"Miss Frayne and myself. We were in her room, to say good-night to her, and we left at the same time." "At what time?" "About quarter past twelve, I should think, wasn't it, Anita? We went upstairs about midnight, and were with my aunt ten or fifteen minutes." "Were your good-nights amicable?" asked the Inspector, and Pauline looked up in surprise. Then, recollecting the last words of her aunt, she shut her lips obstinately and made no reply. "Indeed, they were not!" declared Miss Frayne; "Miss Carrington told both Miss Stuart and myself that it would be our last night beneath this roof! That to-day we must seek some other home, for she would harbor us no longer!" "Ah! And why did she thus treat you?" "There was no especial reason," and Anita's lovely blue eyes looked straight at the Inspector with a pathetic gaze, "she was in a tantrum, as she frequently was." "She didn't mean it," put in Pauline, hastily. "She did!" asseverated Anita; "I've heard her threaten to send us away before, but never so earnestly. She meant it last night, I am sure. And, too, she knew something would happen to her last night,--she said so." "What? what's that?" "Do hush, Anita!" said Pauline; "those foolish words meant nothing!" "Proceed, Miss Frayne," and the Inspector spoke sternly. "She did," went on Anita. "I don't remember the exact words, but she said I little knew what was going to happen to her, and she said 'to-morrow you may sing another song!' Surely such words meant something!" "If they did," said Pauline, angrily, "they merely meant that she was going to dismiss you to-day!" "Not at all," and Anita glanced at her, "she distinctly said something would happen to her,--not to me." "You know better than to take things she said in a temper, seriously! If we are to repeat idle conversations, suppose I say that I heard _you_ say last evening that you'd like to kill her!" "I didn't!" shrieked Anita. "You did," declared Pauline, calmly; "and Gray said she ought to be killed, too. I know you didn't mean to kill her, but I've just as much right to quote your foolish words as you have to quote hers." "Nonsense!" said Haviland; "let up, Polly! You two are always at each other! As there is no question as to who killed poor Miss Lucy, why rake up our foolish words spoken under the intense provocation of her exhibition of temper,--which was specially trying last night. Inspector, can we tell you anything more of importance?" So far the Inspector had been almost silent, and appeared to be learning some points from the conversation not addressed to him. Now, he changed his manner, and began briskly to ask questions. "This glove," he said, holding it out, "was, as you know, found clasped in her hand. Is it yours, Mr. Haviland?" "No," said the young man, as, after a close examination of the glove he handed it back; "no, it is a size smaller than I wear, and it is of a different make from mine."