“But all the picnic party were waiting, in full view of that gate, and in full view of the house. Yet somebody——”
“You needn’t say somebody got in,—for nobody could do that.”
“I don’t say it. But I’m looking out for some such person. If not, we must conclude——”
“What, sir?”
“That Miss Varian shot her father, and then,—in some yet undiscovered place, killed herself, or still alive,—is in hiding.”
“Miss Betty kill her father!” exclaimed Hannah, the cook, speaking to the sheriff for the first time. “No, she never did that!”
“Yet there was ill feeling between them,” Potter returned, quickly.
“That there was not! A more loving father and child I never met up with! Bless her pretty face! To dare accuse darlin’ Miss Betty of such a thing! I say, now, Mister Man, you better be careful how you say such lies around here! You know you’ve nothin’ to go on, but your own black thoughts! You know you don’t know who killed the master, and you’re too dumb to find out, and so you pick on that poor dear angel child, who ain’t here to speak up for herself!”
“Where is she, then? Where’s Miss Betty?”
“Where is she? Belike in some hidin’ place, scared into fits because of seein’ her father shot! Or maybe, stunned and unconscious herself,—the deed bein’ done by the same villyun what did for the master! Oh, sakes! it’s bad enough without your makin’ it worse callin’ my darlin’ girl a murderer! Where’s Mrs Varian? What does she say?”
“She’s asleep. The doctor had to quiet her, she was in raving hysterics.”
“Ay, she would be. Poor lady. She’ll be no help in this awful thing. And, sir, another thing: The waitress and the chambermaid, they’re sisters, Agnes and Lena, they say they’re not coming back here. Nothing would induce them to step foot in this house again, they say. They bid me send ’em their things and——”
“Nonsense, they’ll have to come back.” This from Bill. “Tell me where they are. I’ll bring them back.”
“No, they won’t come. They’re going down to Boston tonight.”
“They mustn’t be allowed to do that!”
“They’ve gone by now,” and Hannah looked unconcerned. “But never you mind, they know nothin’ of this matter. They’re two young scared girls, and they’d be no good to you nor anyone else. They know nothin’ to tell, and they’d have worse hysterics than Mrs Varian if you tried to bring ’em back to this house.”
“You won’t desert Mrs Varian, will you, Hannah?” asked Potter.
“Well, I’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’,” and the cook shrugged her shoulders. “I couldn’t be expected to stay in such a moil.”
“No; of course you couldn’t!” exclaimed Potter, angrily. “You don’t care that poor Mrs Varian is in deep trouble and sorrow! You don’t care that there’ll be nobody to cook for her and her brother’s family! You’ve no sense of common humanity,—no sympathy for grief, no heart in your stupid old body!”
“I might stay on for a time, sir,—if—if they made it worth my while.”
“Oh, greed might keep you here! Kelly, what about you? Are you going to desert this stricken household?”
“I’ll—I’ll stay for a time, sir,” the butler said, quite evidently ill at ease. “Now, you mustn’t blame us, Mr Potter for——”
“I do blame you! I know how you feel about a house where there’s a mystery, but also, you ought to be glad to do whatever you can to help. And nothing could help poor Mrs Varian so much as to have some of her servants faithful to her. Also, I’m pretty sure I may promise you extra pay,—as I know that will hold you, when nothing else will.”
“And now,” Bill Dunn put in, “you’d better fix up a meal for those who want it. They had no picnic supper, you see, and there are the guests to be considered as well as your Mrs Varian.”
“Speakin’ one word for them and two for yourself, I’m thinkin’,” Hannah sniffed, as she began to tie on her apron. “Well, Mr Potter, you’ll be welcome to a good meal, I’m sure.”
“One moment, Hannah,” said Bill, “when you left here today, was there a sofa pillow out here in the kitchen?”
“A sofy pillow? There was not. Why should such a thing be?”
“A yellow satin one,—embroidered.”
“Off the hall sofy? No, sir, it never was in my kitchen at all.”
