"What about?" broke in Shane, who had been listening intently.

Eunice did not speak until Elliott advised her. "Tell all Eunice--it is the best way."

"We had a slight discussion," Eunice said, "but it was earlier in the evening. We had spent the evening out--Mr. Embury at his club, and I at the house of a friend. We came home together--Mr. Embury called for me in our own car. On reaching home, we had no angry words--and as it was late, we retired at once. That is all. Mr. Embury closed the door between our bedrooms, and that is the last I ever saw of him until--this morning--"

She did not break down, but she seemed to think she had told all and she ceased speaking.

"And then he was dead," Shane mused. "What doctor did you call?"

Dr. Crowell took up the narrative and told of Dr. Harper and Dr.

Marsden, who were not now present. He told further of the mysterious and undiscoverable cause of the death.

"Let me see him," said Shane, rising suddenly.

Most of this man's movements were sudden--and as he was in every respect awkward and uncouth, Eunice's dislike of him grew momentarily.

"Isn't he dreadful!" she cried, as the two detectives and the Medical Examiner disappeared into Embury's room.

"Yes," agreed Hendricks, "but, Eunice, you must not antagonize him. It can't do any good--and it may do harm."

"Harm? How?" and Eunice turned her big, wondering eyes on Hendrick.

"Oh, it isn't wise to cross a man like that. He's a common clod, but he represents authority--he represents the law, and we must respect that fact, however his personal manner offends us."

"All right, Alvord, I understand; but there's no use in my seeing him again. Can't you and Mason settle up things and let Aunt Abby and me go to our rooms?"

"No, Eunice," Hendricks' voice was grave. "You must stay here. And, too, they will go through your room, searching."

"My room! My bedroom! They shan't! I won't have it! Mason, must I submit to such horrible things?"

"Now, Eunice, dear," Mason Elliott spoke very gently, "we can't blink matters. We must face this squarely. The police think Sanford was murdered. They're endeavoring to find out who killed him. To do their duty in the matter they have to search everywhere. It's the law, you know, and we can't get away from it. So, try to take it as quietly as you can."

"Oh, my! oh, my!" wailed Aunt Abby; "that I should live to see this day! A murder in my own family! No wonder poor Sanford's troubled spirit paused in its pa.s.sing to bid me farewell."

Eunice shrieked. "Aunt Abby, if you start up that talk, I shall go stark, staring mad! Hush! I won't have it!"

"Let up on the spook stuff, Miss Ames," begged Hendricks. "Our poor Eunice is just about at the end of her rope."

"So am I!" cried Aunt Abby. "I'm ent.i.tled to some consideration!

Here's the whole house turned upside down with a murder and police and all that, and n.o.body considers me! It's all Eunice!" Then, with a softened voice, she added, "And Lord knows, she's got enough to bear!"

"Yes, I have!" Eunice was composed again, now. "But I can bear it.

I'm not going to collapse! Don't be afraid for me. And I do consider you, Aunt Abby. It's dreadful for you--for both of us."

Eunice crossed the room and sat by the cider lady, and they comforted one another.

Shane came back to the living-room.

"Here's the way it is," he said, gruffly. "Those three bedrooms all open into each other; but when their doors that open out into these here other rooms are locked they're quite shut off by themselves, and n.o.body can get into 'em. Now that last room, the one the old lady sleeps in, that don't have a door except into Mrs. Embury's room. What I'm gettin' at is, if Mr. and Mrs. Embury's room doors is locked--not meanin' the door between--then those three people are locked in there every night, and can't get out or in, except through those two locked doors.

"Well, this morning--where's that butler man?"

"Here, sir," and Ferdinand appeared promptly, and with his usual correct demeanor.

"Yes, you. Now, this morning, those two doors to the sleeping rooms was locked, I understand?"

"Yes, sir. They were."

"Usually--what happens?"

"What--what happens, sir?"

"Yes; what's your first duty in the morning? Does Mr. Embury call you--or ring for you?"

"Oh, that, sir. Why, generally Mr. Embury unlocked his door about eight o'clock--"

"And you went to help him dress?"

"No, sir. Mr. Embury didn't require that. I valeted his clothes, like, and kept them in order, but he dressed by himself. I took him some tea and toast--he had that before the regular breakfast--"

"And this morning--when he didn't ring or make any sound, what did you do?"

"I waited a little while and then I rapped at Mrs. Embury's door."

"Yes; and she--now, be careful, man--" Shane's voice was impressive.

"How did she act? Unusual, or frightened in any way?"

"Not a bit, sir. Mrs. Embury was surprised, and when I said Mr. Embury didn't answer my knock, she let me go through her room to his."

"Exactly. And then you found your master dead?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now-what is your name?"

"Ferdinand."

"Yes. Now, Ferdinand, you know Mr. and Mrs. Embury had a quarrel last night."

"Yes, sir."

The trap had worked! Shane had brought about the admission from the servant that Eunice had refused to make. A smile of satisfaction settled on his ugly features, as he nodded his head and went on.

"At what time was this?"

"Ferdinand, be quiet," said Eunice, her own voice low and even, but her face was ablaze with wrath. "You know nothing of such things!"

"That's right, sir, I don't."