More than one motive, however, lent wings to Mrs. Carteret’s feet.  Her aunt’s incomplete disclosures on the day of the drive past the hospital had been weighing upon Mrs. Carteret’s mind, and she had intended to make another effort this very day, to get an answer to her question about the papers which the woman had claimed were in existence.  Suppose her aunt had really found such papers,—­papers which would seem to prove the preposterous claim made by her father’s mulatto mistress?  Suppose that, with the fatuity which generally leads human beings to keep compromising documents, her aunt had preserved these papers?  If they should be found there in the house, there might be a scandal, if nothing worse, and this was to be avoided at all hazards.

Guided by some fortunate instinct, Dinah had as yet informed no one but Mrs. Carteret of her discovery.  If they could reach the house before the murder became known to any third person, she might be the first to secure access to the remaining contents of the cedar chest, which would be likely to be held as evidence in case the officers of the law forestalled her own arrival.

They found the house wrapped in the silence of death.  Mrs. Carteret entered the chamber of the dead woman.  Upon the floor, where it had fallen, lay the body in a pool of blood, the strongly marked countenance scarcely more grim in the rigidity of death than it had been in life.  A gaping wound in the head accounted easily for the death.  The cedar chest stood open, its strong fastenings having been broken by a steel bar which still lay beside it.  Near it were scattered pieces of old lace, antiquated jewelry, tarnished silverware,—­the various mute souvenirs of the joys and sorrows of a long and active life.

Kneeling by the open chest, Mrs. Carteret glanced hurriedly through its contents.  There were no papers there except a few old deeds and letters.  She had risen with a sigh of relief, when she perceived the end of a paper projecting from beneath the edge of a rug which had been carelessly rumpled, probably by the burglar in his hasty search for plunder.  This paper, or sealed envelope as it proved to be, which evidently contained some inclosure, she seized, and at the sound of approaching footsteps thrust hastily into her own bosom.

The sight of two agitated women rushing through the quiet streets at so early an hour in the morning had attracted attention and aroused curiosity, and the story of the murder, having once become known, spread with the customary rapidity of bad news.  Very soon a policeman, and a little later a sheriff’s officer, arrived at the house and took charge of the remains to await the arrival of the coroner.

By nine o’clock a coroner’s jury had been summoned, who, after brief deliberation, returned a verdict of willful murder at the hands of some person or persons unknown, while engaged in the commission of a burglary.

No sooner was the verdict announced than the community, or at least the white third of it, resolved itself spontaneously into a committee of the whole to discover the perpetrator of this dastardly crime, which, at this stage of the affair, seemed merely one of robbery and murder.