"
"Very good. Is she convinced now about her sister's death?"
"She'd give anything to be able to believe it, but she's a hard
woman, and brooding along certain lines makes one groovy. I have
sometimes been afraid of her reason--on the religious side, don't
you know. Elizabeth doesn't matter. Brain of a hen. Always had."
Here Arthurs summoned me to the bath-chair, and the ravaged face,
beneath its knitted Shetland wool hood, of Miss Mary Moultrie.
"I need not remind you, I hope, of the seal of secrecy--absolute
secrecy--in your profession," she began. "Thanks to my cousin's
and my sister's stupidity, you have found out " she blew her
nose.
"Please don't excite her, sir," said Arthurs at the back.
"But, my dear Miss Moultrie, I only know what I've seen, of
course, but it seems to me that what you thought was a tragedy in
your sister's case, turns out, on your own evidence, so to speak,
to have been an accident--a dreadfully sad one--but absolutely an
accident."
"Do you believe that too?" she cried.
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