"There's one thing more," continued the doctor. "Eunice had been writing, and there were a number of sheets of MS. lying on the desk. Betty had them sealed up, pending your return."
"Nothing has been heard of John Thaneford, I suppose?"
"Not that I know of."
I relapsed into silence, and presently we were at the house. Betty was waiting for me on the portico, and behind her loomed up the tall figure of Chalmers Warriner. I took my dear girl in my arms, and the tears came speedily to her relief; after all, Eunice Trevor had been her cousin and childhood playmate.
Betty went to her room, and Doctor Marcy had to keep a professional engagement. Warriner and I had a whiskey-and-soda apiece, and over it discussed the meager details of the distressing occurrence.
"Darker than ever," I remarked, when he had finished with his version of the affair.
"It does look that way," he admitted. "Understand, there is no evidence of suicide."
"Her written statement may shed some light."
"You had better stay to dinner," I suggested, "and go over it with us."