“Apthorpe?” Trent cried. “The cotton man?”
“The same,” Mrs. Westward assured him.
Anthony Trent was suddenly all attention. He surmised that the murder of so rich a man was actuated by a desire for his collection. And if so, where was the Takowaja emerald?
“Please tell me,” he entreated, “murders fascinate me. If the penalty were not so severe I should engage in murder constantly. What was it? Revenge? Robbery?”
“Yes and no,” Charles Westward observed with that judicial air which confounded questioners. “Revenge no doubt. Robbery perhaps, but we are awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Apthorpe and her daughter. We shall not know until then whether his collection of valuables has been stolen.”
“What about the revenge theory?” Trent inquired.
“Apthorpe made many enemies as a younger man. Physically he was violent. There are no doubt many who detested him. Personally I had no quarrel with him. I sent him a mess of trout from the Unkety brook this season and had a little talk with him over the phone but he saw few except his lawyer and business associates.”
“Is any one suspected in particular?” Trent asked.
“The whole thing is mysterious,” Mrs. Westward declared with animation. “Last night at eight o’clock I received a telephone message from his nurse, a Miss Thompson, a woman I hardly know. Once or twice I have seen her at the Red Cross meetings but that is all. She apologized for calling but said she felt nervous. It seems that Mr. Apthorpe had let all the servants go off to the band concert at Ayer. There were two automobiles filled with them. The only people left were Miss Thompson in the house and a gardener who lives in a cottage on the grounds. They left the house just after dinner—say half past seven. At a quarter to eight a stranger called to see Mr. Apthorpe.”
“Accurately timed,” commented Mr. Westward.