and I'm sure you alone can help me straighten them out."
"Of course I can. I'm wonderful at that sort of thing. But, first I'll tell you about Miss Dupuy. She's awfully ill—I mean prostrated, you know; and she has a high fever and sometimes she chatters rapidly, and then again she won't open her lips even if any one speaks to her. We've had the doctor, and he says it's just overstrained nerves and a naturally nervous disposition; but, Mr. Fessenden, I think it's more than that; I think it's a guilty conscience."
"And yesterday, when I implied that Miss Dupuy might know more about it all than she admitted, you wouldn't listen to a word of it!"
"Yes, I know it, but I've changed my mind."
"Oh, you have; just for a change, I suppose."
"No," said Kitty, more seriously; "but because I've heard a lot of Cicely's ranting,—for that's what it is,—and while it's been only disconnected sentences and sudden exclamations, yet it all points to a guilty knowledge of some sort, which she's trying to conceal. I don't say I suspect her, Mr. Fessenden, but I do suspect that she knows a lot more important information than she's told."
"Miss Dupuy's behavior has certainly invited criticism," began Rob, but before he could go further, the French girl, Marie, appeared at the door, and seemed about to enter.
"What is it, Marie?" said Kitty kindly. "Are you looking for me?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," said Marie, "and I would speak with monsieur too. I have that to say which is imperative. Too long already have I kept the silence. I must speak at last. Have I permission?"
"Certainly," said Fessenden, who saw that Marie was agitated, but very much in earnest. "Tell us what you have to say. Do not be afraid."
"I am afraid," said Marie, "but I am afraid of one only. It is the Miss Morton, the stranger lady."
"Miss Morton?" said Kitty, in surprise. "She won't hurt you; she has been very good to you."
"Ah, yes, mademoiselle; but too good. Miss Morton has been too kind, too sweet, to Marie! It is that which troubles me."
"Well, out with it, Marie," said Rob. "Close that door, if you like, and then speak out, without any more beating around the bush."
"No, monsieur, I will no longer beat the bush; I will now tell."
Marie carefully closed the door, and then began her story:
"It was the night of the—of the horror. You remember, Miss French, we sat all in this very room, awaiting the coming of the great doctor—the doctor Leonard."
"Yes," said Kitty, looking intently at the girl; "yes, I know most of you stayed here waiting,—but I was not here; Doctor Hills sent Miss Gardner and me to our rooms."
"Yes; it is so. Well, we sat here, and Miss Morton rose with suddenness and left the room. I followed, partly that I thought she might need my services, and partly—I confess it—because I trusted her not at all, and I wished to assure myself that all was well. I followed her,—but secretly,—and I—shall I tell you what she did?"
Kitty hesitated. She was not sure she should listen to what was, after all, servants' gossip about a guest of the house.
But Fessenden looked at it differently. He knew Marie had been the trusted personal maid of Miss Van Norman, and he deemed it right to hear the evidence that she was now anxious to give.
"Go on, Marie," he said gravely. "Be careful to tell it exactly as it happened, whatever it is."
"Yes, m'sieur. Well, then, I softly followed Miss Morton, because she did not go directly to her own room, but went to Miss Van Norman's sitting-room and stood before the desk of Miss Madeleine."
"You are sure, Marie?" said Kitty, who couldn't help feeling it was dishonorable to listen to this.
"Please, Miss French, let her tell the story in her own way," said Rob. "It is perhaps of the utmost importance, and may lead to great results." Then Marie went uninterruptedly on.
"She stood in front of the desk, m'sieur; she searched eagerly for papers, reading and discarding several. Then she found some, which she saw with satisfaction, and hastily concealed in her pocket. Miss Morton is a lady who yet has pockets in her gowns. With the papers in her pocket, then, Miss Morton looks about carefully, and, thinking herself unobserved, creeps, but stealthily, to her own room. There—m'sieur, I was obliged to peep at the keyhole—there she lighted a fire in her grate, and burned those papers. With my eyes I saw her. Never would I have told, for it was not my affair, but that I fear for Miss Dupuy. It is in the air that she knows secrets concerning Miss Van Norman's death. Ah, if one would know secrets, one should question Miss Morton."
"This is a grave charge you bring against the lady, Marie," said Fessenden.
"Yes, monsieur, but it is true."
"I know it is true," said Kitty; "I have not mentioned it before, but I saw Miss Morton go to Madeleine's room that night, and afterward go to her own room. I knew nothing, of course, of the papers, and so thought little of the whole incident, but if she really took papers from Madeleine's desk and burned them, it's indeed important. What could the papers have been?"
"You know she inherited," began Fessenden. "Oh, a will!" cried Kitty.
"Marie, you may go now," Rob interrupted; "you did right to tell us this, and rest assured you shall never be blamed for doing so. You will probably be questioned further, but for the present you may go. And thank you."
Marie curtseyed and went away.
"She's a good girl," said Kitty. "I always liked her; and she must have heard, as I did, so much of Cicely's chatter, that she feared some sort of suspicion would fall on Cicely, and she wanted to divert it toward Miss Morton instead."
"As usual, with your quick wits, you've gone right to the heart of her motive," said Rob; "but it may be more serious than you've yet thought of. Miss Morton inherits, you know."
"Yes, now," said Kitty significantly, "since she burnt that other will."
"What other will?"
"Oh, don't you see? The will she burnt was a later one, that didn't give her this house. She burnt it so the earlier one would stand."
"How do you know this?"
"I don't know it, except by common sense! What else would she take from Maddy's desk and burn except a will? And, of course, a will not in her favor, leaving the one that did bequeath the house to her to appear as the latest will."
"Does this line of argument take us any further?" said Rob, so seriously that Kitty began to think.
"You don't mean," she whispered, "that Miss Morton—in order to—"
"To receive her legacy—"
"Could—no, she couldn't! I won't even think of it!"
"But you thought of Miss Dupuy. Miss French, as I told you yesterday, we must think of every possible person, not every probable one. These suggestions are not suspicions—and they harm no one who is innocent."
"I suppose that is so. Well, let us consider Miss Morton then, but of course she didn't really kill Maddy."
"I trust not. But I must say I could sooner believe it of a woman of her type than Miss Dupuy's."
"But Cicely didn't either! Oh, how can you say such dreadful things!"
"We won't say them any more. They are dreadful. But I thought you were going to help me in my detective work, and you balk at every turn."
"No, I won't," said Kitty, looking repentant. "I do want to help you; and if you'll let me help, I'll suspect everybody you want me to."
"I want you to help me, but this story of Marie's is too big for me to handle by myself. I must put that into Mr. Benson's hands. It is really more important than you can understand."
"I suppose so," said Kitty, so humbly that Rob smiled at her, and had great difficulty to refrain from