said in a firm voice, belied by the ghastly whiteness of her
face, "who killed her?"

"It is not known," said Mr. Octagon. "Last night she
entertained a few friends--to be precise, three, and she was
found by her new parlor-maid dead in her chair, stabbed to
the heart. The weapon has not been found, nor has any trace
of the murderer been discovered."

"Entertained friends," muttered Mrs. Octagon weeping, "the
usual lot. Mr. Hale, Mrs. Herne and Mr. Clancy--"

"Yes," said Peter, somewhat surprised, "how do you know?"

"My soul," whispered me," said Mrs. Octagon tragically, and
becoming melodramatic again, now that the first shock was
over. "One of those three killed her. Who struck the fatal
blow?--the villain Hale I doubt not."

"No," cried Juliet, "it was not Mr. Hale. He would not harm a
fly."

"Probably not," said her mother tartly, "a fly has no property--
your Aunt Selina had. Oh, my dear," she added, darting
away at a tangent, "to think that last night you and Basil
should have been witnesses of a melodrama at the Marlow
Theatre, at the very time this real tragedy was taking place
in the rural country."

"It's a most dreadful affair," murmured Peter, laying aside