The Thirteenth Letter (2024)

The cover used in this ebook was created by the transcriberand placed in the public domain.

The author desires to express to
ALAIN CAMPBELL WHITE
of Litchfield, Connecticut,
her sincere appreciation of his
cleverly devised stamp code utilized
in The Thirteenth Letter.

The white-capped nurse dropped the curtainsin place so that they completely shut outthe night and equally prevented anyray of artificial light penetrating the outer darkness.Her eyes, blinded by her steadfast gaze intothe whirling snow storm, were slow in adjustingthemselves to the lamp lighted room and for someminutes she saw as in a blur the spare form of thephysician standing by her patient’s bed. DoctorRoberts turned at her approach and removed hisfinger from about the man’s wrist. He met herglance with a negative shake of his head as he replacedhis watch.

“Abbott!” he called softly, bending over the patient:“Rouse yourself and take some nourishment.You will never get your strength back if you don’teat.”

Slowly, languidly Abbott’s dark eyes opened andregarded the two figures by his bedside. They lingered[Pg 2]in some curiosity on the trim figure of thetrained nurse and then passed on to the physician.

“I’ll eat later,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone,now,”—and the heavy lids closed again over theeyes under which dark circles of pain testified tohours of suffering.

“Very well.” Doctor Roberts spoke more crisply.“Miss Ward will be here to look after you. Youmust do what she says. I’ll see you in the morning.Good night.”

His remark met with no response, and picking uphis bag Roberts started from the room. At the doorhe paused and motioned to Miss Ward to followhim. Stopping long enough to arrange Abbott’spillow in a more comfortable position, the nursewent into the hall, only to find that Doctor Robertswas halfway down the staircase. With a doubtfullook behind her, Miss Ward ran lightly down intothe lower hall which, lighted only by oil lamps, waslong and rambling and used as a living room. DoctorRoberts walked over to a table and put downhis bag.

“I am glad that you are here, Miss Ward,” he began,courteously. “I feared the storm would detainyou. You have not nursed for me before?”—withan inquisitive glance at the pretty woman beforehim.

[Pg 3]

“No, Doctor.” Miss Ward’s tapering fingerspressed out a crease in her starched gown. “Thisis my first case since my arrival in Washington.”

“Oh! You are a graduate nurse?”

“Yes. I trained in New York.” Her hazel eyesmet his steadily. “They told me at the hospital ofthe urgency of this case and I took a taxi out here.”

“Quite right. Add all your expenses to yourbill,” directed Roberts. “Paul Abbott has amplemeans. He should be in a hospital.”

“But his condition, doctor.”

Roberts nodded. “That is out of the question,”he agreed, “now. Had his caretaker sent for mein time I would have had Mr. Abbott moved fromthis God-forsaken location to the city. As it is”—hepulled himself up short—“we must do the bestwe can ten miles from civilization.” His smile vanishedas quickly as it had come. “I am no loverof the country in the dead of winter. What timedid you get here?”

“An hour ago. Have you any orders, doctor?”

“You can give him a dose of this through thenight”—taking out a small phial and handing it toher—“the directions are on the bottle. It is essentialthat Mr. Abbott have sleep; if necessary,give him this by hypodermic.” And he handed hertwo pellets.

[Pg 4]

“What stimulation do you wish me to use in caseof sudden collapse?” Miss Ward asked as Robertspicked up his bag and walked toward the frontdoor.

“Strychnine, twentieth of a grain,” brusquely, asthe hall clock chimed ten, but his hurried exit waschecked by a further question.

“Has Mr. Abbott any family to be notified in casehis condition becomes dangerous?” asked MissWard.

“No immediate relations.” Doctor Roberts wasmanifestly impatient to be off. “There’s a girl—BettyCarter—but I’m not sure that the engagementisn’t broken. Good night.” The high wind drovethe snow, which had drifted up on the broad veranda,in whirling gusts through the front door and halfblinded Roberts as he held it partly open. With amuttered oath he dashed outside to his automobile,parked under the shelter of the porte cochère.

Miss Ward heard the whir of the starting motor,the grinding of weed chains and the shifting ofgears before she closed the outer vestibule door.It was with a sense of reluctance that she turnedback into the silent house. The storm and her surroundingsoppressed her.

The old homestead, turned from a large-sized,roomy farmhouse into a hunting lodge, with its wide[Pg 5]entrance hall converted into a living room fromwhich ran numerous twisting passages, was a gloomyplace in winter. Through darkened doorways MissWard obtained a vague impression of larger roomsbeyond which she judged to be library, dining room,and possibly a sunparlor.

Paul Mason Abbott, Senior, had prospered in hisreal estate business, and had acquired, in one of hisdeals, the country property, twenty miles fromWashington, the National Capital, which, with asubstantial fortune, he had bequeathed to his onlyson, Paul. The latter’s career as a promising youngarchitect had been interrupted by the World War.Paul had borne his share of the fighting, returningto his home with health shattered and a morbiddesire to live alone.

He had closed his bachelor apartment in Washingtonin the early spring and spent the followingmonths motoring about the country. Just beforeChristmas he had appeared unexpectedly at Abbott’sLodge and announced that he would reside thereindefinitely. Corbin, the caretaker, had given himbut a taciturn welcome, and neither he nor his wifehad done more than provide Abbott with three mealsa day and such heat as was absolutely necessary towarm the house.

Miriam Ward felt that even Corbin’s presence,[Pg 6]disagreeable as she had found the caretaker in herone interview with him upon her arrival, was preferableto the grotesque shadows made by the furnitureas she hurried across the living room and upthe staircase to her patient. Paul Abbott paid noattention to her as she moved about making herpreparations for a long night’s vigil.

Abbott’s bedroom stretched across one wing ofthe house. Miss Ward was conscious of a touchof envy as she subconsciously took note of thelovely old pieces of mahogany with which the roomwas furnished—the highboy with its highly polishedbrass handles, the fine old bureau with its quaintmirror hanging above it; the antique desk in onecorner and last, but not least, the carved four-postbedstead with its canopy and its long curtains. Thehandsome rugs on the floor deadened her footstepsas she moved about, and it was with a sense ofshock that she heard the grandfather clock in thehall chime the hour of midnight. The sudden soundin the utter stillness aroused Paul Abbott as heseemed about to drop off to sleep and he lifted hishead. Instantly Miss Ward was by his side, buthe pushed away the glass of milk she offered him.

“Has she come?” he asked eagerly.

“She? Who?”

“Betty.”

[Pg 7]

Miss Ward shook her head. Then observing hisfeverish condition more closely, she hastened to saysoothingly: “She will probably be here as soon asthe storm lets up.”

Abbott looked at her appealingly. Thrusting hisfingers inside the pocket of his pajamas he drewout a crumpled piece of paper.

“Betty wrote that she would be here to-night,”he protested. “And you must let her in—youmust—”

“Surely.” Miss Ward again offered the rejectedglass of milk. “Drink this,” she coaxed, and obedientto the stronger will Abbott took a few swallowsand then pushed the glass away. His head slippedback upon the pillow and Miss Ward deftly arrangedthe curtain of the four-poster so that itsheltered his eyes from the light of the wood fireburning on the hearth at the opposite end of thebedroom.

An hour later she was about to replenish the woodfor the third time when a distant peal of a doorbell caused her to drop the kindling with unexpectedsuddenness in the center of the hot ashes. As thesparks flew upward, she heard Abbott call out andturned toward the bed.

“It’s Betty!” he exclaimed, with a feeble waveof his hand. “Go—go—let her in.”

[Pg 8]

“I will, but don’t excite yourself,” she cautioned.“Lie down on your pillows, Mr. Abbott, and keepyourself covered,” drawing the eiderdown quiltover his shoulders as she spoke.

Another, and more imperative peal of the bellcaused her to hasten across the bedroom and intothe hall. She peered ahead expectantly as she wentdown the staircase, hoping for a glimpse of thecaretaker, Corbin. Evidently the bell had not disturbedhis slumbers, for she could distinguish no oneapproaching in the semi-darkness. Unfamiliar asshe was with her surroundings it took Miss Wardseveral minutes to let down the night latch and turnthe old-fashioned key in the lock of the vestibuledoor. As she swung the latter open she was pushedback and two figures stepped across the threshold,closing the door behind them. The first, a tallslender girl, her handsome fur coat covered withsnow, stopped halfway to the staircase and addressedMiss Ward.

“Where is Mr. Abbott?” she demanded. “Andwhy have you kept us waiting so long?”

“I presume the caretaker is still asleep,” repliedthe nurse. “Otherwise the door would have beenopened more promptly. Mr. Abbott is ill in bed.Very ill,” she added, meeting the girl’s imperious[Pg 9]glance with a steady gaze. “This is no hour forvisitors for a sick man.”

“Oh, the hour!” The girl turned disdainfullyaway. “I must see Mr. Abbott; it is imperative.You are the nurse?” with a questioning glance ather white uniform.

“Yes, and as such in charge of the sick room,”crisply. “I cannot permit—”

“Just a moment,” broke in the girl’s companion,who, until that instant, had busied himself withclosing both the vestibule and inner front door. Ashe stepped closer and unbuttoned his heavy overcoatMiss Ward caught a glimpse of his clerical dress.“This is Miss Elizabeth Carter, Mr. Abbott’sfiancée, and I am Dr. Nash of Washington. MissCarter received word that Mr. Abbott is alarminglyill—”

“With small hope for his recovery.” The wordsescaped Betty Carter through quivering lips, andlooking closely at her, Miss Ward discovered hereyelashes wet with tears. “Don’t keep us standinghere when time is so precious,” and turning she ranup the staircase, followed by the clergyman andMiss Ward.

An odd sound far down the corridor caused thenurse to hesitate before accompanying the othersinto the sick room, and for several seconds she stood[Pg 10]poised outside the door, her head bent in a listeningattitude. The sound, whatever it was, and MissWard could have sworn it was a faint whimper, wasnot repeated. She was thankful to turn from thecontemplation of the dark, winding corridor tothe companionship of her patient and his two belatedvisitors.

Dr. Nash had paused by the solitary lamp, but hisefforts to induce it to burn more brightly resultedin extinguishing it entirely, leaving the bedroomilluminated by the firelight only. He turned at MissWard’s approach and addressed her in a low voice.

“Get the lamp from downstairs,” he whispered.“This one is burned out.”

Betty Carter, paying no attention to the others,halted by the bedside just as Miss Ward started forthe door.

“I’ve come, Paul,” Miss Ward heard her say asshe darted out of the room. “I am here to keep myword. Dr. Nash is with me.”

Miss Ward’s mystification lent wings to her feet,but when she made the turn of the last landingof the staircase her foot slipped on some snow lefton the hardwood by the clergyman’s rubbers, andshe went headlong to the floor. Considerably shakenby her fall, it was some moments before she couldpull herself together and get to her feet. Taking up[Pg 11]the lamp with a hand not quite steady, she walkedupstairs. As she entered the bedroom she saw BettyCarter standing apparently just where she had lefther and Doctor Nash closing his prayerbook.

“... I pronounce you man and wife.” Thesolemn words rang their meaning into Miss Ward’sears as she took in the significance of the scene.“Come, Betty, we have no time to linger,” and steppingforward, Doctor Nash laid his hand on thegirl’s arm.

With a gesture as if awakening from a dream,Betty Carter raised her head and faced Miss Ward.The nurse almost cried out as she met the full gazeof her tragic eyes.

“Surely you are not going?” she exclaimed.“Now—after—?”

“Yes.” Betty’s beauty was of an unusual typeand Miss Ward’s heart gave a sympathetic throb asshe came under the magnetism of her personality.“We—I will be back,” and before Miss Ward couldgasp out a question, she hurried swiftly from theroom, the clergyman at her heels.

Her mind in a daze, Miss Ward stood in the doorwayof the bedroom holding the lighted lamp sothat they might see their way to the staircase, buther half-formed intention of carrying the lamp tothe head of the stairs altered when she saw that the[Pg 12]clergyman was provided with a powerful pocketsearchlight. She stood where she was until she heardthe front door close with a distinct slam, then wentthoughtfully into the bedroom.

Placing the lamp on a small table by the side ofthe bed, she drew back the curtain of the four-posterand looked down at the sick man. He lay partly onone side, his eyes closed, and one hand tightly clenchingthe eiderdown quilt. For one long minute MissWard regarded him, her senses reeling.

The man lying in the bed was not her patient.

Along-drawn sigh cut the stillness.Slowly Miriam Ward raised her head andstruggled to a more upright position. Herlimbs felt stiff and cramped and she moved withdifficulty. Without comprehension she watched abeam of light creep from underneath a window curtainand extend across the floor, its radiance wideningas the sun rose higher in the heavens. Thecurrent of air from the opened window blowingindirectly upon her overcame her sense of suffocation,but her wild stare about the bedroom did notbring recollection in its train. The first thing to fixher attention was the fireplace and the darkenedhearth—no heat was given out by the dead embers.Suddenly conscious of the chill atmosphere, sheinvoluntarily grasped her dress and dragged it closerabout her neck. The touch of the starched linencaused her to glance downward. She was wearingher uniform, therefore she was on duty!

Miriam Ward’s dulled wits slowly adjusted themselves.She had reported for duty at the Registry;[Pg 14]a call had come—from where? To attend whom?Roberts? No, that was the name of the physician.Ah, she had it—Paul Abbott. The chord of memorywas touched at last and the events of the nightcrowded upon her. The man in the bed—

Stiffly Miriam scrambled to her feet and made afew halting steps to the bedside. It took all her will-powerto pull aside the bed curtains and glance down.Paul Abbott lay partly turned upon his side, his fineprofile outlined against the white pillowcase, and hisright hand just showing outside the eiderdownquilt.

Miriam’s hand tightened its grasp on the curtainand she leaned weakly against the side of the bed;but for its support her trembling knees would havegiven way under her. She had been the victim of anightmare! The midnight visit of Betty Carter andthe clergyman, the substitution of a stranger for herpatient—all had been a hallucination conjured up bya too vivid imagination. She had slept on duty.That, in itself, was an unpardonable offense.

Raising her arm she glanced at her wrist watch—thehands registered a quarter past eight. Thennearly nine hours had passed and she had lain asleep.A wave of color suffused her white face and shegrew hot and cold by turns. Her heart was beatingwith suffocating rapidity as she hurried to the windows[Pg 15]and drew aside the long, heavy curtains andpulled up the Holland shades. The storm of thenight before was over and the winter sunshinebrought a touch of warmth to the room and a senseof comfort.

A glance at the fireplace convinced Miriam that itwould require both time and fresh kindling wood tostart a fire. It could wait until she had summonedthe caretaker; the room was not so cold now thatshe had closed the window.

