“I have a theory,” was all he would say, reaching for the railway guide, “but it will take me up to Stratfield to prove it.”

His plan gave us a little respite and we paused long enough to lunch, for which breathing space I was duly thankful.  The forenoon saw us on the train, Kennedy carrying a large and cumbersome package which he brought down with him from the laboratory and which we took turns in carrying, though he gave no hint of its contents.

We arrived in Stratfield, a very pretty little mill town, in the middle of the afternoon, and with very little trouble were directed to the Pearcy house, after Kennedy had checked the parcel with the station agent.

Mrs. Pearcy, to whom we introduced ourselves as reporters of the Star, was a tall blonde.  I could not help thinking that she made a particularly dashing widow.  With her at the time was Isabel Pearcy, a slender girl whose sensitive lips and large, earnest eyes indicated a fine, high-strung nature.

Even before we had introduced ourselves, I could not help thinking that there was a sort of hostility between the women.  Certainly it was evident that there was as much difference in temperament as between the butterfly and the bee.

“No,” replied the elder woman quickly to a request from Kennedy for an interview, “there is nothing that I care to say to the newspapers.  They have said too much already about this—­ unfortunate affair.”

Whether it was imagination or not, I fancied that there was an air of reserve about both women.  It struck me as a most peculiar household.  What was it?  Was each suspicious of the other?  Was each concealing something?

I managed to steal a glance at Kennedy’s face to see whether there was anything to confirm my own impression.  He was watching Mrs. Pearcy closely as she spoke.  In fact his next few questions, inconsequential as they were, seemed addressed to her solely for the purpose of getting her to speak.

I followed his eyes and found that he was watching her mouth, in reality.  As she answered I noted her beautiful white teeth.  Kennedy himself had trained me to notice small things, and at the time, though I thought it was trivial, I recall noticing on her gums, where they joined the teeth, a peculiar bluish-black line.

Kennedy had been careful to address only Mrs. Pearcy at first, and as he continued questioning her, she seemed to realize that he was trying to lead her along.

“I must positively refuse to talk any more,” she repeated finally, rising.  “I am not to be tricked into saying anything.”

She had left the room, evidently expecting that Isabel would follow.  She did not.  In fact I felt that Miss Pearcy was visibly relieved by the departure of her stepmother.  She seemed anxious to ask us something and now took the first opportunity.

“Tell me,” she said eagerly, “how did Mr. Minturn die?  What do they really think of it in New York?”