The Clue Read Online Free PDF Page B

household where she was a comparative stranger. And yet might it not be merely a kind consideration for those who were nearer and dearer to the principals of this awful tragedy?
    But even as he thought this over, Miss Morton had gone to the telephone, her heavy silk gown rustling as she crossed the room, and her every movement assertive of her own importance.
    Calling up the Mapleton Inn, she succeeded, after several attempts, in rousing some of its occupants, and finally was in communication with young Willard himself. She did not tell him of the tragedy, but only asked him to come over to the house at once, as something serious had happened, and returned to her seat with a murmured observation that Tom would arrive as soon as possible.
    Again the little group lapsed into silence. Cicely Dupuy was very nervous, and kept picking at her handkerchief, quite unconscious that she was ruining its delicate lace edge.
    Doctor Hills glanced furtively from one to another. Many things puzzled him, but most of all he was at a loss to understand the suicide of this beautiful girl on the very eve of her wedding.
    At last Tom Willard came.
    Miss Morton met him at the door, and took him into the drawing-room before he could turn toward the library.
    Schuyler Carleton’s frantic touches on various electric buttons had turned on all the lights in the drawing-room. As no one had noticed this, the great apartment had remained illuminated as if for a festivity, and the soft, bright lights fell on the floral bower and the elaborate decorations that had been arranged for the wedding day.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Tom, his own face white with an impending sense of dread as he looked into Miss Morton’s eyes.
    As gently as possible, but in her own straightforward and inevitably somewhat abrupt way, Miss Morton told him.
    â€œI want to warn you,” she said, “to prepare for a shock, and I think it kinder to tell you the truth at once. Your cousin Madeleine—Miss Van Norman—has taken her own life.”
    â€œWhat?” Tom almost shouted the word, and his face showed an absolutely uncomprehending amazement.
    â€œShe killed herself to-night,” Miss Morton went on, whose efforts were now directed toward making the young man understand, rather than towards sparing his feelings.
    But Tom could not seem to grasp it. “What do you mean?” he said, catching her by both arms. “Madeleine? Killed herself?”
    â€œYes,” said Miss Morton, shaken out of her own calm by Tom’s excited voice. “In the library, after we had all gone to bed, she stabbed herself with that horrible paper-cutter thing. Did you know she was unhappy?”
    â€œUnhappy? No; why should she be? Tomorrow was to have been her wedding day!”
    â€œTo-day,” corrected Miss Morton. “It is already the day on which our dear Madeleine was to have become a bride. And instead “Glancing around the brilliant room and at the bridal bower, Miss Morton’s composure gave way entirely, and she sobbed hysterically. At this Cicely Dupuy came across from the library. Putting her arm around Miss Morton, she led the sobbing woman away, and without a word to Tom Willard gave him a glance which seemed to say that he must look out for himself, for her duty was to attend Miss Morton.
    As the two women left the drawing-room Tom followed them. He walked slowly, and stared about as if uncertain where to go. He paused a moment midway in the room, and, stooping, picked up some small object from the carpet, which he put in his waistcoat pocket.
    A moment more and he had crossed the hall and stood at the library door, gazing at the scene which had already shocked and saddened the others.
    With a groan, as of utter anguish, Tom involuntarily put up one hand before his eyes.
    Then, pulling himself together with an effort, he seemed to dash away a tear, and walked into the room, saying almost harshly, “What does it