"He didn't," said Kitty in a meaning voice that expressed far more than the words signified.
Fessenden drew back in horror.
"Don't!" he cried. "You can't mean that Schuyler put Miss Van Norman out of the way to clear the path for Miss Burt!"
"I don't mean anything," said Kitty, rather contradictorily. "But, as I said, Maddy was not killed by any one inside the house—I'm sure of that—and no one from outside could get in, except Schuyler—and he had a motive. Don't you always, in detective work, look for the motive?"
"Yes, but this is too horrible!"
"All murders are 'too horrible.' But I tell you it must have been Schuyler—it couldn't have been Miss Burt!"
"Don't be absurd! That little girl couldn't kill a fly, I'm sure. I wish you could see her, Miss French. Then you'd understand how her very contrast to Miss Van Norman's splendid beauty would fascinate Schuyler. And I know he was fascinated. I saw it in his repressed manner last evening, though I didn't realize it then as I do now."
"I have a theory," said Kitty slowly. "You know Mr. Carleton went away yesterday afternoon rather angry at Maddy. She had carried her flirtation with Tom a little too far, and Mr. Carleton resented it. I don't blame him,—the very day before the wedding,—but it was partly his fault, too. Well, suppose he went home, rather upset over the quarrel, and then seeing Miss Burt, and her probably mild, angelic ways (I'm sure she has them!)—suppose he wished he could be off with Maddy, and marry Miss Burt instead."
"But he wouldn't kill his fiancée, if he did think that!"
"Wait a minute. Then suppose, after the evening in the rose-garden with the gentle, clinging little girl, he concluded he never could be happy with Maddy, and suppose he came at eleven o'clock, or whatever time it was, to tell her so, and to ask her to set him free."
"On the eve of the wedding day? With the house already in gala dress for the ceremony?"
"Yes, suppose the very nearness of the ceremony made it seem to him impossible to go through with it."
"Well?"
"Well, and then suppose he did ask Madeleine to free him, and suppose she refused. And she would refuse! I know her nature well enough to know she never would give him up to the other girl if she could help it. And then suppose, when she refused to free him,—you know he has a fearfully quick temper, and that awful paper-cutter lay right there, handy,—suppose he stabbed her in a moment of desperate anger."
"I can't think it," said Rob, after a pause; "I've tried, and I can't. But, suppose all you say is true as far as this; suppose he asked her to free him, because he loved another, and suppose she was so grieved and mortified at this, that in her own sudden fit of angry jealousy,—you know she had a quick temper, also,—suppose she picked up the dagger and turned it upon herself, as she had sometimes said she would do."
Kitty listened attentively. "It might be so," she said slowly; "you may be nearer the truth than I. But I do believe that one of us must be right. Of course, this leaves the written paper out of the question entirely."
"That written paper hasn't been thoroughly explained yet," exclaimed the young man. "Now, look here, Miss French, I'm not going to wait to be officially employed on this case, though I am going to offer Carleton my legal services, but I mean to do a little investigating on my own account. The sooner inquiries are made, the more information is usually obtained. Can you arrange that I shall have an interview with Miss Dupuy?"
"I think I can," said Kitty; "but if you let it appear that you're inquisitive she won't tell you a thing. Suppose we just talk to her casually, you and I. I won't bother you."
"Indeed you won't. You'll be of first-class help. When can we see her?"
While they had been talking, other things had been happening in the drawing-room. The people who had been gathered there had all disappeared, and, under the active superintendence of Miss Morton, the florist's men who had put up the decorations were now taking them away. The whole room was in confusion, and Kitty and Mr. Fessenden were glad to escape to some more habitable place.
"Wait here," said Kitty, as they passed through the hall, "and I'll be back in a moment."
Kitty flew upstairs, and soon returned, saying that Miss Dupuy would be glad to talk with them both in Madeleine's sitting-room.
Chapter XIII.
An Interview With Cicely
This sitting-room was on the second floor, directly back of Madeleine's bedroom, the bedroom being above the library. Miss Dupuy's own room was back of this and communicated with it.
The sitting-room was a pleasant place, with large light windows and easy chairs and couches. A large and well-filled desk seemed to prove the necessity of a social secretary, if Miss Van Norman cared to have any leisure hours.
Surrounded by letters and papers, Cicely sat at the desk as they entered, but immediately rose to meet them.
Kitty's tact in requesting the interview had apparently been successful, for Miss Dupuy was gracious and affable.
But after some desultory conversation which amounted to nothing, Fessenden concluded a direct course would be better.
"Miss Dupuy," he said, "I'm a detective, at least in an amateur way."
Cicely gave a start and a look of fear came into her eyes.
"I have the interests of Schuyler Carleton at heart," the young man continued, "and my efforts shall be primarily directed toward clearing him from any breath of suspicion that may seem to have fallen upon him."
"O, thank you!" cried Cicely, clasping her hands and showing such genuine gratitude that Fessenden was startled by a new idea.
"I'm sure," he said, "that you'll give me any help in your power. As Miss Van Norman's private secretary, of course you know most of the details of her daily life."
"Yes; but I don't see why I should tell everything to that Benson man!"
"You should tell him only such things as may have a bearing on this mystery that we are trying to clear up."
"Then I know nothing to tell. I know nothing about the mystery."
"No, Cicely," said Kitty, in a soothing voice, "of course you know nothing definite; but if you could tell us some few things that may seem to you unimportant, we—that is, Mr. Fessenden—might find them of great help."
"Well," returned Cicely slowly, "you may ask questions, if you choose, Mr. Fessenden, and I will answer or not, as I prefer."
"Thank you, Miss Dupuy. You may feel sure I will ask only the ones I consider necessary to the work I have undertaken. And first of all, was Miss Van Norman in love with Carleton?"
"She was indeed, desperately so."
"Yet she seemed greatly attached to her cousin, Mr. Willard."
"That was partly a cousinly affection, and partly a sort of coquetry to pique Mr. Carleton."
"And was Carleton devoted to her?"
"Must I answer that?" Cicely's eyes looked troubled.
"Yes, you must." Fessenden's voice was very gentle.
"Then he was not devoted to her; in fact, he loved another."
"Who is this other?"
"Dorothy Burt, his mother's companion, who lives at the Carleton home."
"Did Miss Van Norman know this?"
"Yes, she learned of it lately, and it broke her heart. That is why she was so uncertain and erratic in her moods; that is why she coquetted with Mr. Willard, to arouse Schuyler Carleton's jealousy."
"This