Retracing her footsteps she again paused by thebed and gazed at her patient. He still lay on his side,motionless. Miriam Ward caught her breath—motionless,aye, too motionless. A certain rigidity, awaxen pallor, indistinguishable in her first glimpseof him in the darkened room, held her eyes, trainedto detect the slightest alteration in a patient’s condition.Her hand sought his wrist, then his heart,then dropped limply to her side. Paul Abbott laydead before her.

Her low cry was smothered in the bed curtain,which she pressed against her mouth, and for amoment she swayed dizzily upon her feet. PaulAbbott had died while she lay asleep within a fewfeet of his bed. Overwhelming remorse deadenedevery other feeling and held her spellbound. Fully[Pg 16]five minutes elapsed before a sense of duty arousedher to action.

Wheeling around, Miriam staggered rather thanwalked to the telephone standing on Abbott’s desk.She had jotted down Doctor Roberts’ ’phone call thenight before, but it took her several seconds to getthe central at Washington, and still others passedbefore a man’s voice told her that the physician wasout making his morning rounds. At her urgentrequest the servant promised to locate Doctor Robertsand send him at once to Abbott’s Lodge.

As Miriam replaced the receiver on its hook shewas conscious of a feeling of deadly nausea and shestumbled as she walked across the room and intothe hall. She must have aid. Her repeated callsbrought no response. What had become of the caretakerand his wife? A noise of some one moving inthe hall below caused her to run down the staircaseto the lower landing.

“Here—here, this way!” she gasped, and sawvaguely outlined a woman’s terrified face in frontof her while the sound of a heavy tread coming downthe staircase echoed in her ears. “Mr. Abbott—I—”Voice and strength failed her simultaneously, andbefore any one could reach her she lay in a crumpledheap on the landing, unconscious of the loud ringingof the gong over the front door.

[Pg 17]

It was approaching noon when a timid knock ather bedroom door brought Miriam Ward into thecorridor and face to face with the caretaker’s wife.

“If you please, Miss, the doctor says do you feelbetter?” The question came in a gasp, characteristicof Martha Corbin. A gray ghost of a woman, timidto the verge of cowardice, she seldom spoke unlessaddressed.

“Much better,” replied the trained nurse. “Whereis Doctor Roberts?”

“In there,” with a jerk of her thumb over hershoulder. “He wants to see ye.”

“Very well.” Miriam Ward closed her bedroomdoor with a firm hand. She had regained some holdupon her composure as her attacks of nausea ceasedand the throbbing in her head lessened. DoctorRoberts had left her two hours before with theadmonition to remain in bed until he saw her again,but her anxiety of mind had prevented her followinghis directions. She paused involuntarily outside ofPaul Abbott’s bedroom, then, gathering courage, shestepped inside. Doctor Roberts turned at the soundof her approach and put down the telephone instrument.

“So you are up,” he said gruffly. “Well, how areyou? Feeling stronger?”

“Yes; thank you, Doctor.” In spite of her determined[Pg 18]effort to keep her voice expressionless, Miriamwas conscious that it was not quite steady. “I—oh,Doctor, I don’t know what to say.” Her pent-upemotion was gaining the upper hand. “How to tellyou—”

“What?” as she paused.

“That—that—I slept on duty.”

Doctor Roberts eyed her steadily for what seemedan interminable minute. “So that was it,” he remarkeddryly. “Well, what then?”

The nurse’s pallor was intensified, but her eyes didnot falter in their direct gaze.

“I was asleep when Mr. Abbott died,” she admitted,her hands clenching themselves in the pocketsof her uniform.

Doctor Roberts’ stare grew prolonged. “And thiswas your first case in Washington?” he asked, withmarked emphasis.

“Yes.” Miriam Ward moistened her dry lipswith the tip of her tongue.

“Hardly a successful début,” commented Roberts.His glance strayed beyond the nurse to a man standingin the shadow of a window curtain. “Give MissWard a chair, Alan.”

Somewhat startled by the presence of a third person,Miriam accepted the proffered seat with relief;she was weaker than she had at first realized.

[Pg 19]

“Miss Ward,” continued Doctor Roberts, “this isMr. Alan Mason, of the Washington Post. Hearrived here in time to carry you to your bedroomand then summoned me.”

Miriam glanced upward and encountered the gazeof a pair of deep blue eyes fixed upon her inconcern.

“You should not have gotten up,” Alan declared,and the human sympathy in his voice brought a lumpin her throat. She saw his clear-cut features, wavydark hair, and whimsical mouth through a mistwhich she strove to wink away. “I’m afraid youhave overdone things a bit.”

Miriam shook her head. “I could not rest in mybedroom,” she said. “There must be somethingthat I can do, Doctor Roberts; unless you distrustme too much.” Her voice shook with feeling, andshe paused abruptly, unable to go on.

The two men exchanged glances, then Robertsrose. “There, there!” he exclaimed, a trifle awkwardly.“Just take things quietly, Miss Ward, whileAlan asks you a few questions. It is his business,you know.”

“Just so.” Alan Mason nodded reassuringly.“I’m a reporter and also a cousin of Paul’s; in fact,his nearest relative. How did Paul seem last night—beforeyou fell asleep?”

[Pg 20]

“He—” Her pause was infinitesimal. “He appearedmuch excited, even irrational, but at times hismind was perfectly clear. He took a little nourishment.”She stopped and passed one hand beforeher eyes. Her dreams still haunted her. Could shetruthfully say where imagination had dovetailed withreality? Was Betty Carter’s visit, her marriage toPaul Abbott but a figment of her overcharged brain?Would her hearers think her a lunatic as well ascriminally negligent if she went into details?

Doctor Roberts broke the pause. “I have lookedover your chart,” he stated, “and find that the lastentry was made soon after midnight. You madeno record of any marked change in his condition.”

Miriam swallowed hard. “The collapse must havecome suddenly,” she said. “At what time do youthink he died?”

Roberts eyed her in silence for a minute. “Comeover to the bed,” he directed, and not waiting forher, turned on his heel.

The long side curtains of the four-post bedsteadwere stretched across it, and as Miriam laid her handon one of them to draw it aside, Alan Mason checkedher.

“I found this wad of cotton under the bed,” hebegan. “Had you any occasion last night to usechloroform?”

[Pg 21]

“No.” Miriam looked at him in startled wonder.“No.”

“Then,” Roberts scanned her closely, “how comesit that you, a trained nurse, are unaware that youwere chloroformed?”

Slowly Miriam took in the meaning of his words.“Chloroformed?” she gasped. “I?”

It was Alan Mason who answered and not DoctorRoberts. “I detected the odor of chloroformwhen I carried you to your bedroom,” he said. “Sothen I came in here—found my cousin, Paul, dead—andthis cotton under the bed.”

Miriam stared at her companions in dumbfoundedsilence for a moment. “My attack of nausea—” shefaltered.

“Was the result of the chloroform,” declaredDoctor Roberts. His voice deepened. “We alsodetected its odor about Paul Abbott.”

“Good God!” Miriam drew back. “Was Mr.Abbott anesthetized?”

Roberts’ gaze never left her face in the lengthenedpause.

“In Heaven’s name, why don’t you answer?”Miriam looked piteously from one man to the other.“Was Mr. Abbott chloroformed?”

“No,” replied Roberts. “He was stabbed in theback.”

[Pg 22]

Dragging aside the curtains, Miriam gazed inhorror at the bed. The bedclothes had been pulledback and Paul Abbott lay upon his face. Under hisleft shoulder blade was a dark and sinister bloodstain.

Alan Mason stopped his restless pacingback and forth and looked at his watch—twoo’clock. Surely, the autopsy must be over!He had waited for what appeared an interminabletime for the County coroner, his assistant and DoctorRoberts to join him in the living room as theyhad promised. The afternoon papers would soon beoff the press and distributed to the public; it wouldnot be long before the reporters from the other localpapers and even the representatives of the great newsservices located in the National Capital would be atAbbott’s Lodge in search of the sensational. Andthey would find it! Alan’s lips were compressed ina hard line. Only six months before he and hiscousin, Paul Abbott, had been the closest of “buddies,”then had come the estrangement and nowdeath.

Paul had been a social favorite, liked by one andall, and while he had absented himself from Washingtonduring the past year, his tragic death wouldcome as a great shock to his many friends. And[Pg 24]Betty Carter—what of her? Alan raised his handsto his temples and brushed his unruly hair upwarduntil it stood on end. The action did not bring anysolution of his problems, and with a groan heresumed his restless walk about the living room.

In remodeling the house, Paul Abbott, Senior, hadthrown several small rooms into one, also takingdown the partitions which inclosed the old-fashionedsquare staircase, and made the whole into a combinationof hallway and living room. He had shownexcellent taste in furnishing the old house, using inmost instances the mahogany which had been in thefamily for generations, and when necessary to purchaseother pieces of furniture he had hunted inhighways and byways for genuine antiques.

But Alan was in no frame of mind to appreciaterare pieces of Hepplewhite, Sheraton, and Chippendale.Tired of the monotony of his surroundings,he strolled into the dining room and walked moodilyacross it, intending to pour out a glass of water froma carafe on the sideboard. The room was square inshape, with two bow windows and a door leadinginto a sunparlor which, in summer, the elder Abbotthad used as a breakfast room, as the large pantrygave access into it as well as into the regular diningroom. From where he stood by the sideboard, Alancould overlook, through one of the bow windows,[Pg 25]the garden entrance to the sunparlor. The snow hadformed in high drifts, covering completely the rosebusheswhich, as he recollected, surrounded a plotof grass in the center of which stood an old sundial.It also was blanketed in snow.

As he gazed idly out of the window, Alan sawthe door of the sunparlor swing slowly outward.The piled-up snow caused it to jam and he watchedwith some amusem*nt the efforts of Corbin, thecaretaker, to squeeze his portly frame through thepartly open door. Once outside Corbin used hissnow shovel with vigorous strokes until he hadcleared the topmost step. Closing the door to thesunparlor, he leaned his shovel against it, took outhis pipe, lighted it, tossed away the match, anddrawing on his woolen mitts, he wiped the snowfrom one of the panes of window glass. Pausingdeliberately he glanced about him, and then, cuppinghis hands, he pressed them against the window andpeered inside the sunparlor. Something furtive inthe man’s action claimed Alan’s attention, and hedrew back into the protection of the window curtain.The precaution was unnecessary. Corbinstraightened up and without a glance at the diningroom window, took from his pocket a small metalcase. Whatever its contents it drew a smile so evilthat Alan stared at the man aghast. He had not[Pg 26]been prepossessed in the man’s favor on the fewoccasions when visiting Paul Abbott, Senior, and hisson before the war, and had wondered at Paulretaining him in his employ after his father’s death.

Returning the case to his pocket, Corbin cleanedthe snow from the remaining steps and commencedto shovel a path toward the kitchen. He had almostcompleted the distance when he paused, staredthoughtfully around him, and then walked backto the sunparlor, clambered cumbersomely up thesteps to the door and again peered inside. Fullytwo minutes passed before he stepped down andwalked along the shoveled path.

His curiosity piqued by the man’s behavior, Alanwaited until Corbin had disappeared from sight,then, turning on his heel, he entered the sunparlor.Evidently Paul had used the room as a lounge, forthe wicker furniture, with its attractive cretonnecovering, looked homelike and comfortable. Magazines,several books, and a smoking set were onthe nearest table, while flower boxes on two sidesof the sunparlor added a touch of the tropics, withtheir hothouse plants. Alan walked past a wickersofa and several wing chairs grouped at one endand halted abruptly at sight of Miriam Ward lyingasleep in one of the long lounging chairs. She hadnot heard him enter, for she slept on—the deep[Pg 27]sleep, as Alan judged from her heavy breathing,of utter exhaustion.

Alan turned and stared about the sunparlor. Exceptfor himself and the trained nurse, the roomwas empty. What then had absorbed Corbin’s attention?Could it have been Miss Ward? He easilydetected the particular pane of glass through whichthe caretaker had peered so intently. Miss Wardwas seated directly in its line of vision. What wasthere about the nurse to make Corbin evince suchinterest in her?

Alan drew a step closer and stared at the sleepinggirl with critical eyes. A little above the mediumheight of women, slender, well proportioned, hersmall feet shod in perfectly fitting low white shoes,which showed a very pretty ankle, she lay snuggleddown in the cushions. He noted the clear olive ofher skin, the deep dimple, almost a cleft, in herchin, the long, heavy lashes, the delicate arch of herfinely marked eyebrows, and the soft and abundanthair, which she wore low on her forehead. Hejudged her to be not over twenty-six and wonderedat the pathetic droop of her small mouth. Even inrepose there was a suggestion of sadness, of hiddentragedy in her face which, recalling the beauty ofher dark eyes, rekindled the interest he had feltin Miriam Ward at their first meeting.

[Pg 28]

His impulse to awaken her was checked by thethought that she needed the nap—probably the firstsound sleep that she had had since coming on thecase. It would be cruel to awaken her unnecessarily.Turning about he tiptoed back into the dining room.The sound of his name being softly called causedhim to hasten into the living room. Looking up thestaircase he saw Doctor Roberts leaning over thebanisters and beckoning to him. Taking the stairstwo at a time, Alan was by his side in an instant.

“Well,” he asked breathlessly. “What news?Have you performed the autopsy?”

“Yes. Come into Paul’s bedroom,” and as hespoke Roberts led the way across the hall.

Two men were in the bedroom and they bothglanced around at the opening of the door. TheCounty Coroner, Doctor James Dixon, Alan knewbut slightly; the other, Guy Trenholm, had been hiscompanion on many a hunting trip in the past.Trenholm was of giant stature, with the arms andbrawn of the prize ring. There was a certain lookin his gray eyes, however, which indicated power ofmind as well as physical strength. The son of thetown drunkard, Trenholm had spent the first twentyyears of his life doing odd chores for the farmersthereabouts and gaining a checkered education, finallyacquiring enough money to see him through four[Pg 29]years at the University of Maryland. He had beenone of the first to enlist upon the entrance of theUnited States into the World War and at its closehad returned to Upper Marlboro with an establishedrecord as a “first class fighting man.” Fornearly a year he had held the office of county sheriff.He greeted Alan with a silent nod and a handclasp,the strength of which made the latter wince.

“Hello, Mason!” exclaimed Coroner Dixon,hustling forward. “I’d no idea you were in theseparts again. Your cousin’s death is most distressing.”

“And a great shock,” added Alan soberly. “I wasvery fond of Paul. We were pals, you know.”

“I understood that you two had quarreled,” brokein Roberts, then observing Alan’s frown, he addedhastily: “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt youby alluding to a painful incident.”

“Whatever my feeling in the past, I can harbor noresentment now,” retorted Alan, his quick temperruffled by Roberts’ mention of an unhappy memory.“Well, gentlemen, what is the result of the autopsy?”

“Are you asking as a newspaper man or as nextof kin?” inquired Coroner Dixon, regarding Alan’sflushed countenance attentively.

“As Paul’s cousin,” quickly. “Whatever youtell me I will consider strictly confidential.”

