He hung up and walked to the hall doorway. Family and guests were still at lunch, for no unusual sound had penetrated from the second-floor wing to the dining-room. Russell and Anita looked up and saw him there but chose to ignore him. Presently Stimson appeared at the far side of the table. Landis caught his eye, beckoned to him and stepped back.
Stimson finished his task of the moment, then crossed the hall and entered the library. Just as he appeared, Bernard came silently through the door at the far end, having descended the wing stairs. Landis eyed the butler’s sombre face.
“Stimson,” he said softly, “please don’t raise your voice. Graham has confessed to the murder of Harrison and has shot himself.”
Stimson’s eyes widened a trifle but that was all.
“He has, sir! I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’re sorry?” inquired Landis.
“Yes, sir. He was the only gentleman in the house for whom I—but that is neither here nor there now, sir.”
“You don’t seem surprised, Stimson!”
“Not greatly, sir. I thought it possible.”