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 a companion to Mrs. Carleton, Schuyler's mother. I never saw her until last night at dinner."
"No, I don't know her," repeated Kitty. "I don't believe she was invited to the wedding, for I looked over the list of invitations. Still, her name may have been there. The list was so very long."
"And now there'll be no wedding and no guests."
"No," said Kitty; "only guests at a far different ceremony." Again the deep violet eyes filled with tears, and Fessenden was conscious of a longing to comfort and help the poor little girl thrown thus suddenly into the first tragedy of her life.
"It would be dreadful enough if she had died from an illness," he said; "but this added awful—"
"Yes," interrupted Kitty; "but to me the worst part is for them to say she killed herself,—and I know she didn't. Why, Maddy was too fine and big-natured to do such a cowardly thing."
"She seemed so to me, too, though of course I didn't know her so well as you did."
"No, I'm one of her nearest friends,—though Madeleine was never one to have really intimate friends. But as her friend, I want to try to do what I can to put her right in the face of the world. And you said you'd help me."
She looked at Fessenden with such hopefully appealing eyes, that he would willingly have helped her in any way he could, but he also realized that it was a very serious proposition this young girl was making.
"I will help you, Miss French," he said gravely. "I know little of the details of the case, but if there is the slightest chance that you may be right, rest assured that you shall be given every chance to prove it."
Kitty French gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you," she said earnestly; "but I'm afraid we cannot do much, however well we intend. Of course I'm merely a guest here, and I have no authority of any sort. And, too, to prove that Maddy did not kill herself would mean having a detective and everything like that."
"I may not be 'everything like that,'" said Fessenden, with a faint smile, "but I am a sort of detective in an