[Pg 30]

“In that case,”—Dixon selected a chair—“weheld the autopsy in a spare bedroom at the back ofthe house,” observing Alan’s eyes stray toward thefour-post bedstead, the curtains of which still remaineddrawn. “The undertaker and his assistantsare there now.” He sat back and regarded Alan.“We can consult together here without being disturbed.As you know, Mr. Abbott had been illfor several days with an attack of bronchitis andthreatened pneumonia; this, coupled with heart complications,made his condition very serious.”

“But did either cause his death?” asked Alan.

“No,” responded the coroner. “We probed thewound in his back and found that the weapon hadpenetrated the left lung. In his weakened condition,death must have been instantaneous.”

Alan drew a long breath. “So the wound reallywas fatal!” he exclaimed. “The lack of much bloodled me to believe that possibly the weapon had notstruck a vital point.”

“The hemorrhage was internal.” Coroner Dixon’sexpression grew more serious. “There is nodoubt, Mason, but that your cousin was murdered.”

Alan passed his hand across his eyes. “My God!”he groaned. “Who harbored such animosity againstPaul and how was the murder committed?”

“That is what we have to find out,” cut in Sheriff[Pg 31]Trenholm. “Where is the nurse who was with Mr.Abbott last night, Doctor Roberts?”

“In her room, I presume—”

“No, she is asleep downstairs,” interrupted Alanhastily. “Shall I call her?” A nod from Trenholmwas his only answer, and Alan hurried from theroom, but at the head of the staircase he caught aglimpse of a white skirt disappearing around thefurther corner of the hall and he changed his direction.He caught up with Miriam Ward just as shewas turning the knob of a closed door, a number oftowels in her left hand.

“You are wanted by the coroner,” he explained,as she stopped at sight of him.

Miriam grew a shade paler. “Very well,” shereplied, “But first—” she handed the towels to theundertaker and closed the door again. “Where isthe coroner, Mr. Mason?”

“In my cousin’s old bedroom.” Alan suited hislong stride to her shorter one. “I hope you feel abit rested,” glancing down at her with some concern,but it was doubtful if she heard his remark,her attention being centered on a figure coming upthe staircase. Alan stopped short as he recognizedthe newcomer and his face grew stern.

“Betty!” he exclaimed.

She stared at him for a long moment, then without[Pg 32]a word of any kind she walked by them andthrough the bedroom door near which Doctor Robertswas standing, waiting to greet her. Withouthalting Betty made at once for the four-post bedstead.

“Wait, Betty!” Alan had gained her side andlaid a compelling hand on her arm. “Paul is notthere.”

Betty regarded him in utter silence, then facedabout and looked at the small group in the bedroom.

“Paul is dead—dead!” she spoke with great difficulty,one hand plucking always at the collar of herfur coat. “You shall not keep me from him. You—”for a second her blazing eyes scanned Sheriff Trenholm—“youdare not.”

“Hush, Betty!” Roberts took the overwroughtgirl’s hand in his. “You shall see Paul later, dear,that I promise you. Sit down and calm yourself.”

“I have your word?” Betty’s great eyes never leftRoberts. “I shall see Paul?”

“Yes. There, sit down,” as Miriam Ward pulledforward a chair.

“Perhaps the young lady had better withdraw toanother room,” suggested Coroner Dixon. “Weare about to start an investigation—”

“An investigation?” Betty’s high-pitched voice,carrying a warning note of approaching hysteria to[Pg 33]Miriam Ward’s watchful ears, reached to the hallbeyond and a figure crouching near the bedroomdoor, which had been inadvertently left open a fewinches, leaned forward, the better to catch whatwas transpiring in the room. “What do you mean,sir?”

Coroner Dixon contemplated her for a second insilence. Betty’s unusual beauty generally commandedattention, but something in her expressionfocused the Coroner’s regard rather than her goodlooks, marred as they were by deep circles underher eyes and haggard lines about her mouth. Heanswered her question with another.

“Your name, madam?” he asked. “And your relationto the dead man?”

“This is Miss Betty Carter,” broke in DoctorRoberts. “Mr. Abbott’s fiancée.”

“Is it so?” Coroner Dixon’s interest quickened.“Then Mr. Abbott—”

“Was very dear to me.” Betty’s tone had grownhusky. “I must know all about his death.” Hergaze swept Guy Trenholm, standing somewhat inthe background. “It is my right.”

Coroner Dixon turned and glanced in doubt atTrenholm. At the latter’s reassuring nod he facedabout.

“Very well, Miss Carter,” he began. “Since you[Pg 34]insist I will tell you what we have learned.” Hecleared his voice before continuing. “Judging bythe condition of the body, Mr. Abbott died betweenone-thirty this morning and three o’clock. He wasstabbed.”

“Stabbed!” With a convulsive movement Bettygained her feet, her face deadly white. “Stabbed!”

Doctor Roberts laid a soothing hand on hers.“Be quiet, Betty,” he cautioned. “Or you will haveto go and lie down.”

She shook off his hand. “Go on,” she directed,and the urgency of her tone caused Dixon to speakmore rapidly.

“Mr. Abbott was stabbed in the back,” he stated.“We know no more than that, at present.”

Without taking her gaze from the coroner, Bettyresumed her seat. Then she turned to Roberts. “Iheard yesterday that Paul was very ill, and thatyou were attending him professionally. Were youwith him last night?”

“Yes; until Miss Ward came and then I put herin charge of the case,” replied Roberts. “She cantell you what happened after my departure.”

Miriam Ward faced their concentrated regardwith outward composure. Caught by chance in theweb of circ*mstance, she was keenly alive to herunhappy share in the tragic occurrences of the night[Pg 35]before. Having a high regard for her professionand throwing her heart and soul into her work shefelt, however little she had been to blame, that thestigma of neglect of a patient would be laid at herdoor.

“Before leaving, Doctor Roberts gave me fullinstructions,” she began. “And I carried them out.My chart shows that—”

“But your last entry was made shortly after midnight,”pointed out Sheriff Trenholm, picking upthe chart from the table at his elbow. “Why wasthat, Miss Ward?”

“I was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Carter,”she replied, and the unexpected answer brought astartled exclamation from three of her companions;then their gaze left the nurse and centered on Betty.The latter raised her eyes and regarded the trainednurse. If chiseled from marble, her white face couldnot have been more devoid of human expression.

“God bless my soul!” ejacul*ted Doctor Roberts.“What were you doing here, Betty?”

The girl paid not the slightest attention to him;instead she addressed Miriam, and the others werestartled at her tone.

“Go on with your story,” she said. “Speakquickly,” with a glance at her wrist watch. “Timeis passing.”

[Pg 36]

“Miss Carter was accompanied by a clergyman.”Miriam spoke more slowly, weighing her words. “I—I”—shehesitated for a brief moment—“I cannotrecall his name—”

“Continue,” directed Dixon, as she paused. “DidMiss Carter and her companion see Mr. Abbott?”

“I think they did;” she hesitated. “I feel surethey did—”

“Why are you in doubt about it?” demandedTrenholm quickly. “Weren’t you in the room withthem?”

Miriam shook her head. “Not all the time,” sheadmitted. “The clergyman sent me downstairs toget a lamp as the one in this room had burnedout. When I came back—”

“Yes—what then?” Sheriff Trenholm could notrestrain his impatience at her slow speech.

“The clergyman had just completed the marriageservice.”

Her words created a sensation. Doctor Roberts’eyes fairly started from his head, and Alan Mason’sexcited ejacul*tion drowned Dixon’s more softlyspoken exclamation. Only Guy Trenholm gave novoice to his feelings. With eyes fixed steadfastlyupon Betty, he remained as emotionless apparentlyas she.

“What transpired next?” inquired Dixon.

[Pg 37]

“They left,” tersely. Miriam’s heart was beatingquickly, and her cold fingers were playing adevil’s tattoo on the arm of her chair. Before shecould say more, Betty leaned forward and held upher hand.

“Just a moment!” She spoke slowly, distinctly.“What were you, a trained nurse, doing when yourpatient was stabbed to death?”

Miriam whitened, but faced her questioner withquiet courage.

“I was lying near the bed unconscious,” she admitted,“having been chloroformed.”

Betty rose to her feet. “I have heard that aperson under the influence of chloroform or etheris subject to hallucinations,” she said. “I prefer tobelieve that than to think you are demented.”

“Demented!” Miriam sprang up, her eyes flashingwith indignation.

Betty addressed Sheriff Trenholm directly, ignoringthe others. “The nurse is either dementedor drawing upon her imagination,” she declared.“I was not here last night.” She faced Miriam andher glance was impersonal, unfaltering. “Nor haveI ever seen you before.”

Martha Corbin laid down the brassfire tongs and turned to look at thewood-basket by the hearth. The logswere both long and heavy. Before attempting tolift one her attention was caught by the sound of afamiliar lagging footstep going in the directionof the back hall.

“You, Charlie,” she called, shrilly. “Come ’ereand fix this fire.”

A snarl was his only response, and a second latera door banged shut behind her amiable spouse.Martha’s thin lips compressed into a hard line.Stooping over she tugged and pulled at the topmostlog and finally lifted it up. She let it fall in thecenter of the burning wood and then rested onehand against the stone chimney to get her breath.It was some seconds before she felt able to takeup the hearth brush and sweep the ashes back underthe andirons. That successfully accomplished shedropped on one knee and held her chilled handsup to the blaze. She was grateful for the heat.

[Pg 39]

As she crouched there the firelight, which aloneilluminated the living room at Abbott’s Lodge, castfantastic shadows on her face, exaggerating herfixed expression to one of almost fierce determination.Still in her early forties, Martha Corbin hadonce been extremely pretty, but ill health had destroyedher good looks and whitened her hair, which,worn straight back, intensified the gray pallor ofher appearance.

Her prolonged stare at the fire wavered finally,caught by a piece of white paper protruding froma crack in the tiled hearth. One end was singed,but it had fallen on the outer edge of the bed ofhot ashes and escaped entire destruction. Reachingdown she picked up the piece and turned it over.It was evidently the upper right-hand corner of anenvelope, for the flap still bore traces of glue aswell as a perfectly formed black seal—the waxunbroken except at the edges. Martha had no chanceto read the printed lines on the reverse of the paper.

“What have ye there?” demanded Corbin overher shoulder and seized her roughly.

With surprising swiftness she broke from hisgrasp and got to her feet.

“A bit of torn paper,” she replied; “from thescrap basket, there,” touching it with her foot. “Iwas emptying it in the fire.”

[Pg 40]

“And didn’t the sheriff say you wasn’t to touchnothing?” She met his alarmed look with a timidshrug of her shoulders. “Have ye no sense at all?”

Martha favored him with a blank stare as shestood twisting her hands in her apron.

“I had to build up the fire,” she mumbled. “’Twasonly an old newspaper and such like rubbish.”

“Ye hadn’t oughter touched it,” he growled.“Suppose Sheriff Trenholm or one of his men askfor the basket?”

“Well, here ’tis.” With a swift glance aboutthem, she darted over to a chair and taking up anewspaper lying upon it, crumpled it up and thrustit into the scrap basket. Hurrying to the mahoganydesk she jerked open one of the drawers and drewout a bundle of letters and tossed it into the basketalso.

“Have a care, Martha!” exclaimed Corbin, whohad followed her rapid movements in startled silence.“There’s to be a search and everything inAbbott’s Lodge examined by the sheriff.”

“He’ll find the newspaper and the letters in thescrap basket as easy as if they were on the chairor in the drawer,” she remarked, smiling shrewdly.“’Twon’t matter where they find ’em.” Shesmoothed down the torn hem of her large apron[Pg 41]and drew closer to her husband. “What do ye’spose he done with it?”

“Sh!” He clapped his scarred hand across herlips. “Hold your tongue, woman. They’ll hear,mebbe.”

“Nobody to hear,” she replied tersely, drawingaway from him. “Mr. Alan is seeing Coroner Dixonoff and Miss Betty Carter is still upstairs in theroom with him!” She shivered. “Ain’t it awfulthe way she’s taking on?”

Corbin nodded, half absently, his eyes intent onscanning the living room and its staircase at itsother end.

“Surprising, after we know what happened,” headmitted, speaking in little more than a whisper.“But, recollect, Martha, ’tain’t up to us to talk.If ye do”—His look caused her to catch her breath.“Well, ye know what’s coming to ye. Ye understand”—andhe seized her arm and turned it untilshe winced with pain.

“Leave me be!” She winced again as Corbin,with a final twist, released her arm. “You’ve nocall to handle me so.”

Corbin’s only answer was a vicious scowl andMartha shrank back, one hand to her tremblinglips.

[Pg 42]

“I don’t need to speak twice,” he commented.“You know me.”

She nodded dumbly as she retreated behind achair.

“Did ye hear when the nurse was leaving?” sheasked.

The question went unanswered as Corbin, his attentionattracted by voices on the floor above,slipped noiselessly down the passageway throughwhich he had entered some minutes earlier unseenby his wife. Left to her own devices, Marthapicked up a box of matches and lighted one of thelamps. She had succeeded in adjusting the wickwhen she looked up and caught sight of BettyCarter regarding her from the lower landing ofthe staircase.

“Light the others,” Betty directed. “All of them—everyone”—indicating with a wave of her handthe standing lamp at the foot of the stairs andseveral reading lamps placed on small tables nearcomfortable lounging chairs where Paul Abbott andhis guests had been wont to pass the long winterevenings. Betty waited on the stair landing untilher peremptory order had been carried out, thenslowly approached the fireplace. She turned backon reaching there and addressed Martha.

“Take my coat,” she said, extending it. “And[Pg 43]my hat”—She removed it as she spoke. “And preparea bedroom for me.”

“A what, Miss?”

“A bedroom. I propose staying here to-night.”

Martha gazed at her as if she had not heardaright. “Here, Miss?” she faltered. “Here?”

“Certainly.” Betty regarded the frightenedwoman more attentively. “Do as I tell you.” Hersharp tone aroused Martha from her startled contemplationof her. “You can take my hat and coatupstairs as you go and hang them in the bedroomcloset. Come, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, Miss, nothing.” Martha reached outa reluctant hand and took the proffered coat andhat, then without further word she hastened up thestaircase. So great was her speed that she stumbledbreathlessly into a bedroom halfway down the corridorof the second floor, the door of which stoodpartly open.

Miriam Ward turned at her unceremonious entranceand regarded her in astonishment.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed at the woman’spallor. “Are you ill?”

Martha shook her head as she advanced to thecloset and, opening the door, disappeared inside,to reappear the next instant, empty-handed.

“No, ma’am, I ain’t ill,” she volunteered, resting[Pg 44]one hand on the chair-back. “But I think she are.”

“She? Who?”

“Miss Betty Carter.” Martha breathed more easily.“She says she is going to stay here all night.”

Miriam stared at the woman. “Well, what ofit?” she asked. “Why shouldn’t she stay if shewishes to?”