“What do you know about it?” Dunn turned to the butler. “When did you last see the sofa pillows on the hall sofa?”
Kelly stared.
“I saw them this morning, sir,—yes, and I saw them this afternoon,—when I set the picnic baskets out. I didn’t——”
“How did you happen to notice the pillows, Kelly?” Bill watched him closely.
“Why, I didn’t exactly notice them,—but,—well, if they hadn’t been in place I should have noticed it.”
“That’s right,” Dunn gave a satisfied nod. The pillow episode seemed important to him, though he could get no meaning to it as yet. “Now Kelly, tell me the truth. When you’ve been around, in the dining room, or the living rooms, haven’t you heard conversations between Miss Varian and her father that showed some friction between the two?”
“Oh, now, sir, Miss Betty’s a saucy piece——”
“I don’t mean gay chaff,—I mean real, downright quarreling. Did you ever hear any of that? Tell me the truth, Kelly, you’ll serve no good purpose by trying to shield either of them.”
“Well, then, yes, sir, I did,—and often. But not to say exactly quarreling,—more like argufying——”
“Why do you say that, Kelly? They do quarrel,—all the time they quarrel,—and you know it.”
This astonishing speech was from the lips of Minna Varian, who suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She was smiling a little, she looked tired and wan, but she was in no way excited or hysterical. She wore a trailing blue wrapper, and her hair was falling from its combs and hairpins.
“Mrs Varian!” exclaimed Potter, springing to her side. “Why are you here?”
“I heard voices and I wondered who was down here. Where are my people? Who are you two strange men?”
“There, there,” said Hannah, advancing and putting an arm round her mistress, “let me take you back to your room. Come now.”
“Just a minute,” and Potter looked keenly at the lady. “Say that again, Mrs Varian. Your daughter quarrels with her father often?”
“All the time,” Minna Varian laughed. “I have to make peace between them morning, noon and night. Oh, why do they do it? Fred is so dear and sweet to me,—then he will scold Betty for the least trifle! And Betty never differs from me in her opinions, but she is antagonistic to her father, always. Can you explain it?”
Mrs Varian’s large gray eyes stared at Potter, and then turned to Bill Dunn. It was clear to be seen that she was still partly under the influence of the opiate effects, and that her memory of the recent tragedy was utterly obliterated.
“Take her to her room,” Potter said quickly, to Hannah. “If she comes to down here there’ll be a fearful scene. How did she get away?”
“There was nobody in my room,” Minna said, overhearing. “Who should be there? I’m not ill. I woke up from a nap, and I heard talking,—my room is right above this, so I came down. Where’s Miss Betty, Hannah? Kelly, what are you doing?”
“I’m about to get supper, madam,” Kelly’s glance rested kindly on the pathetic figure.
Minna Varian looked small and frail, and her white face and vacant, staring eyes seemed to add to the mystery of the whole affair.
“Come, now, Mrs Varian, come along of Hannah.”
“Minna, where are you?” Janet’s frightened voice broke in upon them. “Merciful powers, however did she get down here? Help me get her back, Hannah. No, wait, I’ll call Doctor Varian.”
But Herbert Varian was already entering the kitchen, and between them, Minna was safely convoyed back to her room.
“Well, we’re getting at the truth,” said Potter, with an air of satisfaction as he glanced at Dunn. “Lord knows I’m sorry for that poor woman, but they say children and fools speak the truth, and so, though she isn’t herself, mentally, she told the truth about Miss Varian and her father being enemies.”
“Oh, she didn’t,” Hannah moaned, wiping her eyes on her apron. “I tell you it wasn’t as bad as Mrs Varian makes out.”
“Yes, it was,” said Kelly, slowly. “You’ve no way of knowing, Hannah, you’re always in the kitchen. But I’m about the house all the time, and I hear lots of talk. And it’s just as Mrs Varian said: Miss Betty and her father never agree. They scrap at the least hint of a chance; and though sometimes they’re terribly affectionate and loving, yet at other times, they quarrel like everything.”
