"I don't know," said Cicely, and her agitation seemed to increase, though she tried hard to conceal it. "Of course Miss Van Norman didn't speak openly of this matter, but I knew her so well that I easily divined from her moods and her actions that she knew she had a rival in Mr. Carleton's affections."
"Then he cared more for her in time past?"
"Yes, until that girl came to live with his mother. She's a designing little thing, and she just twisted Mr. Carleton round her finger."
"Do you know her personally, Miss Dupuy?" A look of intense hatred came over Cicely's expressive face.
"No! I wouldn't meet her for anything. But I have seen her, and I know perfectly well that Mr. Carleton cares for her more than he did for Miss Van Norman."
"Yet he was about to marry Miss Van Norman."
"Yes; because they were engaged before he saw the Burt girl. Then, you see, he didn't think it honorable to refuse to marry her, and she—"
"He had asked her, then, to give him back his freedom?"
"Yes, he had. And Miss Van Norman very rightly refused to do so."
"Oh, Cicely," cried Kitty, "do you know this, or are you only surmising it?"
"I know it, Miss French. In her sorrow over the matter, Miss Van Norman often confided in me as in a friend."
"And you were a good friend to her, I'm sure," said Fessenden heartily. "Now, Miss Dupuy, do you think it could have been possible that Mr. Carleton came here late last night to ask Miss Van Norman once again to release him from the marriage?"
"He might have done so," said Cicely in a noncommittal tone. "He was very much annoyed at her behavior with Mr. Willard in the afternoon."
"But that was on purpose to annoy him?"
"Yes, and it succeeded."
"How do you know all this?"
"Miss Van Norman intimated as much just before dinner, when we were here alone. She feared Mr. Carleton was so angry he wouldn't come to dinner at all."
"And he didn't."
"No, he didn't."
"But, Miss Dupuy, it would scarcely be possible to think that if he did return later to ask his release—it would not be possible to think that on Miss Van Norman's refusal to release him he was so incensed against her that—"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Cicely. "Of course he didn't kill her! Of course he didn't! She killed herself! I don't care what any one says—I know she killed herself!"
"If so," said Fessenden, "we must prove it by keeping on with our investigations. And now, Miss Dupuy, will you tell me what was your errand when you returned to the library late last night, when the two doctors were alone there in charge of the room?"
"I didn't!" declared Cicely, her cheeks flaming and her blue eyes fairly glaring at her interrogator.
"Please stick to the truth, Miss Dupuy," said Fessenden coldly. "If you don't, we can't credit any of your statements. You opened the door very softly, and were about to enter, when you spied the doctors and withdrew."
"I went to get that paper," said Cicely, somewhat sulkily.
"Why did you want that?"
"Because it was mine. I had a right to it."
"Then why didn't you go on in and get it? The doctors' presence need have made no difference."
"I don't know why I didn't! I wish you'd stop asking questions!"
"I will, in a moment. You are sure you wrote that paper yourself?"
"Of course I am!" The answer was snapped out pertly.
"And you wrote it meaning yourself? You didn't write it with the intent that it should be taken for Miss Van Norman's message?"
Cicely eyes dropped involuntarily. Then she raised them, and stared straight at Fessenden. "What do you mean?" she asked haughtily.
"Just what I say. Was that written paper an expression of your own heart's secret?"
It must have been because of Fessenden's magnetism, or compelling sympathy, but for some reason Cicely took no offense at this, and answered simply, "Yes."
"Strange," mused Rob, "how that man won so many women's hearts."
"No, it isn't strange," said Cicely, also in slow, thoughtful tones. And then, suddenly realizing the admission she had made, and seeing how she had revealed her own secret she flew into a rage.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "I didn't refer to Mr. Carleton."
"Yes, you did," said Fessenden, so quietly that again Cicely was silent, and Kitty sat surprised almost to breathlessness.
"There is to be only truth between us," went on Rob. "You did mean Mr. Carleton, by the letter 'S'; but have no fear, your secret shall be respected. Now we will have only the truth— remember that. So please tell me frankly at what time you saw Mr. Carleton come into the house last night?"
"Just a few moments before half-past eleven." Cicely said this glibly, as if reciting a carefully-conned lesson.
"Wait a moment—you forget that Mr. Hunt fixed the time at quarter after eleven, and that he saw you looking over the baluster at the same time."
With an agonized cry of dismay, Miss Dupuy fainted into utter unconsciousness.
Perplexed and baffled in his inquiries, Fessenden saw that for the moment Miss Dupuy's physical condition was of paramount importance, and at Kitty's request he rang for Marie. Even before she came the others had placed Cicely gently on a couch, and when the maid arrived Fessenden left the room, knowing that the girl was properly cared for.
Going downstairs again, he was about to make his adieux to Mrs. Markham and leave the house, when Kitty French, coming down soon after him, asked him to stay a few minutes longer.
The sight of her pretty face drove more serious thoughts from his mind, and he turned, more than willing to follow where she led. "Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you," he whispered. But Kitty had weighty information to impart, and was in no mood for trifling. They found a quiet corner, and then Kitty told him that Cicely had regained consciousness almost immediately, but that just before she did so, she cried out sharply, "They must not think Schuyler did it! They must not!"
"And so," said Kitty, astutely, "you see, it's as I told you. Mr. Carleton did kill Maddy, and Cicely knows it, but she doesn't want other people to find it out, because she's in love with him herself!"
Rob Fessenden gave his companion an admiring glance.
"That's good reasoning and sound logic," he said; "and I'd subscribe to it if it were anybody but old Schuyler. But I can't and won't believe that man guilty without further evidence than that of a fainting, hysterical woman."
"Everybody seems to be in love with Mr. Carleton," said Kitty, demurely.
"You're not, are you?" said Rob, so quickly that Kitty blushed.
"No, I'm not," she declared. "He's a stunning looking man, and that superior, impassive way of his catches some women, but I don't care for it. I prefer a more enthusiastic temperament."
"Like mine," said Rob casually.
"Have you a temperament?" said Kitty saucily. "It isn't at all noticeable."
"It will be, after you know me better. But Miss French, since you've raised this question of Miss Dupuy's evidence, let me tell you what it means to me. Or, rather, what it seems to point to, for it's all too vague for us to draw any real conclusions. But, as a first impression, my suspicion turns toward Miss Dupuy herself rather than Carleton."
"Cicely! You don't mean she killed Maddy! Oh, how can you?"
"Now, don't