“All by her lonesome and Mr. Paul lying heredead!” Martha’s voice of disapproval registered ahigher key than her usual monotone. “Who is goingto watch after her? That is,” catching herselfup, “look after her?”

“You, I suppose,” replied Miriam. “Are you notaccustomed to doing the housework?”

“Sure.” Martha’s voice grew more natural.“And Mr. Paul always said I was a prime cook.Say, Miss Ward, ye ain’t going, are ye?”

“Very shortly, yes.” Miriam Ward returned tothe table on which stood her leather bag which shehad been packing when interrupted by Martha, andlaid in it her neatly folded white uniform. The metalcase containing hypodermic syringe, thermometer,and small phials of stimulants was next tuckedcarefully inside, and then Miriam closed and lockedthe bag. “Have you seen Doctor Roberts recently?”

Martha shook her head. “He is still about theplace with Mr. Alan,” she responded. She co*cked[Pg 45]an inquisitive eye at Miriam and took in appraisinglyher trim, well-cut wool house gown. She hada dim, preconceived notion that all nurses weredowdy, and to find Miriam a becomingly dressed,extremely pretty, well-bred young woman was a distinctnovelty. “Are ye going into Washington withDoctor Roberts?”

“Yes. He asked me to wait for him.” Miriamwas conscious of a feeling of repulsion under thesteady stare of Martha’s oddly matched eyes—theiris of one was a pale blue, while the other was adeep brown. “I have not slept in the bed, Martha;so it is not necessary for you to remake it”—as thehousekeeper laid her hand on the white counterpane.“But perhaps it would be just as well to have yourhusband bring up more wood. The room is a triflechilly.”

“There’s some in the wood box in the hall; I’llget it”—and before Miriam could utter a remonstrance,Martha had hurried away. She was backagain in an instant, her arms full of small blocksof cord wood. Not waiting for Miriam’s quicklyproffered assistance, she let them fall clumsily onthe hearth, and then gazed aghast at a long rentin her apron in which still hung a sliver of wood.Her name, called with loud insistence in her husband’sunmistakable accents, caused her to start[Pg 46]violently. Pausing only long enough to untie herapron and toss it aside, she hurried from the room,jostling Miriam in her haste to be gone.

Miriam stood in thought for a few seconds, thenmoved over to the pier glass and put on her hat.She regretted having accepted Doctor Roberts’ invitationto drive to the city with him. Had shefollowed her own inclination, she would have ordereda taxicab immediately after her scene withBetty Carter and departed. But, confused by Betty’s,to her, incomprehensible behavior, she had listenedto Coroner Dixon’s urgent request that sheremain a few hours longer at Abbott’s lodge, until,as he expressed it, Betty had had time to pull herselftogether. Coroner Dixon hinted that hysteria explainedher conduct. Miriam’s expression grew morethoughtful. The shock of finding her lover deadmight account for much, but was that alone responsiblefor Betty’s denial of her midnight visit toAbbott’s Lodge?

Sheriff Trenholm had summed up the situation inone brief sentence—“It’s one girl’s word againstthe other.”

And she, “the other girl,” was unknown and withoutmoney, while Betty had hosts of friends andan assured position in the world!

If she could only recall the name of the clergyman[Pg 47]who had accompanied Betty! He would substantiateher statement. But try as she did to clearlyremember each event of the night, his name eludedher. Undoubtedly the chloroform, with which shehad been anesthetized, had much to do with her lossof memory. With proper rest, its effects would undoubtedlywear off; until then—

Miriam fingered the string of blue beads, whichshe was wearing, nervously. Neither Coroner Dixonnor Sheriff Trenholm had given her an inkling asto whether they really placed faith in her statement.They had listened with deep interest and withoutcomment. In the face of their silence, she hadhesitated to tell them of finding a strange man andnot her patient in Abbott’s bed just before she lostconsciousness. With no proof to offer them, shefeared the hard-headed Sheriff would consider herdemented indeed.

Turning from the mirror, Miriam walked acrossthe bedroom toward the chair on which she hadlaid her coat and inadvertently trod on Martha’sdiscarded apron. As she lifted it up, intending toput it on the chair, a piece of paper rolled out of arip in the hem of the apron and fell at her feet.Instinctively Miriam stooped over and picked upthe paper, but instead of laying it down on top ofthe apron, she continued to hold it in front of her,[Pg 48]her eyes caught by a black seal. The wax impressionof the crest was distinct and unmistakable.With a sharp intake of her breath, Miriam turnedover the half burned envelope. The Canadian postagewas intact, but the name of the person to whomthe envelope had been addressed was entirely burnedaway.

Miriam continued to regard the piece of envelopewith fixed intentness. Slowly she deciphered theblurred postmark—it bore a recent date, of that shewas positive—but then, how came the black crestupon any letter? Who dared to use it? Miriam wasconscious of a feeling of icy coldness not due to thetemperature of the room.

An authoritative tap on her door brought the redblood to her white cheeks with a rush and as AlanMason looked inside the room at her low-voiced,“Come in,” he was struck by her air of distinctionand the direct gaze of her hazel eyes, which wereher chief beauty.

“Doctor Roberts is about to leave,” he said. “Letme carry your bag,” as she made a motion towardit, “and your coat.” Not listening to her murmuredprotest, he gathered up her things and waited forher to precede him through the doorway.

Miriam’s hesitation was imperceptible. Openingher handbag she dropped the half burned envelope[Pg 49]inside it, then composedly walked down the corridor.At the head of the staircase she paused andaddressed her companion.

“Have they made any plans for the funeral?”she asked.

“It is postponed until after the preliminary hearingof the inquest,” Alan replied, keeping his voicelowered.

“And has that been called?”

He nodded. “For to-morrow morning, I understand.There is some technicality which is causingunexpected delay.” They were almost at the bottomof the stairs when he caught sight of Betty Carterstanding in front of the fireplace talking to DoctorRoberts. Alan ceased speaking with such abruptnessthat he drew an inquiring glance from Miriam,of which he was totally unaware. Doctor Robertsgave her no time for thought, however. Cominghastily forward, he reached her side in time to helpher on with her coat.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said.“But there were certain matters.... Bless my soul,Alan, more reporters!” as the gong over the frontdoor sounded with startling suddenness. “Betty, mydear,” turning to address the silent girl by the fireplace,“you had better disappear if you don’t wishto be interviewed.”

[Pg 50]

“I’ll see them; don’t worry,” exclaimed Alan, ashe swung open the front door. But instead of theanticipated reporters, he was confronted by a smallfamiliar figure bundled up in expensive furs. “Mrs.Nash!”

“Just so!” Mrs. Nash lowered the high collarof her coat as she came further into the livingroom, and collapsed in the nearest chair. “Let meget my breath. Dear me, I’m half frozen!” andshe chafed one cold hand over the other. “Comehere, Betty, and help me off with these things.”

“Why, Aunt Dora!” Betty hastened to her side.“How imprudent of you to come all the way outhere! You will surely be ill.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” declared Mrs. Nash,through chattering teeth. “I got out of a sick bed tocome here, and Pierre, the wretch, ran out of gasolinea mile away and I had to walk through the snowor sit in the car and freeze to death. Good gracious,Alan! don’t stand there looking at me; get me somethingwarm to drink. I am having a chill.”

“A hot water bag, also,” added Doctor Roberts,hastening to her assistance as Mrs. Nash struggledout of her coat.

“I can find whisky more easily than the latter,”answered Alan, and sped for the dining room. MiriamWard was close behind him and helped him pour[Pg 51]out a generous allowance from the carefully concealeddecanter.

“I saw a hot water bag hanging in your cousin’sbathroom,” she said. “I will get it and have itfilled if you will give this stimulant to Mrs. Nash.”She paused by the door. “Is Mrs. Nash’s husbanda clergyman?”

“Yes. Why?” glancing keenly at her flushedcheeks.

“Nothing—that is,” avoiding his gaze. “Don’tkeep Mrs. Nash waiting,” as she hurried away with afast beating heart. She had recalled the name ofBetty’s companion on her midnight visit to PaulAbbott—Doctor Nash.

Mrs. Nash accepted the proffered whisky withrelief. “I need a bracer,” she admitted. “Indeed,Betty, the shocking news of poor Paul’s untimelydeath bowled me over; and then to be told that youhad raced out here in a hired taxi, without eitheryour uncle or me,—it—it—took my breath away.”A shiver which she could not check shook her fromhead to foot and Doctor Roberts helped her to acouch, while Betty brought a heavy laprobe andthrew it over her aunt. As she turned away Mrs.Nash caught Doctor Roberts’ coat sleeve and motionedto him to bend down.

[Pg 52]

“Is it really true,” she questioned him in a whisper,“that Paul has been murdered?”

“Yes. Hush, no details now,” as Miriam approachedthe couch. He addressed her in his customarytone of voice. “Ah, a hot water bag; justthe thing. You are fortunate, Mrs. Nash, in havinga trained nurse right here at your elbow.”

“Thank you!” Mrs. Nash’s piercing black eyestook in Miriam’s appearance in a pronounced stare.She permitted Miriam to make herself more comfortable,before addressing her again. “Have youbeen nursing Mr. Abbott?”

“Yes.” Miriam stepped back from the couch andturned to Doctor Roberts. “I think I had bettertelephone for a taxi.”

“And my aunt can return to Washington withyou,” broke in Betty Carter as she joined the small group.“It will be an excellent arrangement.”

“I make my own plans, thank you,” retorted Mrs.Nash, whose high color betokened a touch of temper.“Do you suppose that with this attack of flu I canventure out of doors again?”

“You don’t mean to say you propose to spendthe night here?” asked Alan, returning in time tohear her last remark.

“Certainly. My husband and I have been frequent[Pg 53]visitors, and I know there are plenty ofbedrooms.”

“But, my dear Aunt, suppose you get sick?”Betty gazed at her in utter disapproval.

“I am sick already,” declared Mrs. Nash. “Chillsand fever—where’s your thermometer, Doctor?”

Roberts looked grave as he prepared the smallinstrument for her.

“Your niece is right,” he said. “This countryplace is isolated from Washington in winter, andwith illness—” he paused to put the thermometerin Mrs. Nash’s mouth; then he addressed Betty. “Ithink you also had better change your plan, andreturn to Washington.”

“I am the best judge of what I should do,” shehuffed and turned away. Roberts eyed her in speculativesilence as he took out his fountain pen andwrote a prescription.

Alan, who had been watching Betty also, turnedto Miriam. “Where can the coroner reach you?”he asked. “You have not given me your address?Or let me have your bill?” he added, lowering hisvoice to a confidential pitch.

Miriam colored warmly; the commercial side ofher profession always embarrassed her. “I was engagedfor an eighteen-hour duty,” she stammered. “Isuppose the charge is seven dollars.”

[Pg 54]

Alan drew out his wallet and pressed some billsinto her hand. “And your address?” he asked eagerly.

“You can always reach me through Central Registry,”and with a nod of gratitude she passed him togo to the telephone.

From her couch, Mrs. Nash watched her opportunity.With a gesture of surprising quickness sheremoved the thermometer from her mouth andtucked it unseen against the hot water bottle. WhenDoctor Roberts closed his notebook and turnedback to her, the thermometer was once again heldfirmly between her lips. He took it out, lookedat it twice, and then at Mrs. Nash’s scarlet countenance.

“Miss Ward,” he called, and his voice was grave.“Don’t order a taxi—I think that you had betterremain and prepare a bedroom for Mrs. Nash,”and then, in an undertone, as Miriam gained hisside, “it will never do to take Mrs. Nash out in thisweather—her temperature reads 103°.”

Adistinct and unmistakable snore from thebed caused Miriam to approach her patient.Mrs. Nash, her head unevenly balanced betweentwo pillows, was at last asleep. To place herin a more comfortable position would undoubtedlyawaken her, and Miriam backed away on tiptoe fromthe bedside. She had spent three weary hours atMrs. Nash’s beck and call; she had run every conceivableerrand the sick woman’s fancy had dictated,had prepared her for bed, and finally inducedher, on threat of departure, to swallow the medicineprescribed by Doctor Roberts.

Martha’s scanty wardrobe could not provide clothingfor Mrs. Nash, and the housekeeper had beendispatched to Upper Marlboro, the county seat, inthe Nash limousine which had finally put in anappearance, to purchase such necessities as the countrystores could supply. Betty Carter had taken littlepart in the discussion, contenting herself with therequest that Martha buy a wrapper, bedroom slippers,and a night dress and bring them at once[Pg 56]to her room, whereupon she had gone upstairs andlocked her door. Martha had carried her dinner toher upon her return from the shopping expedition.

Miriam had been too intent upon her professionalduties to pay much attention to the other membersof the small party, but she had gathered fromMartha’s remarks that Alan Mason and DoctorRoberts had left for Upper Marlboro in the latter’scar shortly after dinner. Martha, with a sidelongglance which Miriam was beginning to associatewith the housekeeper’s personality, had overheardAlan tell her husband that he would return in timeto “sit up with Mr. Paul.”

“Ain’t it awful, Ma’am—Miss, to think of thatpoor gentleman lying in t’other room dead,” shewent on, with a shiver. “And him so sot on gettingwell. Poor Mr. Paul!” And she wiped away a fewtears with the hem of her clean apron. “He won’trest easy in his grave.”

The housekeeper’s words recurred to Miriam asher gaze, which had been wandering about the room,rested on a small, black-bordered sketch of whatappeared to be a group of neglected graves. Thepicture was well executed, but Miriam wondered atit* selection for a decoration in a bedroom. Fromthe drawing Miriam’s eyes wandered to several paintingson the wall, and, from the likeness of one of[Pg 57]the portraits to Paul Abbott, she judged it to bethat of his father. Evidently the room given toMrs. Nash had once been occupied by the elderAbbott, whether as bedroom or sitting room washard to say, for the remainder of the pictures on thewall were hunting scenes and, except for the bedstead,the rest of the furniture was such as is foundin a man’s “den.”

Miriam selected the most comfortable of the easy-chairsand, taking care to make no noise, pushed itaround so that from its depths she could have anunobstructed view of her patient. Her fatigued musclesrelaxed as she sank back in the chair, but her brain—ah,it was on fire! For a moment she looked withenvy at the slumbering woman. If she could onlysleep as soundly with no visions of the past todisturb her! The present was bad enough in allconscience—who could have murdered Paul Abbottand what possible motive could have inspired thecrime?

The cautious turning of the door knob and theslow opening of the door caused her to bend forwardin her chair. Sheriff Trenholm leaned inside thedoor and, catching sight of Miriam, raised a beckoningfinger, and then placed it against his lips,enjoining silence.

Miriam’s rubber-soled shoes made no noise on[Pg 58]the hardwood floor and she gained the hall door withoutdisturbing her patient.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping partly into thehall, down which the sheriff had retreated a fewpaces.