“That’s enough, Kelly; now keep quiet about this. Even if Miss Varian and her father were not always friendly, it may not mean anything serious and it may make trouble for the young lady if such reports get out.”
“You expect to find Miss Betty, then?”
“Find her? Of course. You say yourself there’s only one way out of these premises. We know she didn’t go out that way, so, she must be here. There must be places we haven’t yet discovered, where she is hiding,—or—or has been concealed.”
“It’s a fearful situation!” broke out Dunn. “That girl may be gagged and bound—in some secret closet——”
“You say there are none, Bill.”
“I do say I don’t see how there can be any, but, good lord, Potter, the girl must be somewhere,—dead or alive!”
An attractive supper, largely consisting of the delicacies intended for the picnic, and supplemented by some hot viands, was soon in readiness.
Hannah was deputed to sit beside Mrs Varian, now sleeping again, and the others, including the detectives, gathered round the table.
“I’d like the sum of your findings, so far,” Doctor Varian said, raising weary eyes to Potter’s face.
“Pretty slim, Doctor,” the sheriff responded. “But, I want to say, right now, that I’ve got to do my duty as I see it. Much as I’d like to spare the feelings of you people and all that, I’ve got to forge ahead and discover anything I may.”
“Of course you have, Mr Potter. Don’t think I’d put a straw in the way of truth or justice. But, granting that you may speak with all plainness, where do you come out?”
“Only to the inevitable conclusion that Miss Varian killed her father and then killed herself, and her body will yet be found.”
“Now, Potter,” Dunn said, slowly, “don’t go too fast. That is one theory, to be sure, but it’s only a theory. You’ve nothing to back it up,—there’s no evidence——”
“There’s negative evidence, Bill. Nobody else could get up here to do that shooting, or, if he did, he couldn’t get away again. Say, for a minute, that some intruder might have been concealed in the house, say he shot Mr Varian, how’d he get out of here without being seen, and how did he do for the girl?”
“That’s all so,” Bill said, doggedly, “but it ain’t enough to prove,—or, even to indicate that Miss Varian did the shooting. Where’d she get a pistol?”
“Pshaw, that’s a foolish question! If she had nerve and ingenuity enough to shoot, she had enough to provide the gun.”
“Betty never did such things,” said Janet Varian with spirit. “That girl did sometimes have words with her father,—that’s a mere nothing,—my own daughter does that,—but Betty Varian is a loving, affectionate daughter, and she no more killed her father than I did!”
“Small use in asserting things you can’t prove,” said Potter, devoting himself to his supper. “Next thing for me to do’s to see those other people,—the ones that were here this afternoon.”
“All right,” said Doctor Varian, “but what do you hope to learn from them? They don’t know as much as we do. I was first on the spot, young Landon, who’s gone home, was here with me, and those others stayed down on the path waiting for us. See them, by all means, but I doubt their helpfulness. Now, aside from that, and granting you get no new evidence, what’s to be done?”
“I think,” Potter said thoughtfully, “you’d better offer a reward for any news of Miss Varian. It’s not likely to bring results,—but it ought to be done, I think.”
When Bill Dunn went up on the porch of Mrs Blackwood’s bungalow that evening, he found a group of neighbors there, and was not at all surprised that they were discussing the dreadful affair of Headland House.
Claire Blackwood greeted the caller courteously and asked him to go inside the house with her.
“Let us all go,” said Rodney Granniss. “I want to learn all about this case, and we’re entitled to know.”
“Come on, everybody,” Dunn invited, “I want to ask a lot of questions and who knows where I may get the best and most unexpected answers.”
Granniss and Lawrence North, with Ted Landon and John Clark, who had been up on the Headland in the afternoon, were the men, and Mrs Blackwood and her young guest, Eleanor Varian were the only women present.
Yet Dunn seemed well satisfied as he looked over the group.
“Fine,” he said, “all the witnesses I wanted, and all here together.”
