“My nephew and I came in at that moment,” Westward interrupted, “and went up the hill to the house as fast as possible. Mrs. Westward meanwhile had telephoned for the police. Miss Thompson was waiting on the steps. She was hysterical and afraid to go back into the lonely house.”
“Richmond said he thought she had been drinking,” his wife interjected.
“That meant nothing,” Westward observed, “she was hysterical and I don’t wonder in that great lonely house. When we went in with the police we found the big living room door locked with the key on the inside. We had to break it open and found it bolted. Evidently the stranger had seen to that. Old Apthorpe was lying dead shot through the head with a bullet from his own revolver. The window was open. There was a twelve-foot drop to the grass outside and the man had lowered himself by a portiere. So far not a trace has been found of him. A great many people pass through here on the way to or from Boston and we have become so used to strangers that no heed is paid to them any more.”
“Was there any evidence of robbery?” Trent asked.
“Not a trace so far as we could see. I mean by that there was no disorder. Things of value might have been taken but nothing had been broken open. We shan’t know until Mrs. Apthorpe comes.”
“It was evidently,” Mr. Westward declared, “some man whom he had been expecting. Miss Thompson, according to her story, did not know the man’s name and yet was told to admit him. It may be the police will find it from correspondence.”
“I doubt it,” Trent observed shaking his head. “If it was a man Apthorpe had dreaded for a score of years he wouldn’t be corresponding with him.”
“Then why was he admitted?” asked Mrs. Westward.
“Consider the circumstances,” Anthony Trent reminded her. He was becoming thoroughly interested. “Here he was almost in the house, his foot in the door. All the servants were away. No matter what Apthorpe said he would have got in. What more likely than that the proud overbearing old man felt sufficient confidence in his nerve and his revolver? Or if he didn’t he would not admit it. The curious part to my mind was how this unknown timed it so exactly. He turned up just as the servants were going out for the evening.” He turned to Mrs. Westward, “Why didn’t Miss Thompson telephone for police aid do you suppose? Does it seem strange to you that she telephoned to you instead?”