“I’d like to have a talk with you,” he replied.“Just quietly, by ourselves.”

“But my patient!” she exclaimed.

“She is asleep, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but—” She came further into the hall soas to speak more emphatically and yet not awakenMrs. Nash. “I am on night duty. I cannot leavemy patient alone.”

“You don’t have to; Mrs. Corbin will stay withher, and call you if there is the slightest need foryour presence.” Sheriff Trenholm moved to oneside and Miriam caught a glimpse beyond him ofMartha loitering by the door to Paul Abbott’s oldbedroom. “Come, Miss Ward, you will only beacross the corridor from Mrs. Nash; and it isessential that I see you to-night.“ His voice deepenedand his hand, as if by accident, pulled back hiscoat so that the badge of authority on his vest wasvisible. “I’ll relieve you of any responsibility shouldMrs. Nash question your absence,” he added. “Goin, Mrs. Corbin,” as the housekeeper, who haddrawn nearer, paused undecidedly.

[Pg 59]

Miriam stepped back into the bedroom. Mrs.Nash was still asleep—there was really nothing leftfor her to do but obey the sheriff. She turned toMartha, standing timidly half in and half out of theroom.

“Sit over in that chair,” she directed softly, indicatingthe one she had occupied a moment before.“If Mrs. Nash grows restless in her sleep or wakens,come at once for me.”

“Yes, Ma’am—Miss.” Martha found it difficultto decide on her mode of address so far as thenurse was concerned, and compromised the matterby jumbling the titles together. “Don’t ye beafeared; I’ll call ye.”

Sheriff Trenholm was standing in the center ofAbbott’s old bedroom staring at the windows, thecurtains of which were drawn. He turned aroundat Miriam’s entrance and, stepping behind her, closedthe hall door.

“I don’t wish our talk to be interrupted,” he saidby way of explanation. “Now, Miss Ward, exactlywhat occurred here last night?”

Miriam studied the man in front of her in silence.There was something big and fine about Guy Trenholm—anair of candor, of strength—that impressedher, but an inborn caution, a streak inherited fromsome dour Scottish ancestor, kept back the words[Pg 60]on her tongue. Suppose the sheriff was setting atrap for her?

“Will I be called as a witness at the inquest?”she asked.

“Sure.”

“Then why question me now?”

His smile was friendly as he pulled forward achair and stood resting one hand on it. “The inquestmay be delayed a few days,” he explained.“There is a conflict of authority as to jurisdiction”—hepaused, then added more briskly: “Is the furniturein this room placed as it was last night?”

Miriam stared about her before answering. “Itis just the same,” she said.

“And the windows?”

“Two were open.” She crossed the room andlaid her hand on a tall mahogany screen. “I placedthis here so that the air would not blow directly onMr. Abbott and arranged the curtains at that windowso as to protect him also.”

Trenholm walked by her and, raising the windownearest the four-post bedstead, looked outside. “Itgives on the roof of the verandah,” he said, drawingin his head. “An easy climb from the ground for anagile man. It is a reasonable hypothesis that themurderer gained entrance that way.”

[Pg 61]

“Wouldn’t he have left tracks in the snow?” shebroke in quickly.

“He probably did, but there was a second fall ofsnow about five this morning which obliterated allmarks.” The sheriff closed the window. “Thisscreen made an admirable hiding place, I have nodoubt. He probably sprang from behind it andchloroformed you.”

Miriam shivered. “When I came to myself thismorning I was lying just about here”—she pointedwith her foot to a spot midway between the bedand the screen.

“And you detected no sound—no odd noises whenthe murderer entered the room?” questioned Trenholmand his gaze never left her face.

“I heard nothing to make me suspect that any onewas in the room except Mr. Abbott and me,” shestated. “You recollect that I was absent severaltimes; once when I went downstairs to admit MissBetty Carter and her companion,” she hesitated.“And when I went to the head of the staircase attheir departure.” Again she hesitated. “I also leftthe room on an errand while they were here.”

Trenholm eyed her oddly. “What was the errandand who sent you on it?”

“The lamp went out and the clergyman asked meto get one from downstairs,” she explained, tersely.

[Pg 62]

He considered her statements for several moments,then nodded his head thoughtfully. “The man probablyselected one of the times when Paul was leftalone—preferably the last occasion, for then therewas less danger of detection. You were chloroformedimmediately upon your return?”

“Y-yes. I lost consciousness—I—” Her hesitationcaught his attention. “It is all very confused;I cannot think clearly.”

“Brace up!” His tone, though kindly, was firm,and Miriam checked her inclination to cry—she wasutterly weary and her head ached with memorieswhich would not down. “Now,” he added as shebit her lip and winked back the tears. “Are youpositive you heard no one talking to Mr. Abbott?”

“Except Miss Carter.”

“Well, aside from her,” with patient persistence.

Miriam shook her head. “I can swear that Iheard no one converse with Mr. Abbott except DoctorRoberts and Miss Carter.”

“There was no murmur of voices as you lostconsciousness?”

“I heard none.”

“Strange!” mused Trenholm. “Why did not PaulAbbott cry out when you were chloroformed? Hewas conscious last night—?”

“Oh, yes, although occasionally irrational.” She[Pg 63]glanced up at the sheriff and then toward the bed.“Possibly he was killed before I returned.”

“That may be.” Trenholm tugged at his mustache.“Was Mr. Abbott in a condition to get up?”

“He might have, with assistance,” cautiously.

He regarded her in silence, then nodded his head.“That is what Doctor Roberts told me.” Again hestroked his mustache. “Have you examined the bedsince the body was removed?”

“No.”

“Then look here.” He walked with her to thefour-post bedstead and drew aside the curtains.The blankets and top sheet were neatly pulled back,leaving exposed the under sheet, while the pillowslay as Miriam had last seen them. “Do you noticethat there are no marks of blood, except this smallstain,” motioning toward a spot near the head ofthe bed.

Miriam bent over the bedclothes and then lookedup at the sheriff.

“I found Mr. Abbott lying partly on his leftside—”

“He wasn’t stabbed in that position,” declaredTrenholm vehemently. “It would have been a physicalimpossibility—”

“Unless the murderer stood facing him as he[Pg 64]lay in bed and, reaching over Mr. Abbott’s shoulder,stabbed him in the back,” suggested Miriam.

Trenholm looked doubtful. “That is possible butnot probable,” he retorted. “And it is not borneout by facts. If he was killed in bed, the sheetswould have been stained with blood.”

His remark was caught by Alan Mason as thelatter stepped inside the bedroom. At the sound ofhis entrance, Trenholm wheeled around and hisfrown at the interruption gave place to a pleasedsmile. Alan bowed to Miriam before addressing thesheriff.

“Coroner Dixon told me that the wound bledinternally,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t that explainthe comparatively stainless condition of the sheets?”

“Not to my way of thinking,” declared the sheriff.He frowned again. “No, I don’t believe Paul waskilled in that bed.”

“Do you mean that the murderer lifted Paul outof bed, killed him, and then put him back in bed?”Alan smiled in derision as he put the question.“Come, that’s absurd.”

“Wait!” Miriam drew a step nearer Alan. Hispresence gave her courage. There was somethingindefinable about Alan Mason which, for want of abetter word, she recognized as caste. His considerationin having a dinner tray sent to Mrs. Nash’s[Pg 65]door had kept her from a supperless vigil in thesick room and it was but one of many small actsof courtesy. “There is something I must tell you.”

“Yes? Go on, Miss Ward.” Sheriff Trenholmbrought her a chair. “Sit down, you must be wornout.”

Mechanically she seated herself. “I wanted to tellyou this afternoon,“ she continued, struggling tosteady her voice. She felt strangely nervous. Surelythe curtains of the four-post bedstead were moving?She looked hard at them, then averted her gaze.Pshaw, nerves must not get the best of her. “ButMiss Carter insisted that I was demented.”

Alan changed his weight from one foot to theother as he leaned against the table. “Miss Carterappeared hardly accountable for her behavior,” hebegan. “I think that we can safely say that, eh,Guy?”

Sheriff Trenholm did not at once reply. Withhead bent he studied the pattern of the rug uponwhich they were standing, and when he looked uphis expression was inscrutable.

“Miss Carter will be questioned further,” he saidnoncommittally. “Go ahead, Miss Ward.”

Miriam Ward moistened her dry lips. Wouldthey believe her, or would she simply involve herself[Pg 66]more deeply in the mystery by making statementswhich she could not prove?

“When I came back after Miss Carter’s departurewith her companion,” she spoke slowly, almosthaltingly, and to one of the men watching her, sheappeared more like an animated waxen figure than ahuman being, “I put down the lamp and walkedover to this bed. The curtains were adjusted aboutas they are now.” Miriam paused and pointed towardthem. “I drew them aside and looked down—astrange man lay in the bed.”

With one accord the two men advanced to herside. “Where was Paul?” demanded Alan and thesheriff almost in the same breath.

“I do not know,” replied Miriam. “The shockof not seeing my patient was so great I felt myselfreeling backwards—and knew no more.”

Guy Trenholm and Alan exchanged glances.“And the murderer’s confederate seized that momentto chloroform you!” ejacul*ted Alan.

“Confederate? You are traveling fast, Alan, myboy,” exclaimed Trenholm. “Why couldn’t the manin the bed have sprung up as Miss Ward toppledover and chloroformed her as she lay on the floorin a fainting condition?”

“That is possible,” agreed Alan. “What did theman look like, Miss Ward?”

[Pg 67]

Miriam’s gaze shifted dumbly from one to theother of her companions. She had dreaded the question.“His eyes were closed and except that he worea beard and his hair was dark, I cannot tell youwhat he looked like,” she stammered. “The roomwas dimly lighted. I saw the man but for an instant,and then lost consciousness.”

Sheriff Trenholm regarded her in steadfastsilence. It was Alan who broke the prolonged pause.

“Would you know the man if you saw himagain?” he asked and Miriam was grateful that nonote of doubt had crept into his voice.

“I am sure I would,” she answered swiftly.

“Then, don’t worry.” Alan’s smile was very engaging.His eyes swept a searching glance aboutthe big bedroom. “How was the man dressed?”

Miriam shook her head. “I have no idea. Thebedclothes were pulled up about his shoulders tohis chin.” She hesitated. “I only caught a glimpseof his profile.”

The minutes dragged interminably toMartha Corbin and she wished most devoutlythat she had gone to her room beforeGuy Trenholm had found her in the kitchen. Thesheriff was not a man to disobey, and at his peremptorydirection she had at once accompanied himupstairs to find Miriam Ward. But she had notbargained on having to take the nurse’s place inMrs. Nash’s bedroom. Illness in any form terrifiedher, and only the knowledge that Miriam was acrossthe hall kept her in her chair. At first she had notbeen uncomfortable, but as Miriam’s absence grewprolonged, the housekeeper found it impossible tokeep still. Her twitching fingers fumbled with thearms of the tufted chair until she had loosened fouror five upholstery buttons and pulled off severalinches of braid. Bouncing to her feet she lookedat Mrs. Nash, then, convinced that she was stillasleep, she tiptoed over to the old-fashioned bureauat the opposite end of the room.

Martha studied her reflection in the mirror above[Pg 69]the bureau for fully five minutes. Displeased withher slovenly appearance, she let down her hair and,picking up the comb and hair-brush which Miriamhad loaned to Mrs. Nash earlier in the evening, shetried several ways of dressing her hair. Mrs. Nash’sgold vanity case next attracted her attention and atleast ten minutes were consumed in applying firstrouge and then powder. Finally she stood back tonote the effect upon her complexion. A slow smileof satisfaction stole across her face, and, withoutthe slightest compunction, she transferred a largegob of the rouge to a piece of tissue paper and,folding it many times, stuffed it inside her dress,for future use.

Tiring of staring at her own countenance, Marthawent over to a large bow window and, leaning onthe ledge, peered out into the darkness. Familiaras she was with the location of the bedroom, sheknew the direction in which she was gazing, but itwas impossible for her to distinguish even an outlineof the large modern garage which had beenbuilt in the rear of the house some years previously.Corbin had told her that he would return from a tripto Upper Marlboro before ten o’clock, but that shewas not to wait up for him as he would occupyone of the servants’ bedrooms in the garage, the[Pg 70]other having been prepared for Pierre, Mrs. Nash’schauffeur.

The weather had moderated with the suddennesswhich characterizes the disconcerting alterations intemperature in the vicinity of the District of Columbiaand southern Maryland. The drip, drip, dripof the thawing snow on the eaves of the house camedistinctly to Martha through the half-open window,while the heavy mist, rising from the Patuxent River,on the banks of which the estate of Abbott’s Lodgebordered, but made the outer darkness more impenetrable.

With a slight shiver, Martha faced about, thankfulfor the companionable warmth of the carefullyshaded light in the bedroom. It was no night forany one to be out, and for the matter of that, itwas time that a hard-working woman was allowedto go to bed. Martha’s lips quivered as her grievanceincreased in importance the more she dwelt uponit. Was she never to be considered? Well, shewould go. What was Mrs. Nash to her? The masterwas dead—

“Paul!”

The name, pronounced with startling distinctnessby Mrs. Nash, caused Martha to clutch the windowcurtains in sudden fright. In the silence that followedshe gathered courage to draw closer to the[Pg 71]bed. Mrs. Nash lay with eyes tightly closed andMartha judged from her slow and regular breathingthat she was still asleep. A hasty glance about theroom convinced her that she and Mrs. Nash werealone. Martha crossed herself devoutly just as thesick woman spoke again.

“Paul, can you hear me?” she asked.

Martha’s shaking knees carried her only a fewinches from the bed, and then curiosity overcameher terror. Mrs. Nash was talking in her sleep.With extreme caution she got down on her handsand knees and crept to the side of the bed. Forfully fifteen minutes she crouched there, but Mrs.Nash did not speak again. Slowly and with greatpains Martha straightened up sufficiently to get agood look at Mrs. Nash. She had not altered herposition and lay with eyes still closed. With thedetermination of a weak and obstinate nature,Martha decided to remain where she was, and castabout for a satisfactory explanation of her positionby the bed should Miriam Ward return. She waslaboriously thinking one up when her eyes wereattracted by the constant movement of a hand on thepillow. Martha wished most heartily that Mrs. Nashwould keep still, and she almost gave tongue to herthoughts; but speech was arrested by the sudden[Pg 72]realization that both of Mrs. Nash’s hands lay perfectlyquiet on the counterpane.

With eyes distended to twice their natural size,Martha watched the third hand slip under the pillowand then out again. As it approached the throat ofthe sleeping woman, she saw clearly the long, sensitivefingers and the heavy signet ring—

Martha’s frayed nerves gave way. Her mouthdropped open and sheer terror gave strength to theshriek which broke from her. When Miriam racedinto the room she found her a crumpled, unconsciousheap in the center of the floor and Mrs. Nash sittingup in bed regarding her with ashen face.