“We didn’t witness anything,” offered John Clark, who was apparently by no means desirous of taking part in the colloquy. “And, as I’ve an engagement, can’t you question me first, and let me go?”
“Sure I can,” returned Dunn, whose easy manners were not at all curbed by the more formal attitude of those about him. “Just tell the story in your own way, son.”
Clark resented the familiar speech, but said nothing to that effect.
“There’s little to tell,” he began; “I’d never been up to Headland House before, and of course I’d never before met the Varians,—any of them. I went on Mrs Blackwood’s invitation, and after meeting the family and their guests on the veranda, we all started for a picnic. We had reached a point half way down the steep path from the house, when Miss Betty Varian said she had forgotten her camera. She returned to the house for it, and we waited. She was gone so long, that we wondered,—and then, her father went to hurry her up. He, too, was gone a long time, and then, Doctor Varian and Ted Landon went after him. That’s my story. Landon can tell you the rest.”
“I know the rest,” said Dunn, shortly; “I don’t see, Mr Clark, that you need remain. Your evidence is merely that of all the party who stayed behind while the others went up to the house.”
“Yes,” said Clark, with a sigh of relief, and making his adieux, he went away.
“Have you formed any theory of the crime, Mr Dunn?” asked Lawrence North, who was consumed with impatient curiosity, during the already known testimony of Clark.
“Not a definite one,” Dunn replied, seeming by his manner to invite advice or discussion. “It is too mysterious to theorize about.”
“By Jove, it is!” North agreed; “I never heard of a case so absolutely strange. I’d like to get into that house and see for myself.”
“See what for yourself Mr North?”
“Whether there’s any secret passage—but, of course you’ve looked for that?”
“Yes; thoroughly. I’m of an architectural mind,——”
“So is Mr North,” said Mrs Blackwood. “He designed this bungalow we’re in now.”
“Are you an architect, Mr North?”
“Not by profession, but I’m fond of it. And I flatter myself I could discover a secret passage if such existed.”
“I flatter myself I could, too,” said Dunn, but not boastfully. “Yet, I may have overlooked it. I’d be obliged, Mr North, if you’d come up to the house, and give it the once over. You might spot what I failed to see.”
“But I don’t know the people at all——”
“No matter; I ask you as a matter of assistance. Come up there tomorrow, will you?”
North promised to do so, and Dunn turned to Eleanor Varian.
“Sorry to trouble you, Miss Varian, but I have to ask you some very definite questions. First, do you know your relatives up there pretty well?”
“Why, yes,” said Eleanor, with a surprised look. “They live in New York and we live in Boston, but we visit each other now and then and we often spend our summers at the same place. Of course, I know them well.”
“Then, tell me exactly the relations between Miss Varian and her father. Don’t quibble or gloss over the facts,—if they were not entirely in accord it will be found out, and you may as well tell the truth.”
Eleanor Varian looked thoughtful.
“I will tell the truth,” she said, “because I can see it’s better to do so. Betty and her mother are much more in sympathy with one another than Betty and her father. I don’t know what makes the difference, but Aunt Minna always seems to want everything the way Betty wants it, while Uncle Fred always wants just the opposite.”
“Yet Miss Betty was fond of her father?”
“Oh, yes; they were devoted, really,—I think. Only, their natures were different.”
“Was there any special subject on which they disagreed?”
“There has been of late,” Eleanor admitted, though with evident reluctance. “Of course Betty is a great belle. Of course, she has and has had many admirers. Now, Uncle Fred seems always to be willing for Betty to have beaux and young man friends, but as soon as they become serious in their attentions, and want to marry Betty, then Uncle Fred shoos them off.”
It was, as yet, impossible for Eleanor to speak of her uncle in the past tense. The girl had not at all realized this sudden death, and couldn’t help thinking and speaking of him as still alive. Nor could she realize Betty’s disappearance. She was somewhat in a daze, and also over-excited by the awfulness of the situation. She talked rapidly, yet coherently, and Dunn secretly rejoiced at her agitation, knowing he would learn more than if she had been cool and collected.
