more than she the estrangement between Richard Van Norman and his nephew. And even as Mrs. Markham looked at the bowed head of the great strong man she suddenly bethought herself for the first time that Tom was now heir to the Van Norman fortune.
She wondered if he had himself yet realized it; and then she scolded herself for letting such thoughts intrude so unfittingly soon. And yet she well knew that it would not be in ordinary human nature long to ignore the fact of such a sudden change of fortunes. As she looked at Tom her glance strayed toward Mr. Carleton, and then the thought struck her that what Tom had gained this man had lost. For had Madeleine lived the Van Norman money would have been, in a way, at the disposal of her husband. The girl's death then would make Tom a rich man, while Schuyler Carleton would remain poor. He had always been poor, or at least far from wealthy, and more than one gossip was of the opinion that he had wooed Miss Van Norman not entirely because of disinterested love for her.
While Mrs. Markham was busy with these fast-following thoughts a voice in the doorway made her look up.
A quiet, unimportant-looking man stood there, and was respectfully addressing Doctor Hills.
"I'm Hunt, sir," he said, "a plain-clothes man from headquarters."
The three men in the room gave a start of surprise, and each turned an inquiring look at the newcomer.
"Who sent you? And what for?" asked Doctor Hills.
"I've been here all night, sir. I'm on guard in the present room upstairs."
"I engaged him," said Mrs. Markham. "Madeleine's presents are very valuable, and although the jewels are still in the bank, the silver and other things upstairs are worth a large amount, and I thought best to have this man remain here during the night."
"A very wise precaution, Mrs. Markham," said Doctor Hills; "and why did you leave your post, my man?"
"The butler told me of what had happened, and I wondered if I might be of any service down here. I left the butler in charge of the room while I came down to inquire."
"Very thoughtful of you," said Doctor Hills, with a nod of appreciation; "and while I hardly think so, we may have use for you before the night is over. I am expecting Doctor Leonard, the county physician, and until he comes I can do nothing. I am sure the room above is sufficiently guarded for the time being, so suppose you sit down here a few minutes and wait."
Mr. Hunt chose to take a seat in the hall, just outside the library door, and thus added one more solemn presence to the quietly waiting group.
And now Doctor Hills had occasion to add another puzzling condition to those that had already confronted him.
Almost every one in the room was curiously affected by the appearance of this detective, or plain-clothes man, as he was called.
Schuyler Carleton gave a start, and his pale face became whiter yet.
Cicely Dupuy looked at him, and then turning her glance toward Mr. Hunt, whom she could see through the doorway, she favored the latter with a stare of such venomous hatred that Doctor Hills with difficulty repressed an exclamation.
Cicely's big blue eyes roved from Hunt to Carleton and back again, and her little hands clenched as with a firm resolve of some sort in her mind; she seemed to brace herself for action.
Her hovering glances annoyed Carleton; he grew nervous and at last stared straight at her, when her own eyes dropped, and she blushed rosy red.
But this side-play was observed by no one but Doctor Hills, for the others were evidently absorbed in serious thoughts of their own concerning the advent of Mr. Hunt.
Tom Willard stared at him in a sort of perplexity; but Tom's good-natured face had worn that perplexed look ever since he had heard the awful news. He seemed unable to understand, or even to grasp the facts so clearly visible before him.
But Miss Morton was more disturbed than any one else. She looked at Hunt, and an expression of fear came into her eyes. She fidgeted about, she felt in her pocket, she changed her seat twice, and she repeatedly asked Doctor Hills if he thought Doctor Leonard would arrive soon.
Doctor Leonard did not live in Mapleton, but motored over from his home in a nearby village. He was a stranger to all those awaiting him in the Van Norman house, with the exception of Doctor Hills. Unlike that pleasant-mannered young man, Doctor Leonard was middle aged, of a crusty disposition and curt speech.
When he came, Doctor Hills presented him to the ladies, and before he had time to introduce the two men, Doctor Leonard said crossly, "Put the women out. I cannot conduct this affair with petticoats and hysterics around me."
Though not meant to reach the ears of the ladies, the speech was fairly audible, and with a trace of indignation Miss Morton arose and left the room. Mrs. Markham followed her, and Cicely went also.
Doctor Leonard closed the library doors, and, turning to Doctor Hills, asked for a concise statement of what had happened.
In his straightforward manner Doctor Hills gave him a brief outline of the case, including all the necessary details.
"And yet," he concluded, "even in the face of that written message, I cannot think it a suicide."
"Of course it's a suicide," declared Doctor Leonard in his blustering way; "there is no question whatever. That written confession which you all declare to be in her handwriting is ample proof that the girl killed herself. Of course you had to send for me—the stupid old laws of New Jersey make it imperative that I shall be dragged out many miles away from my home for every death that isn't in conventional death-bed fashion; but there is no suspicion of foul play here. The poor girl chose to kill herself, and she has done so with the means which she found near at hand. I will write the burial certificate and leave it with you. There is no occasion for the coroner."
"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Schuyler Carleton, in a fervent tone.
"Amen," said Tom. "It's dreadful enough to think of poor Maddy as she is, but had it been any one else who—"
Unheeding the ejaculations of the two men, Doctor Hills said earnestly, "But, Doctor, if it had not been for the written paper, would you have called it suicide?"
"That has nothing to do with the case," declared Doctor Leonard testily; "The paper is there, and is authentic. No sane man could doubt that it is a suicide after that."
"But, Doctor Leonard, it would seem impossible for a woman to stab herself at that angle, and with such an astonishing degree of force; also to pull the dagger from the wound, cast it on the floor, and then to place her arm in that particular position on the table."
"Why do you say in that particular position?"
"Because the position of her right arm is as if thrown there carelessly, and not as if flung there in a death agony."
"You are imaginative, Doctor Hills. The facts may not seem possible, but since they are the facts you must admit that they are possible."
"Very well, Doctor Leonard, I accept your decision, and I relinquish all professional responsibility in the matter."
"You may do so. There is no occasion for mystery or question. It is a sad affair, indeed, but no crime is indicated beyond that of self-destruction. The written confession hints at the motive for the deed, but that is outside my jurisdiction. Who is the man in the hall? I fancied him a detective."
"He is; that is, he is a man from headquarters who is here to watch over the bridal gifts. He came downstairs thinking we might require his services in another way."
"Send him back to his post. There is no work for detectives, just because a young girl chose to end her unhappy life."
Doctor Hills opened the library door and directed Hunt to return to his place in the present room.
Doctor Leonard, still with his harsh and disagreeable manner, advised Willard and Carleton to go to their homes, saying he and Doctor Hills would remain in charge of the library for the rest of the night.
Doctor Hills found the women