“Is she dead?” she gasped.

“No; just a faint.” Miriam’s calm tones beliedher feelings; she was almost as startled as Mrs.Nash. “Please lie down again, Mrs. Nash, and keepyourself covered; otherwise you will take cold.” Shepaused by the bedside long enough to pull up thebedclothes and make Mrs. Nash comfortable, thenhurried to her emergency kit and from it took alittle aromatic spirits of ammonia. Martha revivedquickly under the restorative. Later she staggeredto her feet and, with Miriam’s assistance, took afew halting steps toward the hall door. She stoppedabruptly on the threshold at sight of Sheriff Trenholmand Alan waiting anxiously in the hall.

[Pg 73]

“What has happened?” asked Trenholm. “Is Mrs.Nash worse?”

“No,” replied Miriam. “I am not sure whatoccurred. Martha refuses to tell me. Perhaps ifyou question her—”

“I felt fainty, like,” broke in Martha with markedhaste. She avoided looking at the two men. “Please,Miss—Ma’am, take me to my room.”

Trenholm read Miriam’s hesitation aright. “Goand stay with Mrs. Nash, Alan,” he directed, “untilMiss Ward returns. Now, Martha,” and before thestartled housekeeper could protest, he picked her upin his arms and started down the hall. Pausing onlylong enough to take a bottle of medicine and a glass,Miriam hurried after the sheriff, as Alan went in tospeak to Mrs. Nash.

The suite of rooms, comprising sitting room, bedroomand bath, which Corbin and his wife occupied,was at one end of the winding corridor and off alanding halfway up a flight of steps leading to thegarret. Miriam took note of the comfortable furniturein the bedroom as she assisted Martha out ofher clothes and into bed. The housekeeper wastaciturn to the point of sullenness, and Miriam finallyforbore to address her.

“Drink this,” she handed a glass to Martha as shespoke. “It is a harmless sedative; don’t be alarmed,”[Pg 74]observing the woman’s expression. “You will feelbetter in the morning.”

“Will it make me sleep?” asked Martha, huddlingdown under the blankets.

“Yes.” Miriam halted by the door. “Is there anythingmore I can do for you?”

“No.” Martha remembered her manners and herface emerged from under the blankets. “Thank you,Ma’am—Miss. Jest blow out the lamp as you goalong.”

Miriam hesitated. “You are not afraid to stayin the dark?”

“No, Ma’am—Miss. Good night.”

Miriam echoed the words as she carried outMartha’s wishes, then closing the door softly shewent thoughtfully down the corridor. She had almostreached Mrs. Nash’s door when Trenholmcalled her name softly and joined her a momentlater.

“Did you learn anything from the housekeeper?”he asked.

She shook her head. “Martha hardly spoke.”Miriam paused. “Her condition may be due tohysteria.”

Trenholm studied her expression. “But you don’tthink so—”

[Pg 75]

She looked straight at him. “No. I believe thewoman was almost paralyzed with fright.”

Trenholm remained silent for a few seconds, thenroused himself.

“You may be right,” he said. “I hope Mrs. Nashsuffers no ill effects from her rude awakening. Amoment, Miss Ward,” as Miriam laid her handon Mrs. Nash’s bedroom door. “Please tell Mr.Mason that I will remain with Abbott’s body. Ifyou,” he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, “ifyou need me, you will find me there,” and turninghe went down the corridor.

Alan Mason rose at Miriam’s approach and relinquishedhis seat by the bedside, with a relieved air.

“Mrs. Nash will talk,” he remarked, “although Itried to monopolize the conversation in the hope ofmaking her sleepy. Is there anything more I cando?” His question was intended for Miriam butMrs. Nash answered it.

“Close the door behind you,” she said tartly, andAlan colored as he met Miriam’s dark eyes, with afaint quizzical gleam in them.

“Sheriff Trenholm is with the body,” she murmured,as he passed her on his way out of the room.“Good night.”

“What did you say?” demanded Mrs. Nash, raisingherself on her elbow.

[Pg 76]

Miriam bent over her and straightened the pillowswith a practiced hand. “Isn’t that more comfortable?”she asked, as Mrs. Nash sank back with asigh. “It is time for your medicine,” glancing, asshe spoke, at her wrist watch. “Just a second,” andmoving swiftly over to the table, she prepared itand then returned to the bed. She expected somedifficulty in persuading Mrs. Nash to take it, but toher secret surprise the latter swallowed it without amurmur, but with a wry face.

“Roberts never prescribed an agreeable dose,” shecommented, after sipping a glass of water. “Sit byme, Miss Ward, I want to ask you some questions.”

“Not to-night,” Miriam’s charming smile softenedher refusal. “You must go to sleep.”

“With that howl still ringing in my ears!” Mrs.Nash’s shudder was no affectation, but a true indicationof her state of mind. “What possessed thewoman?”

“Hysterics,” briefly. “Now, Mrs. Nash, youreally must close your eyes.”

“In a minute. Sit down just a second.” Mrs.Nash’s tone could be coaxing when she wished.“I’ll do whatever you say if you will answer a fewquestions.”

“I can’t promise.”

“Now, don’t be obstinate.” Mrs. Nash glanced[Pg 77]at her shrewdly. “If you irritate me, I’ll not sleepat all,” and she squared her shoulders with an airof determination which made Miriam’s heart sink.She knew, none better, that often temper and temperaturewent hand and hand in the sick room.Humoring a patient was occasionally a short cut tohealth as well as peace.

“What is it you wish to know?” she asked, sittingdown.

Mrs. Nash smiled, well pleased with having gainedher point.

“What killed Paul?” she asked, and at Miriam’sfrown, added hastily: “There is nothing in thatquestion to send my temperature skyward. Was hepoisoned?”

“No; stabbed.” Miriam met her piercing blackeyes steadily, while wondering at the concentrationof her regard. Mrs. Nash sat bolt upright.

“Was the knife left in the body?” she demanded.

“No.”

“Have they found it?”

“No.” Miriam hastened to supplement her secondmonosyllable with a further statement as shesaw another question trembling on Mrs. Nash’slips. “The weapon has not been found yet.”

“Then how do they know that he was stabbed?”persisted Mrs. Nash.

[Pg 78]

“By the nature of the wound,” replied Miriam.“Sheriff Trenholm told me just now that the autopsyproved Mr. Abbott died from what is known as apunctured wound.”

“And what is that precisely?”

“Why, the weapon used left a fusiform or spindle-shapedwound,” she added, observing Mrs. Nash’sblank expression. “Now, please lie down again, forthat is the last question I am going to answer to-night,”and the gentle firmness of her voice convincedMrs. Nash that she meant what she said.But before she settled back on the pillows she lookedaround at her nurse.

“Was my niece talking to Guy Trenholm in thehall before you came in here a second time?” sheinquired.

Miriam shook her head in the negative. “Not tomy knowledge. I have not seen Miss Carter sincedinner.”

Mrs. Nash grunted as she turned over on her side.“Well, if Betty slept through Martha’s dreadfulscream she rivals the seven sleepers,” she commentedand closed her eyes.

It was after three o’clock when Miriam threwback the blanket which she had wrapped aroundherself and rose softly from the chair by the bedside.Mrs. Nash had been asleep for fully two[Pg 79]hours. Miriam was thoroughly chilled and shechafed one hand over the other as she walked noiselesslyup and down the bedroom, hoping to stimulatecirculation. She stopped finally by the tablewhere stood the lamp and laid her hands on itsglass globe. As she stood warming them by theheat from the lamp, she observed a bowl of nutspushed toward the back of the table. Her vigil hadsharpened her appetite, and she had regretted severaltimes that she had neglected to ask Martha fora night lunch.

Reaching over she pulled the bowl toward her andtook up one of the walnuts and the nut cracker. Asthe instrument crunched over the nut, it sounded inthe stillness like a miniature firecracker and shepaused, and looked over her shoulder in alarm ather patient. Apparently the noise had not disturbedMrs. Nash, for she slept peacefully on. Severaltempting pieces of the nut meat stuck in the shelland not daring to use the nut cracker again, shestarted to take up the nut pick lying in the bowl.For fully five seconds she stood staring at it, herhand poised in mid-air; then with one hurried, comprehensivelook about the room and at her sleepingpatient, she picked up the bowl and sped into thehall, her flying footsteps deadened by the strip ofcarpet which ran its length, and brought up breathless[Pg 80]by the sofa on which Sheriff Trenholm hadthrown himself, fully dressed, a short time before.

“Look!” she exclaimed, keeping her voice loweredin spite of her excitement, and she pointed to thenut pick. It was of finest steel, about eight incheslong, with a straight, sharp point and sharpenedfluted edges running along its sides. From point tohandle it was stained a dull red.

“Blood!” The word escaped Guy Trenholm inlittle more than a whisper, and simultaneously theyturned to the undertaker’s couch near the centerof the room on which lay all that was mortal ofPaul Abbott.

“The wound was spindle-shaped,” Miriam addedin a voice not quite steady, and Trenholm bowedhis head.

“You have found the weapon, undoubtedly,” hesaid. “Thank you.”

Doctor Roberts laid down his stethoscopeand frowned as he gazed at Mrs.Nash, lying back on her pillow, both eyesclosed, and breathing rapidly. Leaning forward hepicked up her chart and read Miriam’s notationson it with a wrinkled brow.

“You must stay in bed another day,” he saidfinally. “The flu is treacherous.”

Mrs. Nash’s eyes slowly opened and regarded himsteadily. “What’s the matter with your medicines?”she demanded. “Why am I not better?”

“Don’t be so impatient.” He evaded a direct reply.“Where is Miss Ward?”

“Asleep, I presume. She went to her room aftergiving me my breakfast this morning.” Mrs. Nashsat up a little straighter. “Where did you find sucha pretty woman?”

“She came from the Central Registry; I know nomore than that.” Roberts looked at her inquiringly.“You find her competent and intelligent?”

[Pg 82]

“As nurses go.” Mrs. Nash sniffed. An argumentwith Miriam that morning, in which she hadcome off second best, still rankled. “I admit thatshe is nicer in the sick room than my niece Betty.”

“Has Betty been with you this morning?”

“Yes,” grimly. “She was worse than useless.Well,” regarding Roberts attentively, “why, do youlook at me like that?”

“Betty is hardly herself, Mrs. Nash, since thetragedy of yesterday.”

Mrs. Nash did not give him time to completehis sentence. “So you, too, think Betty is crushed?Well, so she is—on some one else.”

“My dear Mrs. Nash!”

Mrs. Nash smiled tolerantly and swiftly changedthe subject.

“Who were all those people tramping by my doora short time ago?” she asked.

“The coroner’s jury,” responded Roberts, puttinghis stethoscope and sphygmomanometer in his bag.

“Oh!” Mrs. Nash sat upright; her cheeks abrighter pink. “Is the inquest being held here?”

“Not now. It met, was sworn in, and viewed thebody,” replied Roberts concisely. “And then CoronerDixon asked for a postponement—”

“Why, for goodness’ sakes!” demanded Mrs.[Pg 83]Nash. “Doesn’t the man wish to catch Paul’smurderer?“

“Of course he does!” Roberts was conscious ofa feeling of irritation; Mrs. Nash’s interminablequestions were getting on his nerves. “Sheriff Trenholmwished more time before presenting the case,and the inquest is held over for a few days.”

“Does that mean that the burial has to be postponed?”she asked.

Roberts shook his head. “The body will be removedto the vault at the cemetery,” he answered.“I do not know what arrangements Alan Masonhas made, further than that. Now, Mrs. Nash, youmust not excite yourself,” observing her flushedappearance with concern. “Please lie down.”

Mrs. Nash subsided among the pillows, of whichshe had collected four, arranged entirely to herliking after earnest effort on Martha’s part to carryout her orders.

“Will you do me a favor, Doctor?” she askedas he rose and stood, bag in hand. “Please givethis note to Pierre, my chauffeur, and tell him todrive into Washington and give it to my husband.Pierre is to return here immediately with everyarticle listed in the note. If I must stay here, Iwill at least be comfortable.”

Roberts took the proffered note. “I will run in[Pg 84]and see you to-night before returning to Washington,”he volunteered. “Sheriff Trenholm has askedme to dine with him.”

Mrs. Nash raised her head. “I recall Paul’s fatherspeaking to me some years ago about a young manin whom he was interested. His name was GuyTrenholm.”

“It is the same person,” declared Roberts. “Trenholmowes much to Abbott’s generosity; he practicallyeducated him. Now, Mrs. Nash, be sure andtake the medicine prescribed, and, above all, mindwhat the nurse tells you.” He chuckled at her disgustedexpression and, with a graceful bow, left theroom.

But Roberts had ceased smiling when he wentdown the staircase and out of the house. Mrs.Nash’s condition puzzled him. He had been herfamily physician ever since her father, Owen Carter,the senior Congressman from his state, had takenup his residence in Washington. A woman spoiled,self-willed, she had held undisputed sway in herfather’s household, while her frail mother had beencontent with the role of invalid. Mrs. Nash hadallowed her eccentricities to grow upon her andWashington society had enjoyed many a quiet laughat her expense. Her social position, her wealth, aswell as her undoubted good looks and her quick[Pg 85]wit, made her a welcome visitor. Rumors of herapproaching marriage with this dignitary and thathad been frequently circulated, in spite of her declarationthat she preferred to be an old maid. Hermarriage, therefore, to the Reverend AlexanderNash had proved something of a sensation in theirsmall world. That her ambitions had been satisfiedon becoming the wife of an unknown Doctor ofDivinity, her friends and acquaintances found hardto believe.

Roberts went down the path immersed in thought.In a telephone talk that morning, RepresentativeCarter had expressed great anxiety about his daughter’scondition and begged the doctor to see heragain and curb her imprudent tendencies to neglecther health. Thereupon Roberts had turned over hispatients in Washington to his assistant and motoredout to Abbott’s Lodge. A cause for wonderment,which persisted even after his talk with Mrs. Nash,was why her father had shown such anxiety abouther and not her husband.

Roberts was still pondering deeply when hereached the garage and Pierre’s respectful, “Bonjour,Monsieur,” brought him back to his errand.

“Morning, Pierre,” he replied. “Mrs. Nash wishesyou to run into Washington with this note for herhusband.”

[Pg 86]

Pierre wiped his fingers on some waste and takingthe white envelope gingerly, tucked it in the pocketof his jumper.

“Yes, Monsieur, and when shall I start?”

“Now, I suppose. Have you lunched?”

“Mrs. Corbin gave me some sandwiches and tea.”Pierre picked up his chamois and can of metal polish.“That car of yours, Monsieur, it is good, but it has aslapping piston.”

“Impossible!” Roberts went over to his roadsterand lifted the hood. The car was a new investmentand his pride. “It was the pump you heard, Pierre,and not a piston.”

