and that's untouched. That settles the windows, and there's only the one door, and that Purdy and I broke open. Now, that's all I know about it."
Bannard relapsed into silence, and Campbell didn't speak again until they reached the house.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" was the first greeting to the young man as he entered the hall at Pellbrook. It was spoken by Mrs. Bowen, who had been with Iris ever since she was summoned by telephone, that afternoon. "It's all so dreadful, – the doctors are examining the body now – and the coroner is here – and two detectives – and Iris is so queer – " the poor little lady quite broke down, in her relief at having some one to share her responsibility.
"Isn't Mr. Bowen here?" Bannard said, as he followed her into the living-room.
"No, he had to attend service, he'll come after church. Here is Iris."
The girl did not rise at Bannard's approach, but sat, looking up at him, her face full of inquiry.
"Where have you been?" she demanded; "why didn't you come sooner? I telegraphed at four o'clock – I telephoned first, but they said – they said you were out."
"I was; I only came in at seven, and then I found your messages, and I caught the first train possible."
"It doesn't matter," said Iris, wearily. "There's nothing you can do – nothing anybody can do. Oh, Win, it's horrible!"
"Of course it is, Iris. But I'm so in the dark. Tell me all about it."
"Oh, I can't. I can't seem to talk about it. Mrs. Bowen will tell you."
The little lady told all she knew, and then, one of the detectives appeared to question Bannard. He explained his presence and told who he was and then asked to go into his aunt's sitting room.
"Not just now," said the man, whose name was Hughes, "the doctors are busy in there, with the coroner."
"Why so late," asked Bannard; "what have they been doing all the afternoon?"
"Doctor Littell came at once," explained Mrs. Bowen, "he's her own doctor, you know. But that coroner, Doctor Timken, never got here till this evening. Why, here's Mr. Chapin!"
Charles Chapin, who was Mrs. Pell's lawyer, entered, and also Mr. Bowen, so there was quite a group in waiting when the doctors came out of the closed room.
"It's the strangest case imaginable," said Coroner Timken, his face white and terrified. "There's not the least possibility of suicide – and yet there's no explanation for a murder."
"Why do you say that?" asked Chapin, who had heard little of the details.
"The body is terribly injured. There are livid bruises on her chest, shoulders and upper arms. There are marks on her wrists, as if she had been bound by ropes, and similar marks on her ankles."
"Incredible!" cried Mr. Chapin. "Bound?"
"The marks can mean nothing else. They are as if cords had been tightly drawn, and on one ankle the stocking is slightly stained with blood."
"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen.
"Yes, and the flesh beneath the stain is abraded round the ankle, and the skin broken. The other ankle shows slight marks of the cord, but it did not cut into the flesh on that side. Her wrists, too, show red marks and indentations, as of cords. It is inexplicable."
"But the bruises?" pursued Mr. Chapin, "and the awful wound on her face?"
"There is no doubt that she was attacked for the purpose of robbery. Moreover, the thief was looking for something in particular. It is clear that he stole money or valuables, but the state of the desk and safe prove a desperate hunt for some paper or article of special value. Also the pocket, cut and torn from the skirt, proves a determination to secure the treasure. As we reconstruct the crime, the intruder intimidated Mrs. Pell by threats and by physical violence; tied her while search was made through her room; and then, in a rage of disappointment, flung the old lady to the floor, where she hit her head on a sharp-pointed brass knob of the fender. This penetrated her temple and caused her death. These things are facts; also the state of the room, the overturned table and chairs, the broken lamp, the ransacked desk and safe – all these are facts; but what theory can account for the disappearance of the murderer from the locked room?"
There was no answer until Detective Hughes said, "I've always been told that the more mysterious and insoluble a crime seems to be, the easier it is to solve it."
"You have, eh?" returned the coroner; "then get busy on this one. It's beyond me. Why, that woman's wrist is sprained, if not broken, she has some internal injuries and she was suffering from shock and fright. The attack was diabolical! It may be that the murder was unpremeditated, but the mauling and bruising of the old lady was the work of a strong man and a hardened wretch."
"Why didn't she scream sooner?" asked Hughes, who was listening intently. He had been detailed on other duties while his confrères investigated the scene of the crime.
"Gagged, probably," answered Timken. "There are slight marks at the corners of her mouth which indicate a gag was used, for a time at least. How long was it," he said abruptly, turning to Iris, "that your aunt was in that room alone? I mean alone, so far as you knew?"
"I don't know; I was up in my own room all the time after dinner, and – I don't know what time it was when they called me – I seem to have lost all track of time – "
"Don't bother the girl," said Mrs. Bowen. "Polly, you tell about the time."
The servants were in and out of the room, now clustered at the doorway, now hurrying off on errands and back again.
"It musta been about ha' past three when I heard her scream," said Polly, "or maybe a bit earlier, but not much. I was in the dining room, settin' the sideboard to rights after dinner, and I heard her holler."
"And you went to the door at once?"
"Yes; just 's quick 's I could. But the door was locked – "
"Was that usual?"
"Yes, sir, she often locks it when she takes a nap Sunday afternoons. And then I went and called Purdy, and we couldn't get in."
"Yes, I know about the barred windows and so on. Did you hear any further sounds from Mrs. Pell?"
"Some; sorta movin' around an' faint moanin's. But the truth is – we thought she was a foolin' us."
"Fooling you?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Pell, she was great for jokin'. Many's the time she's hollered, 'Help! Polly!' and when I'd get there, she'd laugh fit to kill at me. She was that way, sir. She was always foolin' us."
"Is this true?" asked Timken, turning to the others.
They all corroborated Polly's statements. Even Chapin, the lawyer, told of jests and tricks his wealthy client had played on him, and Winston Bannard declared he had suffered so much from his aunt's whims that he had been forced to move away.
"And you, Miss Clyde, did she so tease you?"
"Indeed she did," said Iris. "I think I was her favorite victim. Scarcely a day passed that she did not annoy and distress me by some practical joke. You know about the ink, this noon – " she turned to Mrs. Bowen.
"Yes," said that lady, but she looked grave and thoughtful.
"But surely," pursued the coroner, "one could tell the difference between the screams of a victim in mortal agony, and those of a jest!"
"No, sir," and Polly shook her head. "Mrs. Pell was that clever, she'd make you think she'd been hurt awful, when she was just trickin' you. But, any ways, sir, me an' Purdy we did all we could, and we couldn't get in. Then Campbell, he come, and helped to break down the door – "
"And you're sure the murderer couldn't have slipped through as you opened the door?"
"Not a chance!" spoke up Campbell. "We smashed it open, the lock just splintered out of the jamb, as you can see for yourself, and we were all gathered in a clump on this side. No, sir, the room was quiet as death – and empty, save for Mrs. Pell, herself."
"And she was dead, then?"
"Yes,