The inquest had come and gone. Its jury of Aura citizens and two summer folk, duly instructed by Lawton as to the form of their verdict, gave opinion that Willis Chase had met his death at the hands of a person or persons unknown, wielding a sharp instrument (to wit, a punch blade of an identified knife) and a blunt instrument (i.e., a similarly identified metal water carafe). That was all. Willis Chase’s sister and his brother-in-law came over from Great Barrington, where they had an all-year home, and they took charge of the dead man and his effects. By noon Vailholme had settled to a semblance of its former pleasant calm. Doris and her aunt were the only remaining guests. Thanks to Horoson’s genius, enough servants consented to remain at only slightly increased subsidy to keep the household machinery in motion. The actors and spectators of the preceding night’s drama had a strange sense of unreality as of having been part of some impossible nightmare. Later the numbness would pass and the shock’s keener effects would play havoc with nerves and thoughts. But for the moment there was dull calm. To add to the sense of gloom and of dazed discomfort, the day was the hottest of the year. The thermometer had passed the ninety mark before ten o’clock. By twelve it was hovering around ninety-seven, and not a vestige of breeze mitigated the heat. Even in the cool old house the occupants sweltered. Outside, ether-waves pulsed above the suffering earth. The scratch of locusts sounded unbearably dry and shrill. The leaves hung lifeless. The whole landscape shimmered in the murderous heat. South Mountain, standing benevolent guard beyond the Valley, was haze-ribbed and ghostly. The misty green range, to westward, cut by Jacob’s ladder, threw off an emerald-and-fire reflection that sickened the eye. The whole lovely mountain region with its sweet valleys swooned depressedly in the awful heat. Directly after the early lunch at Vailholme, which nobody wanted, Miss Gregg took anxious note of Doris’s drooping weariness and ordered her upstairs for a nap. The past twenty hours’ events and a sleepless night had taken toll of even the girl’s buoyant young strength. Willingly she obeyed the command to rest. “I’ll be along presently,” said Miss Gregg, as Doris started upstairs. “First, I want to verify or disprove a boast of my dear old friend, Osmun Vail. Soon after he built this house he told me there was one veranda corner where there was always a breeze even in the stiflingest weather. If I can discover that corner I shall believe in miracles. It will be a real sensation to sit for five minutes in a breeze on a day like this. Come along, Thax, and show me where it is.”