“But that’s not at all an unusual thing,” put in North, who felt sorry for Eleanor and wanted to relieve her all he could from the grilling fire of Dunn’s questions. “I find that the majority of fathers resent the advances of their daughters’ suitors. Now, mothers are different,—they encourage a match that seems to them desirable. But a father can’t realize his little girl is growing up.”
“Well, Lawrence,” exclaimed Claire Blackwood, “for a bachelor, you seem to know a lot about family matters!”
“I’ve lots of friends, and I can’t help noticing these things. Isn’t it true, Miss Varian?”
“Yes,” Eleanor said, “to a degree, it is. I mean, in some instances. Any way, it’s quite true of Uncle Fred and Betty. Aunt Minna would be delighted to have Betty engaged to some nice young man, but Uncle Fred flies in a fury at mere mention of such a thing.”
“I can swear to that,” said Rodney Granniss. “I’ve known the Varians for two years, and it’s quite true. Mrs Varian smiled on the attachment between Betty and myself, but Mr Varian most certainly did not!”
“What!” exclaimed Dunn, “you one of Miss Betty Varian’s suitors?”
“Even so,” said Granniss, calmly. “I knew them in New York. I came up here to be near Betty. And now, Mr Dunn, I want to say that I’m going to do all I can to solve the mystery of Mr Varian’s death, but even more especially am I going to try to find Betty herself. I haven’t been up to Headland House yet, for it—well, it seems awful to go there now that Mr Varian can’t put me out!”
“Look here, young man,” Dunn gazed at him curiously, “it doesn’t seem to occur to you that you yourself may be said to have an interest in Mr Varian’s death!”
“Meaning that I shot him!” Grannis looked amused. “Well,—if you can tell me how I accomplished it——”
“But, my dear sir, somebody accomplished it——”
“And it might as well be me! The only trouble with your theory Mr Dunn is, that I didn’t do it. Investigate all you like, you can’t pin the crime, on me.”
“And, I suppose you didn’t abduct Miss Betty either?”
“I did not!” Granniss looked solemn. “I only wish I had. But I’m going to find her, and I want to start out by being friendly with you, Mr Dunn,—not antagonistic.”
“Easy enough to check up your alibi, Mr Granniss,” Dunn said; “no, don’t tell me where you were at the time,—I’ll find out for myself.”
“I’ll tell you,” said North, casually. “Mr Granniss was out in his motor boat all the afternoon. I know, because I was out in mine, and I saw him frequently. We were both fishing.”
“That’s right,” said Granniss, carelessly, as if his alibi were of small moment to him, as indeed it was. “Now, Mr Dunn, you must have some theory,—or if not a theory, some possible explanation of what occurred. Do give it to us.”
“Yes, do,” said North. “I’m fond of detective stories, but I never read one that started out so mysteriously as this.”
“I haven’t any theory,” Dunn looked at each in turn, his eyes roving round the room as he talked, “I can’t say as I can even dope out how it could have happened. But here’s what I work on,—motive. That’s the thing to seek first,—motive. We know Mr Varian is dead, we know Miss Varian is missing. That’s all we really know. Now, you can’t deduce anything from those facts alone. So, I say, hunt for a motive. It isn’t likely that Mr Varian had any enemies up here. And if he had, they never’d chosen such an opportunity to shoot him,—for, just think how sudden, how unexpected that opportunity was! Who could have foreseen that Miss Varian would go back to the house for her camera? Who could have foreseen that her father would go back after her? If those goings back were unpremeditated, then no enemy could have been there ready to utilize his chance. If, on the other hand, those goings back were premeditated, then they were arranged by either Miss Betty or her father——”
“Impossible!” cried North. “Mr Varian couldn’t foresee that his daughter would forget her camera, and Miss Betty couldn’t foresee that it would be her father who would come back for her!”
