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“All right, Joshua,” and the butler beat a hasty retreat.

Douglas took out his cigarette case and handed it to Brett. “Formed any new theory?” he asked, striking a match and applying it to the cigarette between his lips.

Brett did not answer at once. “The inquest will make Winthrop and Joshua talk. I am convinced neither of them has told all he knows of this affair,” he said finally.

Douglas nodded in agreement. “But the inquest will have to be postponed now. Winthrop is in no shape to appear before it.”

“And Miss Carew, who is an equally important witness, is still confined to her bed,” volunteered Brett. “Miss Thornton tells me that she cries whenever the subject of the murder is mentioned, and that she is completely unstrung by the tragedy.”

“By the way, who is this Miss Thornton?” asked Douglas. “And what does she look like?”

“She is a cousin of Mrs. Truxton, of Georgetown”—Douglas whistled in surprise; Brett glanced at him sharply, then continued: “I am told she is Miss Carew’s most intimate friend, although about five years older. Miss Thornton must be about twenty-three. She is tall and dark, and has the most magnificent blue eyes I have ever seen in a woman’s head.”