"There could not have been any substitution?" I whispered, with,
my mind still on the broken coffin. "That would cover up the
evidence of a poisoning, you know."
"No," replied Andrews positively, "although bodies can be obtained
cheaply enough from a morgue, ostensibly for medical purposes. No,
that is Phelps, all right."
"Well, then," I persisted, "body-snatchers, medical students?"
"Not likely, for the same reason," he rejected.
We bent over closer to watch Kennedy. Apparently he had found a
number of round, flat spots with little spatters beside them. He
was carefully trying to scrape them up with as little of the
surrounding mould as possible.
Suddenly, without warning, there was a noise outside, as if a
person were moving through the underbrush. It was fearsome in its
suddenness. Was it human or wraith? Kennedy darted to the door in
time to see a shadow glide silently away, lost in the darkness of
the fine old willows. Some one had approached the mausoleum for a
second time, not knowing we were there, and had escaped.
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