“‘Come, Eunice,’ he said, just like that!  And you bet Eunice went!”

“Was she angry, too?”

“Rather!  Oh, you know her temper is something fierce!  When she’s roused, she’s like a roaring lion and a raging bear—­as it says in the Bible—­or Shakespeare, or somewhere."’

“Speaking of Shakespeare, you and Mrs, Embury went to see ‘Hamlet’ recently, I believe.”

“Oh, yes; when the Avon Players put it on.  Everybody went.  Didn’t you?  You missed it, if you didn’t!  Most marvelous performance.  ‘Macbeth,’ too.  That was perfectly darling!  I went to that with—­”

“Excuse me.  As to ‘Hamlet,’ now.  Did you notice particularly the speech about the poisoning of—­”

“Of Hamlet’s father!  I should say I did!  Why, that speech by Mr. Postlewaite—­he was ‘The Ghost,’ you know—­was stunning, as much applauded as the ‘Soliloquy’ itself!  He fairly made you see that poisoning scene!”

“Was Mrs, Embury interested?”

“Oh, we both were!  We were at school together, and we both loved Shakespeare—­we took it ‘Special.’  And we were terribly interested in the Avon Players’ ’Hamlet’—­it was unlike any representation we had ever seen.”

“Ah—­yes; and did you—­you and Mrs, Embury—­discuss the poison used by the wicked uncle?”

“Not lately.  But in class we discussed that—­years ago—­oh, that’s one of the regulation Shakespearean puzzles.  You can’t trip us up on our Shakespeare—­either of us!  I doubt if you can find two frivolous society women who know it better than we do!”

“Did you know that Mr. Embury was killed in a manner identical with the Hamlet murder?”

“No!  What do you mean?  I’ve really not heard the details.  As soon as I heard of his death, I called up Eunice, but, as I said, she wasn’t cordial at all.  Then I was busy with my own guests after that—­last night and this morning—­well, I’m really hardly awake yet!”

Fifi rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand—­a childish gesture, and daintily smothered a slight yawn.

“But I’m awfully interested,” she went on, “only—­only I can’t bear to hear about—­a—­murder!  The details, I mean.  I should think Eunice would go crazy!  I should think she’d be glad to come here—­I was going to ask her, when she called me down!  But, what do you mean—­killed like Hamlet’s father?”

“Yes; there was poison introduced into his ear as Mr. Embury slept—­”

“Really!  How tragic; How terrible!  Who did it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to discover.  Could—­do you think Mrs, Embury could have had sufficient motive—­”

“Eunice!” Fifi screamed.  “What an idea!  Eunice Embury to kill her own husband!  Oh, no!”

“But only she and that aunt of hers had opportunity.  You know how their bedrooms are?”

“Oh, yes, I know.  Miss Ames is using Eunice’s dressing-room—­and a nuisance it is, too.”