Landis nodded.
“It seems likely. Miss Mount and Harrison. Ethel is about twenty-one. Miss Mount has been with Harrison for twenty-three years. And she must have been a beauty as a girl, sir. She’s a beauty now. That theory fits all the facts.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Bernard thoughtfully.
They finished their dinner quickly, went down to the Pennsylvania for the car and started their long drive back to Harrison’s home. On the way, each was busy with his own thoughts. As they passed the nearby town and drew close to the house, Bernard cleared his throat and spoke, softly.
“Graham will have to talk now,” he said, “and so will Miss Mount, afterwards! But we’ll keep it all from Ethel Graham if we can.”
Landis ran the car into the untenanted garage and they walked around the house together on the crunching gravel and rang the front door bell, tired but better satisfied.
Stimson answered it with unusual alacrity and they saw at once that a good deal of his poise had deserted him.
“What’s up, Stimson?” Landis inquired.
“Something very serious has happened in your absence, sir!”
“What?” asked Landis sharply. “Has somebody committed suicide?”