inexplicable act? We may wonder at this suicide, we may shudder at it; but we may not doubt that it is a suicide. That paper is not merely evidence,—it is testimony, it is incontrovertible proof."
Doctor Leonard ceased speaking, and sat silent because he had nothing more to say.
Doctor Hills also sat silent, because, try as he might, he could not feel convinced that the older physician was right. It was absurd, he well knew, but every time he glanced at the relaxed pose of that white right arm on the table, he felt more than ever sure that it had lain there just so when the dagger entered the girl's breast.
As the two men sat there, almost as motionless as the other still figure, both saw the knob of the door turn.
They had closed the double doors leading to the hall, on the arrival of Doctor Leonard, and now the knob of one of them was slowly and noiselessly turning round.
A glance of recognition passed between them, but neither spoke or moved.
A moment later, the knob having turned completely round, the door began to open very slowly.
Owing to the position of the two men, it was necessary for the door to be opened far enough to admit the intruder's head before they could be seen, and the doctors waited breathlessly to see who it might be who desired to come stealthily to the library that night.
Doctor Hills, whose thoughts worked quickly, had already assumed it was Mrs. Markham, coming to gaze once more on her beloved mistress; but Doctor Leonard formulated no supposition and merely waited to see.
At the edge of the door appeared first a yellow pompadour, followed by the wide-open blue eyes of Cicely Dupuy. Seeing the two men, she came no further into the room, but gave a sort of gasp, and pulled the door quickly shut again. In the still house, the two listeners could hear her footsteps crossing the hall, and ascending the stairs.
"Curious, that," murmured Doctor Hills. "If she wanted to look once more on Miss Van Norman's face, why so stealthy about it? And if she didn't want that, what did she want?"
"I don't know," rejoined Doctor Leonard; "but I see nothing suspicious about it. Doubtless, she did come for a last glance alone at Miss Van Norman, but, seeing us here, didn't care to enter."
"But she gave a strange little shuddering gasp, as if frightened."
"Natural excitement at the strange and awful conditions now present."
"Yes, no doubt." Doctor Hills spoke a bit impatiently. The phlegmatic attitude of his colleague jarred on his own overwrought nerves, and he rose and walked about the room, now and then stopping to scrutinize anew the victim of the cruel dagger.
At last he stood still, across the table from her, but looking at Doctor Leonard.
"I have no suggestion to make," he said slowly. "I have no theory to offer, but I am firmly convinced that Madeleine Van Norman did not strike the blow that took away her life. Perhaps this is more a feeling or an intuition than a logical conviction, but—" He hesitated and looked intently at the dead girl, as if trying to force the secret from her.
With a sudden start he took a step forward, and as he spoke his voice rang with excitement.
"Doctor Leonard," he said, in a quick, concise voice, "will you look carefully at that dagger?"
"Yes," said the older man, impressed by the other's sudden intensity; and, stepping forward, he scrutinized the dagger as it lay on the table, without, however, touching it.
"There is blood on the handle," went on Doctor Hills.
"Yes, several stains, now dried."
"And do you see any blood on the right hand of Miss Van Norman?"
Startled at the implication, Doctor Leonard bent to examine the cold white hand. Not a trace of blood was on it. Instinctively he looked at the girl's left hand, only to find that also immaculately white.
Doctor Leonard stood upright and pulled himself together.
"I was wrong, Doctor Hills," he said, with a nod which in him betokened an unspoken apology. "It is a case for the coroner."
Chapter VI.
Fessenden Comes
It was about nine o'clock the next morning when Rob Fessenden rang the bell of the Van Norman house. Having heard nothing of the events of the night, he had called to offer any assistance he might give before the ceremony.
The trailing garland of white flowers with fluttering streamers of white ribbon that hung beside the portal struck a chill to his heart.
"What can have happened?" he thought blankly, and confused ideas of motor accidents were thronging his mind as the door was opened for him. The demeanor of the footman at once told him that he was in a house of mourning. Shown into the drawing-room, he was met by Cicely Dupuy.
"Mr. Fessenden!" she exclaimed as she greeted him. "Then you have not heard?"
"I've heard nothing. What is it?"
Poor Miss Dupuy had bravely taken up the burden of telling the sad story to callers who did not know of it, and this was not the first time that morning she had enlightened inquiring friends.
In a few words she told Mr. Fessenden of the events of the night before. He was shocked and sincerely grieved. Although his acquaintance with Miss Van Norman was slight, he was Schuyler Carleton's oldest and best friend, and so he had come from New York the day before in order to take his part at the wedding.
While they were talking Kitty French came in. As Mr. Fessenden began to converse with her Cicely excused herself and left the room.
"Isn't it awful?" began Kitty, and her tear-filled eyes supplemented the trite sentence.
"It is indeed," said Rob Fessenden, taking her hand in spontaneous sympathy. "Why should she do it?"
"She didn't do it," declared Kitty earnestly. "Mr. Fessenden, they all say she killed herself, but I know she didn't. Won't you help me to prove that, and to find out who did kill her?"
"What do you mean, Miss French? Miss Dupuy just told me it was a suicide."
"They all say so, but I know better. Oh, I wish somebody would help me! Molly doesn't think as I do, and I can't do anything all alone."
Miss French's face was small and flower-like, and when she clasped her little hands and bewailed her inability to prove her belief, young Fessenden thought he had never seen such a perfect picture of beautiful helplessness. Without reserve he instantly resolved to aid and advise her to the best of his own ability.
"And Mrs. Markham doesn't think as I do, either," went on Kitty. "Nobody thinks as I do."
"I will think as you do," declared Fessenden, and so potent was the charm of the tearful violet eyes, that he was quite ready to think whatever she dictated. "Only tell me what to think, and what to do about it."
"Why, I think Madeleine didn't kill herself at all. I think somebody else killed her."
"But who would do such a thing? You see, Miss French, I know nothing of the particulars. I saw Miss Van Norman for the first time yesterday."
"Had you never met her before?"
"Oh, yes; a few years ago. But I mean, I came to Mapleton only yesterday, and saw her in the afternoon. I was to be Schuyler's best man, you know, and as he didn't come here to dinner last night, I thought I'd better not come either, though I had been asked. He was a little miffed with Miss Van Norman, you know."
"Yes, I know. Maddy did flirt with Tom, and it always annoyed Mr. Carleton. Did you dine with him?"
"Yes, at his home. I am staying there. By the way, I met Miss Burt there; do you know her?"
"No, not at all. Who is she?"
"She's