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Bride of Moat House — Norah Lofts
The Specter...
Eloise Curwen was dead. There could be no doubt of that. Her frail heart had at last stopped beating. Her lovely, delicate body had crumpled to the floor and lay there, like a brittle leaf in an autumn forest.
Who then was this woman who now sat at the head of the table at Moat House, her beautiful face illumined with frightening clarity by the flickering flames of the tall candles?
Her features were those of Eloise. The hair as well. Her eyes--her eyes were strangely blank.
As if in a terrible dream came Richard Curwen's sardonic voice:
"Myra, my dear, let us join to welcome my beloved Eloise home."
Original title: No Question of Murder
Eloise Curwen was dead. There could be no doubt of that. Her frail heart had at last stopped beating. Her lovely, delicate body had crumpled to the floor and lay there, like a brittle leaf in an autumn forest.
Who then was this woman who now sat at the head of the table at Moat House, her beautiful face illumined with frightening clarity by the flickering flames of the tall candles?
Her features were those of Eloise. The hair as well. Her eyes--her eyes were strangely blank.
As if in a terrible dream came Richard Curwen's sardonic voice:
"Myra, my dear, let us join to welcome my beloved Eloise home."
Original title: No Question of Murder
