The woman turned toward the girls, eying them almost accusingly.
"Bill Joy found a dead man this mornin' in the lake below the high bank yonder," she said slowly. "The throat was cut from ear to ear. Some of us folks have lived here twenty years, and we knew the corpse for Cash Lamont's old butler. We recollected how somebody else was found. It's almighty queer about Weems dyin' the same way."
With a shrug she stooped and picked up her bags. Jarrell was the first to recover from the shock of the news. "Weems — murdered!" he gasped. "Tell me more about it, Mrs. Whinupple. Is anybody suspected of the crime?"
The woman set down her belongings. Her taciturnity dropped from her in an instant. Evidently she had been only awaiting an invitation to tell what she knew. She began the story as though she enjoyed it immensely.
"The pore old man was found right in the edge of the water with his throat cut just like—just like—"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Jarrell. "But who do the officers think is the murderer?"
"Oh, him?" she spoke as if a conviction was assured. "They've took young Doc Hayward for the killin'. I reckon he's guilty all right."
An involuntary cry escaped Elise, on Jarrell turned quickly toward her.
"Why, Sis, what's the matter? You're as white as a sheet."
Elise struggled for control.
"I'll be all right in a minute," she said. "My nerves are a little upset, I suppose. The shock was too much for me. Let's go into the house and have Mrs. Whipple tell us the particulars. Really I feel quite myself now."
She led the way to the living room.
On account of a heavy bank of clouds which had risen in the west, dusk was coming on exceptionally early. It was almost dark indoors.
Jarrell went into a room across the hall and returned with a big lamp, which he lighted and set on the mantel.
"There, that's much more cheerful," he said. "Now, Mrs. Whipple."
The woman settled herself comfortably in a chair near the fireplace and went into details. Her story was badly garbled, and parts of it were patently the product of her own imagination. However, she gave the main facts of the case as they had appeared to Constable Clem and the other villagers. In conclusion, she wove quite gratuitously a long rope to hang Kirk Hayward.
"This young doctor," she said, "has just got back here from college. He hain't been overly popular with folks hereabout for a long time. There is them as says he is practisin' voodoo. One thing sartin': he has cured a lot of chills an' fever in mighty queer ways, a-puttin' oil on the swamps an' sech like. Constable Clem Withersbee says he was covered with blood when he arrested him. This hain't goin' to be no mystery like—like—"
Remembering again that she was speaking to Cash Lamont's children, she stopped suddenly and sat slowly shaking her head.
"We'll have a bite to eat," Jarrell decided, "and then we'll all go down to Crawford to find out if the dead man really is Weems. You had better see if there is anything in the kitchen, Mrs. Whipple."
The housekeeper got up and left the room at once. Unlike the other villagers, she was not greatly terrified by hants. Her fearlessness had been the qualification Esmerelda had considered in hiring her.
After she was gone, the others sat quiet for a few minutes. Then Jarrell rose and faced the girls.
"Constable Clem Withersbee is an ass!" he ejaculated. "He has fol-