“I know it seems that way,” Dunn looked deeply perplexed, “but I can’t get away from the idea of there being some premeditation about the two goings back to that empty house that resulted in a double tragedy.”
“Suppose a burglar——” began Claire Blackwood; “suppose he had been concealed in the house before we left to go to the picnic. Suppose when Betty came back unexpectedly, he attacked her, and then, when Mr Varian came——”
“But what became of the burglar,—and of Miss Betty?” asked Dunn. “I’ve mulled over the burglar proposition, I’ve imagined him to be one of the servants, but it all comes back to the fact that such an intruder just simply couldn’t get away, and couldn’t get Betty away, dead or alive.”
“That’s perfectly true,” Claire agreed. “There’s no way to dispose of an imaginary intruder. But neither is there any way to dispose of Betty. Nothing in this world will make me believe that girl shot her father, but just assuming, for a moment, that she did,—what happened next?”
Claire demanded this with the air of an accusing judge.
“Why, that’s the only possible theory,” said Dunn. “Say the young lady did shoot her father, then she went some place,—where, we haven’t yet discovered,—and shot herself,—or, is there, alive yet.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll find her!” Rodney Granniss burst forth, his strong young face alight with zeal; “I’m going up there at once. Mr Varian didn’t like me, but Mrs Varian does, and maybe I can help her.”
“She can’t see you,” Dunn told him. “She’s under the influence of opiates all the time. Doctor Varian keeps her that way.”
“She’ll have to come to her senses some time,” said Rod. “I’m going up there any way.”
“I’m going with you,” declared Eleanor Varian. “I don’t want to stay here,—forgive me, Mrs Blackwood, you’re kindness itself,—but I want to be where father and mother are. I want to help find Betty, too. I know a lot of places to look——”
“You do!” exclaimed Dunn. “Where are they, now?”
But all that Eleanor mentioned, Dunn had already searched, and his hopes of the girl’s assistance fell. Still, she might be familiar with Betty’s ways, and might be of some slight use.
“Well, Miss Varian, you must do as you think best,” he said; “but I advise you to bide here till the morning, anyway.”
“Yes, do, dear,” urged Claire, and Eleanor, remembering the unavoidable climb up the steep rocks, consented.
“Tell me one thing, Miss Varian,” said Dunn, suddenly; “were you in the kitchen of the Varian house this afternoon at all?”
“Yes, I was; I went out there with Betty to get some cakes and things. Why?”
“When you were there, did you notice a yellow sofa pillow out there?”
“In the kitchen? No, I did not!”
“You know the two yellow cushions that belong on the hall sofa?”
“Yes,—I think I know the ones you mean. What about them?”
“We found one of them in the middle of the kitchen floor. Do you think anybody could have put it there purposely?”
“I can’t imagine why any one should!”
“What do you deduce from that?” Lawrence North asked, interestedly, and Claire said:
“Why, that’s what you call a clue, isn’t it? What does it show?”
“It doesn’t show a thing to me,” declared Dunn; “leastways, nothing sensible. Look here, folks,—either there was somebody else in that house at that time besides Betty and her father,—or else there wasn’t. Now if there was, he surely wouldn’t be moving sofa pillows about. And if there wasn’t, then one of those two people moved it. Now, why? I can’t think of any reason, sensible or not, that would make anybody lug a fine handsome sofa cushion out to the kitchen.”
“Was it valuable enough to be worth stealing?” asked North.
“No; a good looking affair, but nothing to tempt a thief.”
“Looks like the servants’ work, I think,” suggested Claire. “Suppose one of them had stayed behind, and not with any criminal intent, either; and suppose, merely to be luxurious, she had taken a fine pillow out to her kitchen quarters.”
“But even so, and even if she were caught by the returning Betty she couldn’t have shot Mr Varian and concealed both herself and Betty——”
“You run up against a stone fence whatever you surmise,” exclaimed Landon. He had been a quiet listener, but had done some deep thinking. “There’s only one plausible solution,—and that’s a secret passage.”
