The district attorney loosened the cords of the green bag and drew out a bundle of documents.  “I’ll read you the affidavit of the maid who found them,” he said, fingering the documents nervously.  “You see, John Templeton had left his office in New York early that afternoon, telling his father that he was going to visit Miss Wainwright.  He caught the three-twenty train, reached Williston all right, walked to the Wainwright house, and, in spite of the bustle of preparation for the wedding, the next day, he spent the rest of the afternoon with Miss Wainwright.  That’s where the mystery begins.  They had no visitors.  At least, the maid who answers the bell says they had none.  She was busy with the rest of the family, and I believe the front door was not locked—­we don’t lock our doors in Williston, except at night.”

He had found the paper and paused to impress these facts on our minds.

“Mrs. Wainwright and Miss Marian Wainwright, the sister, were busy about the house.  Mrs. Wainwright wished to consult Laura about something.  She summoned the maid and asked if Mr. Templeton and Miss Wainwright were in the house.  The maid replied that she would see, and this is her affidavit.  Ahem!  I’ll skip the legal part:  ’I knocked at the library door twice, but obtaining no answer, I supposed they had gone out for a walk or perhaps a ride across country as they often did.  I opened the door partly and looked in.  There was a silence in the room, a strange, queer silence.  I opened the door further and, looking toward the davenport in the corner, I saw Miss Laura and Mr. Templeton in such an awkward position.  They looked as if they had fallen asleep.  His head was thrown back against the cushions of the davenport, and on his face was a most awful look.  It was discoloured.  Her head had fallen forward on his shoulder, sideways, and on her face, too, was the same terrible stare and the same discolouration.  Their right hands were tightly clasped.

“’I called to them.  They did not answer.  Then the horrible truth flashed on me.  They were dead.  I felt giddy for a minute, but quickly recovered myself, and with a cry for help I rushed to Mrs. Wainwright’s room, shrieking that they were dead.  Mrs. Wainwright fainted.  Miss Marian called the doctor on the telephone and helped us restore her mother.  She seemed perfectly cool in the tragedy, and I do not know what we servants should have done if she had not been there to direct us.  The house was frantic, and Mr. Wainwright was not at home.

“’I did not detect any odour when I opened the library door.  No glasses or bottles or vials or other receptacles which could have held poison were discovered or removed by me, or to the best of my knowledge and belief by anyone else.’”

“What happened next?” asked Craig eagerly.

“The family physician arrived and sent for the coroner immediately, and later for myself.  You see, he thought at once of murder.”