Chapter VII The Mysterious Motor Car––––––––
“NO!” cried Mrs. Carstairs, impetuously; “David Van Wyck would not do that!”
“You seem very certain,” said Morland, looking at her coldly.
“I am certain,” she retorted, with a flush of her dark eyes. “Do you suppose I’ve lived under David Van Wyck’s roof all these years, without learning his nature fairly well? He was a hard man and severe,—but he was just, and above such meanness as you ascribe to him.”
“But,” said I, “you have already expressed an opinion that Mr. Van Wyck died by his own hand. Now, if the pearls were stolen by a burglar, it is a strange coincidence that the two crimes should occur the same night.”
Mrs. Carstairs looked at me with her face full of baffled rage. Her theories were indeed at variance. If an intruder took the
