"But I can't go on, if you look like that! All logic and deduction fly out of my head, and I can think only of poetry and romance. And it won't do! At least, not now. Can't you try to give a more successful imitation of a coroner's jury?" Kitty tried to look stupid and wise, both at once, and only succeeded in looking bewitching.
"It's no use," said Fessenden; "I can't sit facing you, as I would the real thing in the way of juries. So I'll sit beside you, and look at the side of that distant barn, while we talk."
So he turned partly round, and, fixing his gaze on the stolid red barn, said abruptly:
"Who wrote that paper?"
"I don't know," said Kitty, feeling that she couldn't help much here.
"Somehow, I can't seem to believe that Dupuy girl wrote it. She sounded to me like a lady reciting a fabrication."
"I thought that, too," said Kitty. "I never liked Cicely, because I never trusted her. But Maddy was very fond of her, and she wouldn't have been, unless she had found Cicely trustworthy."
"Come to luncheon, you two," said Tom Willard, as he approached the arbor.
"Oh, Mr. Willard," said Kitty, "who do you think wrote that paper?"
"Why, Miss Dupuy," said Tom, in surprise.
"She owned up to it."
"Yes, I know; but I'm not sure she told the truth."
"I don't know why she shouldn't," said Tom, thoughtfully. And then he added gently, "And, after looking at it closely, I felt sure, myself, it wasn't Maddy's writing, after all."
"Then it must be Cicely's," said Kitty. "I admit I can't tell them apart."
And then the three went back to the house.
Chapter IX.
The Will
Immediately after luncheon Lawyer Peabody came. This gentleman had had charge of the Van Norman legal matters for many years, and it was known by most of those present that he was bringing with him such wills or other documents as might have a bearing on the present crisis.
Mr. Peabody was an old man; moreover, he had for many years been intimately associated with the Van Norman household, and had been a close friend of both Richard Van Norman and Madeleine. Shattered and broken by the sad tragedy in the household, he could scarcely repress his emotion when he undertook to address the little audience.
But the main purport of his business there at that time was to announce the contents of the two wills in his possession.
The first one, the will of Richard Van Norman, was no surprise to any one present, except perhaps those few who did not live in Mapleton. One of these, Robert Fessenden, was extremely interested to learn that because of Madeleine's death before her marriage, and also before she was twenty-three years of age, the large fortune of Richard Van Norman, which would have been hers on her wedding day, passed at once and unrestrictedly to Tom Willard.
But also by the terms of Richard Van Norman's will the fine old mansion and grounds and a sum of money, modest in comparison with the whole fortune, but ample to maintain the estate, were Madeleine's own, and had been from the day of her uncle's death.
Possessed of this property, therefore, Madeleine had made a will which was dated a few months before her death, and which Mr. Peabody now read.
After appropriate and substantial bequests to several intimate friends, to her housekeeper and secretary, and to all the servants, Madeleine devised that her residuary fortune and the Van Norman house and grounds should become the property of Miss Elizabeth Morton.
This was a complete surprise to all, with the possible exception of Miss Morton herself. It was not easy to judge from her haughty and self-satisfied countenance whether she had known of this before or not.
Fessenden, who was watching her closely, was inclined to think she had known of it, and again his busy imagination ran riot. The first point, he thought to himself, in discovering a potential murderer, is to inquire who will be benefited by the victim's death. Apparently the only ones to profit by the passing of Madeleine Van Norman were Tom Willard and Miss Morton. But even the ingenious imagination of the young detective balked at the idea of connecting either of these two with the tragedy. He knew Willard had not been in the house at the time of the murder, and Miss Morton, as he had chanced to discover, had occupied a room on the third floor. Moreover, it was absurd on the face of things to fancy a well-bred, middle-aged lady stealing downstairs at dead of night to kill her charming young hostess!
It was with a sense of satisfaction therefore that Fessenden assured himself that he had formed no suspicions whatever, and could listen with a mind entirely unprejudiced to such evidence as the coroner's inquiry might bring forth.
He was even glad that he had not discussed the matter further with Kitty French. He still thought she had clear vision and good judgment, but he had begun to realize that in her presence his own clearness of vision was dazzled by her dancing eyes and a certain distracting charm which he had never before observed in any woman.
But he told himself somewhat sternly that feminine charm must not be allowed to interfere with the present business in hand, and he seated himself at a considerable distance from Kitty French, when it was time for the inquest.
A slight delay was occasioned by waiting for Coroner Benson's own stenographer, but when he arrived the inquiry was at once begun.
At the request of Miss Morton, or, it might rather be said, at her command, the whole assembly had moved to the drawing-room, it being a much larger and more airy apartment, and withal less haunted by the picture of the tragedy itself.
And yet to hold a coroner's inquiry in a room gay with wedding decorations was almost, if not quite, as ghastly.
But Coroner Benson paid no heed to emotional considerations and conducted himself with the same air of justice and legality as if he had been in a court-room or the town-hall.
As for the jury he had gathered, the half-dozen men, though filled with righteous indignation at the crime committed in their village, wasted no thought on the incongruity of their surroundings.
Coroner Benson put his first question to Mrs. Markham, as he considered her, in a way at least, the present head of the household. To be sure, the house now legally belonged to Miss Morton, and that lady was quickly assuming an added air of importance which was doubtless the result of her recent inheritance; but Mrs. Markham was still housekeeper, and by virtue of her long association with the place, Mr. Benson chose to treat her with exceeding courtesy and deference.
But Mrs. Markham, though now quite composed and willing to answer questions, could give no evidence of any importance. She testified that she had seen Madeleine last at about ten o'clock the night before. This was after the guests who had been at dinner had gone away, and the house guests had gone to their rooms. Miss Van Norman was alone in the library, and as Mrs. Markham left her she asked her to send Cicely Dupuy to the library. Mrs. Markham had then gone directly to her own room, which was on the second floor, above the drawing-room. It was at the front of the house, and the room behind it, also over the long drawing-room, was the one now devoted to the exhibition of Madeleine's wedding gifts. Mrs. Markham had retired almost immediately and had heard no unusual sounds. She explained, however, that she was somewhat deaf, and had there been any disturbance downstairs it was by no means probable that she would have heard it.
"What was the first intimation you had that anything had happened?" asked Mr. Benson.
"Kitty French came to my door and called to me. Her excited voice made me think something was wrong, and, dressing hastily, I came downstairs, to find many of the household already assembled."
"And then you went into the library?"
"Yes; I had no idea Madeleine was