“Perhaps, Monsieur,” Pierre’s shrug was characteristic.“Allow me,” and with a quick turn of hissupple wrists, he fastened the hood back in place.“But when you next start your engine, listen well.”

“Thanks, I will,” Roberts started to enter his carwhen the chauffeur addressed him again, somewhatdiffidently.

“Please, Monsieur, is Madame very ill?” heasked.

“She fears she has the flu,” replied Roberts. “Butthere is nothing alarming about her condition,Pierre.”

“Is she better than last night?”

“Yes.” At the servant’s persistency Roberts[Pg 87]closed the door of his car without entering it andregarded the little chauffeur keenly. A thoughtstruck him. There was a perceptible pause before heagain spoke. “When did Doctor Nash return toWashington?”

“Monday night we got in, Monsieur.” Pierrepaused to calculate on his fingers. “That is, Tuesdaymorning.”

“Ah, then you came down on a night train fromNew York?”

“But, no, Monsieur. Doctor Nash and Miss Carterleave me on the train at Baltimore on Mondayafternoon, and the doctor he reach home on Tuesdaymorning.”

Roberts’ glance at Pierre became a stare. “AndMiss Carter?” he questioned quickly.

A shrug of Pierre’s shoulders was most expressive.“I know nothing, Monsieur. I leave the houseearly to go to the garage and put Madame’s carin order.” Swiftly he changed the subject. “DoesMadame wish me to come back from Washingtonto-night?”

“Yes, and I imagine from what she said, thatMrs. Nash will be impatient for your return,” repliedRoberts, going toward the door. “Report tothe nurse when you reach here.”

“Oui, Monsieur.” Pierre touched his forehead[Pg 88]with his finger, then as Roberts disappeared up thewalk he turned and stared at his reflection in thepolished surface of the Rolls-Royce. His little pigeyes were keenly alert and he flecked an infinitesimalspeck of dirt from the car door before turning awayand going to his room on the floor above.

“I am to see the nurse,” he muttered below hisbreath. “Eh bien—perhaps!”

Most of the snow had melted in the sudden thawof the night before and a comparatively mild temperatureand brilliant sunlight tempted Roberts tostay out of doors. Turning about he strode brisklyaway from the house. He had traversed half thedistance to the Patuxent River when he caught sightof a woman approaching along the path. Her quick,buoyant step and fine carriage first attracted hisattention, and as she drew nearer he recognizedMiriam Ward. At sight of him she hastened herfootsteps.

“Good afternoon, Doctor,” she exclaimed. “Haveyou seen Mrs. Nash?”

“I have just come from her bedroom,” he answered.“When do you go on duty, Miss Ward?”

“This evening,” Miriam responded. “I left herafter breakfast. Mrs. Nash prefers to have me donight duty. How did you find her?”

“Her general condition is better, but frankly,[Pg 89]there are certain symptoms that puzzle me,” admittedRoberts. “I noticed by your chart that she had asubnormal temperature this morning. Her temperatureis still down, her pulse sluggish, and respirationrapid.”

“She insists that she has the flu,” Miriam pointedout. “But the symptoms are contradictory.”

“True.” Roberts adjusted his eyeglasses. “Thatis what puzzles me. I have made a careful examinationand find both lungs are clear. I feel that I havenot located the real trouble.”

“You don’t consider her able to sit up out ofbed?” questioned Miriam. “I ask because she insistsupon doing so.”

“Most certainly not,” promptly. “The old houseis full of draughts and improperly heated, and theremight be danger of pneumonia in her run-downcondition. I left a few directions on the chart foryou,” added Roberts; then as Miriam, with a slightbow, started to walk past him toward the house, hedetained her with a gesture. “Was the clergyman,who accompanied Miss Carter on Monday nightto Abbott’s sick room, her aunt’s husband, the ReverendDoctor Nash?”

At the direct question Miriam’s color rose. “I amnot sure of the relationship,” she replied. “But to[Pg 90]the best of my recollection, he certainly mentionedthat his name was Nash.”

In silence Roberts fingered his hat which he hadnot replaced on his head since stopping to speakto Miriam.

“And Betty Carter denied that she had visitedPaul,” he muttered. “It is most singular!”

He echoed Miriam’s thoughts, but she forbore tocomment. Taking a mere acquaintance into herconfidence was foreign to her reserved nature. SuddenlyRoberts turned to her, his fine eyes twinklingwith one of his rare smiles.

“I admire your discretion,” he said. “If I canbe of any service at any time call upon me,” andwith a friendly wave of his hand, he continued hisinterrupted stroll toward the river.

As Miriam approached the house she walked moreslowly. Her hour in the fresh, invigorating air haddone her more good than any tonic, and her long,uninterrupted sleep that morning had refreshed her.It was her first walk about the grounds since comingto Abbott’s Lodge, and she had admired the sceneryand well-kept appearance of the estate. For the firsttime she realized the size of the house as she wentaround the path that skirted it; it was far largerthan she had supposed. Entering through the sunparlor,[Pg 91]she halted in the dining room at sight ofSheriff Trenholm conversing with Charles Corbin,the caretaker.

Trenholm’s attention was diverted from Corbinby the nurse’s arrival, and the caretaker seized thechance to edge his portly form nearer the pantrydoor. He stopped abruptly as the sheriff’s hawklikegaze turned swiftly back to him, and rubbed theback of his hand across his dry lips.

“Don’t go, Miss Ward,” exclaimed Trenholm.“You have come most opportunely. Exactly wheredid you find the bowl of nuts last night?”

“Standing on the small lamp table in the roomnow occupied by Mrs. Nash,” she replied. “It waspushed back against the wall.”

“When did you take that nut dish there, Corbin?”Trenholm stepped closer as he put the question andthe caretaker wriggled his shoulders against thewall; the support brought back his lost sense ofsecurity. He had no love for the sheriff of thecounty.

“Mr. Abbott brought the nuts in some time lastweek,” he retorted. “I disremember the exact day,but he poured them in a bowl that usually sits overyonder on the sideboard, and he took it away—Idon’t know where.”

“Think again, Corbin,” cautioned Trenholm as[Pg 92]the man moved uneasily. “When did you last seethat bowl and the nut pick?”

“I told you I can’t think of the exact day,” wasthe surly reply. An idea occurred to him and hisparchment-like face brightened. “I’ll get Martha;she’ll know.”

“Wait!” Trenholm’s voice rang out clearly andCorbin stopped where he was. “I’ll talk to your wifelater. Who used Mrs. Nash’s bedroom?”

“It was Mr. Abbott’s bedroom, and after his deathit was closed,” answered Corbin. “But lately Mr. Paulhas used it as a sitting room. He told Marthait made him feel that his father was nearby and hewasn’t so lonesome.”

Trenholm viewed the caretaker in silence for amoment. “So Mr. Paul used to sit there, did he?”he asked, and Corbin contented himself with a sullennod of his closely shaven, bullet-shaped head. “Andwhen were you last in the room?”

“This morning.” Corbin dropped his eyes thatTrenholm might not read their expression of reliefat the change in the trend of his questions. “I wentin to make up the fire for Mrs. Nash. There’s thetelephone, sir.”

“I’ll answer it,” and turning on his heel Trenholmhastened into the living room and over to the telephone.

[Pg 93]

In an instant Corbin was gone and Miriam almostrubbed her eyes, so swift were his movements andso noiseless. Pausing long enough to pour herselfout a glass of water and drink it, she followed Trenholminto the living room. The sheriff was stillat the telephone and she walked over to Paul Abbott’sdesk and sat down before it, intending towait until Trenholm was disengaged.

Miriam was idly playing with one of the silverdesk ornaments when she saw a package of envelopeslying on the edge of an open leather bag,which stood on a stool by the desk. Near at handwas an empty scrap basket. Again Miriam’s gazesought the envelopes. They were oddly familiar.Stooping forward she took up the package andfingered them. In quality of paper, in quantity ofstamps, they matched the half-burnt envelope whichshe had picked up in her bedroom twenty-four hoursbefore. Her envelope was securely locked in hergrip, but she vividly remembered the Canadian postagestamps, orange in color and five in number.

Miriam looked across the room at Guy Trenholm.He was still talking at the telephone with his backturned to her. She was oblivious of the fact thatshe was distinctly visible to him in the mirrorhanging just before him on the wall.

Miriam studied the handwriting on the topmost[Pg 94]envelope—it bore Paul Abbott’s name and address.Swiftly she examined the address on each envelope—itwas the same—then counted them—eleven in all.Miriam’s thoughts reverted to the black crest onher torn envelope. She turned over the eleven envelopes—theflap on each was missing.

“Miss Ward.” Betty Carter’s voice just over hershoulder made her start violently. “Will you go tomy aunt at once; she needs you.”

“Certainly.” Miriam was conscious of Betty’scold regard; but there was no hurry discernible inher movements as she replaced the rubber bandaround the envelopes and laid them back on thetop of the open bag, which, she noticed for the firsttime, bore, stamped upon it, Guy Trenholm’s initials.

Betty Carter watched Miriam disappearup the staircase before she moved. Crossingthe living room she stopped in front of thefire and warmed her hands, then sitting down shetoyed idly with a string of pearls about her neck.

“Still conscious of your pearls?” asked Guy Trenholm.He had followed her across the room andpaused in front of her.

Betty crimsoned from neck to brow and her eyesflamed with wrath.

“If you can’t refrain from insults, don’t addressme,” she said.

It was Trenholm’s turn to color. “You misunderstoodme,” he exclaimed. “Seeing you playing withyour pearls reminded me of your inordinate fondnessfor jewelry when in Paris.”

“Inordinate fondness,” echoed Betty, and her delicatelyarched eyebrows rose in displeasure. “Yourexplanation is in as questionable taste as your firstremark.”

Trenholm shrugged his shoulders. “If you take[Pg 96]offense so easily, we’ll change the subject,” he said.“Where were you off to so early this morning?”

She looked at him without speaking and Trenholmoccupied the time in lighting a cigarette, after firstasking her permission, which was given with anod of her head.

When she finally spoke it was to ask a questionand not to answer his.

“I cannot understand,” she began, “why a manof your capabilities accepted the office of sheriff.Have you no ambition to make good in the future?”

“The future?” his smile was bitter. “The futurecan take care of itself. What concerns me is thepresent. Where did Pierre take you in your aunt’scar before breakfast this morning?”

Her lips curled in a disdainful smile. “If youwish to know, why not question Pierre?”

“Because I prefer to come to you rather thanask a servant,” he stated quietly. “Take your time,I’ll wait for an answer,” and he dropped into a chairby the side of the big sofa on which she was sitting.

“I see, patience is a virtue with you,” she remarked.“Is it, by chance, your only virtue?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Time willtell.” A glint of humor lit his deep-set eyes. Shemet his look for a second, then glanced away.

Through the drifting smoke of his cigarette Trenholm[Pg 97]studied her intently; her beauty was undeniableand of an unusual type. He sighed. Was the droopat the corners of her mouth indicative of deceit?Was it in her to play straight?

Betty moved restlessly, suddenly conscious of hisprolonged scrutiny. “Suppose I tell you that I wentto early church in Upper Marlboro,” she said suddenly.

“On Wednesday?”

“Certainly. One can pray on any day.”

“And not necessarily in a church.”

Betty snuggled down more comfortably among thecushions, but one hand, tucked carefully out ofsight, was tightly clenched. “So you still sneer atreligion,” she commented softly.

Trenholm shook his head. “I would never scoffdid I for one instant believe that true religion has apart in your life.” At his answer her eyes sparkledwith anger, but she masked her feelings under aningratiating smile.

“You have changed, Guy Trenholm, since the olddays in France,” she remarked, and her voice heldan undertone of feeling he failed to understand.

“For the worse?” he asked quickly.

“Perhaps.” She lapsed into silence, which he didnot care to break. His air of strength, of self-sufficiency,irritated her and she watched him covertly[Pg 98]while pretending to be absorbed in thought. Evenher fastidious taste could find no fault with hiswell-tailored riding suit and leather boots. Shegrudgingly admitted to herself that the years hadbrought improvement in raiment if not in manners.Whatever else he became, he would never be metamorphosedinto a society man. No social badinagewould cover his thoughts; he would say what he hadto say with sledge-hammer effect whatever the occasion.Betty’s heavy sigh was audible and heglanced at her inquiringly.

“Strange, is it not,” he began, as she remainedsilent, “that you and Alan and I should be throwntogether as we were in France during the War, andthat we should meet under Paul’s roof.”

“Not so very remarkable,” she objected. “Wehave seen each other frequently during the past fiveyears.”

Trenholm threw his cigarette into the fire andleaned forward.

“What motive inspired Paul’s murder?” he asked.

His question robbed her cheeks of color. “Whyask me that?” she demanded. “Why should I knowmore than another?”

“Because Paul loved you.”

Her lips twitched and her eyes grew dim. Sheput up her hand as if to ward off a blow. “Don’t!”[Pg 99]She recovered her poise, shaken for a fraction of asecond. “I refuse to discuss Paul’s death with you,of all men.”

Trenholm considered her, slowly, carefully, as heleaned back in his chair. “Other men loved you,”he said softly. “I, for one.”

“In Paris?”

“Yes,” quietly. He pressed his lips together.“Calf love—I got over it.”

Betty laughed not quite steadily. “You are to becongratulated.” She spoke with a mockery andmalice so neatly balanced that for a swift secondhe failed to reply.

“I recovered,” he stated, more forcefully. “Othersdidn’t.” His glance held hers. “Paul is dead, butAlan Mason still lives in his fool’s paradise.”

With one spring she gained her feet and facedhim, trembling with rage and excitement.

“After all, Guy Trenholm, the role of sheriffbecomes you,” she said, and the scorn in her voicestung him. “Water seeks its own level.” She turnedaway, snatched her coat from a chair where shehad left it that morning and swung out of the door.

Trenholm sat where he was for fully five minutesafter the front door had closed behind Betty. Whenhe rose he was still frowning. Going over to hisbag he tossed the package of letters inside, snapped[Pg 100]the bag to, locked it, and taking up his cap wentin search of Martha Corbin.

Betty was unconscious of the distance she walkedor the direction she took. She was grateful for thecool breeze that fanned her hot cheeks. Seldom hadshe felt in such a fever; her throat was dry—parched.She paused long enough to wipe tinybeads of moisture from her forehead with an alreadydamp handkerchief. She had spent the nightin choking back sobs which racked her slender body.Toward morning she had slept fitfully from pureexhaustion. Only a relentless purpose spurred herto get up, regardless of the early hour, a purposefrustrated by—

Betty drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.She stopped and gazed about for a familiar landmark.She knew the countryside fairly well, and itdid not take her long to locate the road which ledto Upper Marlboro. She found it drier walkingon its crest and trudged slowly along, keeping a waryeye out for automobiles which would make necessarya hasty run for the side of the road. Shejudged that she had covered about half the distancewhen, in passing a wood which she rememberedwas located on Abbott’s property, she saw a manrunning through the trees in her direction. Somethingfurtive in his movements as he dodged among[Pg 101]the leafless trees and bushes caused her heart tobeat more rapidly, and she cast a glance behindher. No vehicle, horse-drawn or motor-driven, wasin sight. Betty faltered and came to a stop, then,throwing off her unreasoning fear, she hurried forward,glancing neither to the right nor the left.

