Breakfast had been a gloomy meal, household and guests eating in a silence that veiled uneasiness or suspicion, the servants unnatural and morose, Miss Mount red-eyed and taciturn. If the crisis had found her composed and resourceful, evidently night and privacy had brought a softer mood.
With the departure of Harrison’s torn body the atmosphere lightened a little. But Landis was relieved when he left the house to find Bernard quietly smoking his pipe in the sunken garden. Their own position in the household was hardly one to inspire cordiality.
“Hello,” he said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s all right, if you don’t overdo it.”
“I’ve been thinking,” repeated Landis with dignity, “that it might be worth while to find out why Mrs. Graham screamed. It’s funny no one has mentioned it except Joel.”
Bernard puffed at his pipe.
“Get hold of Mrs. Graham and we’ll ask her. Never know when we’ll strike a trail.”
Landis found the Grahams descending the main staircase on their way out for a walk. With a tiny frown and then a laugh, Mrs. Graham accompanied him to the sunken garden.
They found seats in the ornamental summerhouse, from which they could see Graham wandering about the billiard-room.
“Mrs. Graham,” began Landis, “we’ve a funny question to ask you? Did you happen to scream last Wednesday night?”