“Look here, Mr Landon,” Dunn said, sharply, “that speech gets on my nerves. Anybody who thinks there’s a secret passage in that house up there on the cliff is welcome to go up there and find it. But I’m no fool and sheriff Potter isn’t either; nor is Doctor Herbert Varian. And none of us can find a secret passage, and what’s more, we’re positive there isn’t any. So, either show where there could be one,—or let up on that solution.”
“Good lord, Dunn, don’t get so wrathy!” Landon said, good-humoredly. “And I will go and look for one,—since you invite me. Go with me, North?”
“Yes,” was the willing reply, and Rodney Granniss said:
“Well you fellows won’t want to make that search till tomorrow. But I’m going up to the house now. You’ll stay here, won’t you, Miss Varian?”
Reluctantly, Eleanor agreed to stay, and Granniss went off alone.
Rodney Granniss was a determined man, and when he made his mind to hunt for Betty Varian he also made up his mind to find her. To his mind the very fact that the whole case was so inexplicable made it likely to develop some sudden clue or key that would unlock the situation.
He still felt averse to visiting a house where his presence had been forbidden by one who was now unable to resent his coming, but this was offset by his desire to help Mrs Varian and to help in finding Betty.
He pondered over the idea of a secret passage in the house, but it was of small comfort to him. If those other indefatigable workers had not been able to find it, he had no reason to think he could do so. And, besides, it was anything but an attractive picture to imagine Betty, either hidden voluntarily or concealed against her will in some such place.
He trudged along up the rocky steps and presented himself at the door of Headland House.
Sheriff Potter admitted him, and listened to his story.
Then he took him to the library and introduced him to Doctor Varian and his wife.
“I am glad to see you,” cried Janet. “Tell me of Eleanor.”
“She’s all right,” returned Granniss, cheerfully. “She rather wanted to come up here with me, but they persuaded her to stay over night with Mrs Blackwood.”
“Better so,” said Doctor Varian. “Did Dunn learn anything from anybody that you know of?”
“No,” said Rodney, “and I fear there’s little to learn from anybody.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that whatever there is to be learned must be found out here in this house,—not from any of those onlookers.”
“Sensible talk,” said Doctor Varian, “but how shall we set about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not possessed of what is called detective instinct, nor am I especially clever at solving puzzles. But I have determination, and I’m going to devote my whole time and energy to finding Betty Varian!”
“Well said, young man,” put in Potter, who was listening, “but untrained sleuthing is not often productive of great results.”
“I don’t mean sleuthing, exactly,” and Granniss looked at him squarely, “I am untrained. But I’m willing to be advised, I’m willing to be dictated to; I only ask to help.”
“You’re a brick!” said Janet; “I shouldn’t be surprised if you succeed better than the detectives.”
“If so, it will be because of my more personal interest in the case. I ought to tell you, Mrs Varian, that Betty and I are practically engaged. It depended, of course, on her father’s consent——”
“And that he refused to give?” asked Potter.
“Yes, he did. Which immediately ticketed me as his murderer in the eyes of Mr Dunn. But I’m not a criminal, and I didn’t shoot Mr Varian. I shan’t insist on this point, because you can prove my words true for yourself. Now, I’d like a talk with Mrs Varian,—Betty’s mother,—when such a thing is possible—and convenient.”
“I’m not sure but it would be a good thing,” said Doctor Varian, thoughtfully; “when she wakes, Mr Granniss, she will either be hysterical still, and in need of further opiate treatment, or,—and which I think more likely,—she will be calm, composed and alert minded. In the latter case, she might be glad to talk to the man who cares so much for her daughter.”
“I hope so; and, in the mean time, what can we do in the matter of finding Betty?”
“There’s nothing to be done in that line that hasn’t been done,” said the sheriff, despairingly. “All evening Doctor and Mrs Varian as well as the butler and cook have been going over the house and the grounds, calling, and hunting for the girl, with no success of any sort.”
“Had she a dog?”