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Page 8
CHAPTER III
MARGARET LANGMORE
As Raymond Case had said, the Langmore mansion was a large one, setting
in the midst of an extensive lawn, sprinkled here and there with maples
and oaks and fine flowering bushes. The hedge in front was well kept
and the side fences were also in good repair. In the rear was a stable
and also an automobile shed, for the late master of this estate had
been fond of a dash in his runabout when time permitted. Down by the
brook, back of the stable, was a tiny wharf, where a boat was tied up,
a craft which Margaret Langmore had occasionally taken down to the
river for a row.
The mansion now looked dark and lonesome, although many folks passed on
the highway and whispered to each other that there was the spot where
the gruesome tragedy had been committed. "And to think that the man's
own daughter did it," they would generally add. "Beats all how
bloodthirsty some folks can get. He must have cut her short on money
or something and she was too high-strung to stand it."
"No, it ain't that," another would answer. "She's been flirting around
with a certain young man, a Wall Street gambler, and her mother
wouldn't have it and told her so. That's the real trouble, my way of
thinking."
Inside of the house all was as quiet as a tomb save for the ticking of
the long clock in the lower hall. Below, a single policeman was on
guard, in company with a woman, who had been sent in to help: Upstairs
another woman was stationed, to see that Margaret Langmore might not
take it upon herself to leave for parts unknown.
Margaret sat in her own room, in the wing on the second floor, a dainty
apartment, trimmed in blue and containing all her girlish treasures.
On the walls were numerous photographs of her old schoolmates and the
flag of the seminary she had attended. And on the mantel rested the
picture of Raymond Case, the high polish of the surface marred in one
spot where a tear had fallen upon it.
The girl was tall and slender, with a wealth of light-brown hair and
eyes of deepest blue. It was more than a pretty face, for it had a
certain sadness that was touching.
For several minutes the girl had not moved. Now, as the door opened
and the woman who was on guard upstairs came in, she gave a long sigh.
"Can I do anything?" asked the woman, in a voice that was not unkindly.
"Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Morse."
"Would you like a cup of tea, or a bit of toast? Mrs. Jessup can make
it easy enough--she has nothing at all to do."
"I do not care to touch a thing."
The answer came in a dreary monotone. The girl's trials were beginning
to tell upon her. At first she had tried to bear up bravely, and the
words Raymond had spoken had comforted her, but now he was gone and the
whole world looked dark once more.
"Has anybody called?" she asked at length.
"Nobody to see you."
"Nobody?" Margaret began to pace the floor. "When did the coroner say
the examination was to be continued?" she went on.
"To-morrow morning at eleven o'clock."
"And who is to be put on the stand?"
At this question the woman in charge began to fidget. "Excuse me,
miss, but I was ordered not to answer questions. I'm sorry, and I wish
you wouldn't worry so much. If I can do anything else--"
"You can do nothing."
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