham I’d go and, when he insisted we wait for the police, I went across the hall for some dinner. Then Allen and I went to the billiard-room and here I am. That’s all.”
“Isabelle Harrison,” said Bernard suddenly, “will be a wealthy heiress—now. She’ll be a great catch, eh?”
“Just what did you mean by that?” Russell asked.
“It ought to be clear to you,” grunted Bernard.
Russell’s eyes were dangerous.
“Well, it isn’t!”
“I mean,” said Bernard, “that Harrison’s murder will make you a rich man! Is that clear enough for you?”