Betty had passed the wood and was breathingmore easily when she detected the sound of followingfootsteps and she heard her name called once,and then again with more insistence. She keptstraight ahead, for if recollection did not play herfalse, a farmhouse was around the next bend in theroad. She had almost gained the turn, when a man’sshadow was thrown on the snow just in front ofher, and facing to her left she found Charles Corbin,the caretaker, at her side.

“Excuse me, Miss Betty,” he said, with a tug at thevisor of his cap. “I thought ye heard me coming.”

Betty’s feeling of relief found vent in a slightlaugh. “Dear me, Corbin; I wish I had recognizedyou sooner. Why, I was actually running awayfrom you.”

Corbin’s parchment-like face opened in an expansivegrin which showed his yellow teeth. “Runningaway, was you, Miss Betty?” His voicedropped to a confidential pitch. “Take it from me,don’t ye do it.”

[Pg 102]

Betty ceased laughing with startling abruptnessand stared at him.

“What are you talking about, Corbin?” she demanded.

His right eye opened and closed in a most expressivewink. “I want to speak to ye, Miss Betty,confidential like.”

“Well?” she drew back and looked at him indawning comprehension. “Are you drunk?”

“No; I never touch liquor.” He slipped his handinside his tightly buttoned coat and drew out awoman’s silk scarf and held it just beyond herreach.

“Where did you get that?” she cried.

“Where ye dropped it the morning of Mr. Paul’smurder.” As he spoke he shook out the scarf. “Theblood’s still on it,” and he leered at her as sheraised her eyes and looked at him. It was someseconds before she spoke, and her voice was notquite natural.

“Well, what’s your price?” she asked.

Corbin licked his lips. “How much ye got withye?” he demanded.

From an inside pocket she drew out a bill foldercontaining “A.B.A.” travelers’ checks. Only one wasleft, but tucked behind it were two yellow-backTreasury notes.

[Pg 103]

“I can give you a check for fifty dollars or thesetwo twenty-dollar bills,” she explained.

“I’ll take the money—on account.”

The look she gave him was expressive of herfeelings, but wasted on Corbin. “Very well,” shesaid. “Hand me the scarf.”

“Oh, no.” He held it behind him. “Not till Iget five hundred dollars.”

“Five hundred dollars!”

“Sure—that’s what Sheriff Trenholm will give forit and, eh, other information.”

Betty threw back her head and eyed him defiantly.“If you go to the sheriff he will give youwhat every blackmailer deserves—nothing.” Andshe replaced the bills in the check folder. Corbineyed the vanishing money in alarm.

“Don’t be in a hurry!” he exclaimed. “I am apoor man. I’ll take the money—and your word forthe rest.” His fingers closed greedily over theTreasury notes as he relinquished the scarf. Witha mumbled word, of which Betty was oblivious, hehastened back the way he had come.

Betty stood where she was in indecision. Finallyshe turned and watched Corbin reënter the woods.Convinced that he was not likely to return she continuedon her way toward Upper Marlboro, the scarfsafely tucked inside the pocket of her fur coat.[Pg 104]She had gone some little distance when she cameto an open field and saw, close to the road, in aslight hollow, a huge boulder from which the snowhad melted, leaving exposed the dry rock.

Betty’s hesitation was brief. Climbing the fence,she turned her back on the road and placing thescarf on the rock she drew out a silver match box.The first match failed to light, with the second shewas more successful, and three minutes later thescarf was a smoldering heap of ashes. Drawing inher breath she blew them off the rock, and with alighter heart, regained the road just in time torecognize her aunt’s Rolls-Royce approaching,Pierre at the wheel. The recognition was mutualand the powerful car came to a stop. Before thelittle chauffeur could climb out of his seat the limousinedoor was swung open and Doctor Nash sprangto Betty’s side, and assisted her into the car.

“Upon my word, Betty!” he exclaimed, at herwet boots. “You are most imprudent!”

“As usual.” A sigh accompanied the words andDoctor Nash turned and scanned her closely. Herbrilliant color and the sparkle of her eyes accentuatedthe haggard lines caused by harassing thoughts andsleepless nights, but did not detract from her beauty.Nash’s critical expression softened and Betty, quick[Pg 105]to read his thoughts, laid her hand in his. “I needyour help.”

“You can count on me, Betty, always.” Nashspoke with warmth and Betty’s color deepened. Shepaused, however, before addressing him again.

“Promise me,” she began, sinking her voice sothat he had to bend nearer to catch what she said.“Promise me not to admit to Sheriff Trenholm thatyou and I were at Abbott’s Lodge on Mondaynight.”

Nash straightened up with a jerk. “Betty!”

“Please!” Betty’s soft voice was pathos itself.There was silence in the limousine and Pierredropped his eyes from the vision mirror in whichwere plainly outlined the likenesses of his twopassengers in time to turn into the driveway toAbbott’s Lodge and stop under the porte cochère.

Nash sighed deeply. “Does your aunt know?”

Betty shook her head. “No one must know,” sheprotested vehemently. “No one.” She looked at himand the wistful, pleading appeal in her lovely eyesstirred him out of himself.

His low but fervid “Betty” reached not only herears, but Alan Mason’s, who stood by the doorof the car, held open by the attentive Pierre.

Alan broke the pause. “I’m glad you’ve come,Nash,” he said. “Your wife is worse.”

Doctor Roberts removed his fingersfrom Mrs. Nash’s wrist, after taking herpulse, and then bowed gravely to her husband.

“Your wife has rallied and we can safely leaveher with the nurse,” he said. “Come, Nash, you mustbe very weary after your anxious night,” and layinghis hand persuasively on his companion’sshoulder he gently pushed him toward the hall door,then turned back to speak to Miriam. “I will bedownstairs in the living room if you need me.”

Miriam, in the act of preparing Mrs. Nash’smedicine, did not answer. Going over to the bedshe aroused the drowsy woman, helped her to asitting position and held the medicine glass to herlips. Mrs. Nash drank slowly, and then settledback with a low sigh. Miriam busied herself aboutthe bedroom for ten minutes before returning tothe chair by the bed and found her patient regardingher steadfastly.

“When did my husband get here?” she asked.

[Pg 107]

“Around six o’clock yesterday afternoon,” repliedMiriam.

“I do not remember.” Mrs. Nash passed herhand before her eyes. “He came while I was unconscious—?”

“Yes. Now, Mrs. Nash, don’t talk—”

“Was he with me all night?” Paying no attentionto Miriam, she struggled up on her elbow as sheput the question.

“He was in and out of the room most of thenight,” Miriam bent over and adjusted the bedclothes.“Doctor Roberts was here also.”

Mrs. Nash was silent for some little time, her eyesroving about the big room, into which the daylightwas stealing through the partly open windows;finally she gazed again at her nurse.

“I wasn’t so ill that I could not appreciate whatyou did for me,” she said, and Miriam was surprisedat the amount of feeling in her voice. “Ishan’t forget it, my dear.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Nash, you must not excite yourself,”Miriam protested, coloring warmly at herpraise. “Please lie down again and try to sleep.”

“How about you?” with a keen glance at her.“Have you had any sleep? Ah, I can see youhaven’t, so don’t lie.” The injunction slipped outwith Mrs. Nash’s customary abruptness and Miriam[Pg 108]could not forbear a smile. Undoubtedly Mrs. Nashwas recovering. “Go and lie down on that cot whichI had Martha bring here yesterday afternoon foryou. Don’t be afraid”—with a fleeting smile—“I’llmake my wants known.” And considering the argumentsettled Mrs. Nash turned to a more comfortableposition and closed her eyes.

Without moving Miriam considered her in silence.It was only when she heard Mrs. Nash’s regularbreathing and realized that she had fallen into peacefulslumber that she walked over to the cot and,drawing back the heavy blanket, threw herself,dressed as she was, down upon it. Her head hadhardly touched the pillow before she was soundasleep. An hour passed and she still slept on, totallyunaware that some one had stealthily entered theroom.

Mrs. Nash stirred, opened her eyes and sat up.What was the noise which had awakened her? Hereyes darted about the room as she turned her headfrom side to side, and she bent this way and thatto get a better view of each piece of furniture.A gentle snore from Miriam suggested a solution—hada louder snore aroused her? Mrs. Nash layback among the pillows, but she did not close hereyes.

It was close upon eight o’clock when Miriam awoke[Pg 109]and, refreshed by her long nap, sprang up, to findMrs. Nash’s bright black eyes regarding her with anexpression she could not fathom.

The desultory conversation about the breakfasttable ceased altogether with the departure into thepantry of Anna, the capable daughter of a neighboringfarmer, whom Martha had secured to aidher in caring for the guests at Abbott’s Lodge.She had often assisted Martha when Paul Abbottand his father had entertained parties in the huntingseason and her familiarity with the household arrangementsmade her presence invaluable at themoment to the overworked housekeeper, whose dutieshad multiplied with the alarming illness of Mrs.Nash.

Doctor Roberts and Alan Mason had eaten withrelish Martha’s buckwheat cakes and country sausage,but Alexander Nash scarcely tasted a mouthfulof the appetizing breakfast, contenting himselfwith several cups of black coffee.

“Must you return to Washington, Roberts?” heasked, pushing aside his plate.

“Yes; I must be at Garfield by noon for an importantoperation.” Roberts paused to light a cigarhanded to him by Alan. “There is every reasonto believe that Mrs. Nash will continue to improve.”

Nash looked moodily at the unused knife which he[Pg 110]was balancing between his fingers. “Is there anycountry doctor in the neighborhood, Alan, whom wecould call on in an emergency?” he asked.

“I suppose so,” Alan stopped to knock the ashesfrom his cigar into his coffee cup. “I’ll get in touchwith Trenholm and ask him.”

“Hold on,” exclaimed Roberts, as Alan pushedback his chair, preparatory to rising. “I don’t know,Nash, how competent the country doctors are, butyou can safely trust Miss Ward should anothercrisis arise.”

“The nurse?” The question was put by Nashwith raised eyebrows, and Roberts frowned. Hedid not relish the clergyman’s tone.

“The nurse,” he repeated, with dry emphasis.“But for her keeping her wits about her Mrs. Nashwould have died yesterday afternoon, before I couldget to her.”

“What was the cause of my wife’s critical condition?”asked Nash. “You have never told me.”

“Heart collapse,” tersely. “Miss Ward’s promptuse of camphorated oil, administered hypodermically,brought her around, however, and her clevernursing has aided materially in her recovery fromthe attack. Come, Nash, don’t be so downhearted;you can place every confidence in Miss Ward.”

Nash laid down his napkin. “I’ll be more easy[Pg 111]in my mind if you will return,” he admitted. “MissWard is undoubtedly clever, but, at that, only anurse—”

“A damned fine looking one!” ejacul*ted Alan,emerging from behind a screen of tobacco smoke.“Come, Nash, why have you taken such a prejudiceagainst her?”

Nash glanced angrily at the younger man, butrefrained from a direct answer.

“Suppose we drop the discussion,” he said. “Iwill be greatly obliged, Roberts, if you will promiseto get back later to-day.”

“I will try,” was Roberts’ noncommittal reply.“It depends upon how I find my patients and myassistant’s report whether I can spend to-night here.I will run up now and see Mrs. Nash,” and notwaiting to hear anything further, he left the diningroom.

As Roberts reached the second floor, Miriam rosefrom her seat in the alcove, where she had beeneating her breakfast, and accompanied him into thesick room. Mrs. Nash, with Martha sitting watchfullyby the bed, was dozing, and Roberts refrainedfrom arousing her. Once again in the hall he pausedto speak to Miriam before going down the stairs.

“Keep up the same treatment,” he directed. “Do[Pg 112]not let her exert herself in any way, and no excitement,mind—”

Miriam hesitated. “Is she to see any one?” sheasked.

“I leave that to your discretion.” He paused forthought. “Don’t permit any discussion—any arguments.”He came back a step. “I wouldn’t let hermind dwell too much on Mr. Abbott’s murder, anddiscourage her from talking about it.”

“I do, Doctor.” Miriam looked down the emptyhall, and then back at Roberts. “Don’t you thinkyou had better get a second nurse?”

“That’s not necessary now,” exclaimed Roberts.“In fact, two nurses would alarm Mrs. Nash undulyabout her condition. You are getting some sleep,aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m supposed to be off duty now, but Idon’t like to leave her.”

“Oh, have Martha alternate with Miss Carter inthe sick room; they can call you if she has anotherattack.” He noticed her change in expression, and,struck by an idea, asked in a lower voice: “Are Mrs.Nash and her niece on good terms?”

“Why, yes,” glancing at him in surprise, andRoberts looked sharply at her.

“Sure?”

“Certainly; I have seen nothing to make me think[Pg 113]otherwise,” with more insistence, as he still lookeddubious.

“Where is Miss Carter now?”

“Breakfasting in her room, Martha told me. Shehas volunteered to spend the morning with her aunt,and—”

“Then you must go to your room and rest.”Roberts started down the staircase. “I have promisedNash to return to-night. If an emergencyarises, you have my telephone number,” and the busyphysician hurried away just as Martha appeared inMrs. Nash’s doorway.

“Please, Miss—Ma’am,” she came further intothe hall at sight of Miriam. “Mrs. Nash is sleepingnicely. Can I get Miss Betty to come to heraunt?”

“Surely, Martha,” but the housekeeper still hungback, instead of going on her errand, and she added,“What is it?”

Martha came nearer and lowered her voice.

“Before she fell asleep she said to tell you to askher husband to send for her maid, Somers, to comeand help take care of her,” and her message deliveredin one breathless sentence, Martha went downthe hall to Betty’s bedroom.

Miriam went thoughtfully over to the alcove andarranged the soiled dishes on her breakfast tray[Pg 114]while she considered Mrs. Nash’s message. IfSomers was the right kind of person she would beinvaluable. Martha’s white face, and nervous, excitablemanner pointed inevitably to one conclusion—Martha’susefulness as a nurse’s aid wouldsoon be a thing of the past, indeed, if indicationscould be depended upon, she might become a patientherself; for to Miriam’s practiced eye, the housekeeperwas on the verge of a nervous collapse.

From where she stood in the window, Miriamcaught sight of Alan talking to Doctor Nash in thedriveway which led to the garage. Apparently Alanspoke rapidly, with quick jerky movements of hishands, while the clergyman contented himself with anod of his head now and then; suddenly Alan whirledaround and went in the direction of the garage.Nash, left to himself, stood still for a minute, thencommenced pacing slowly up and down, each turnbringing him nearer the house. Miriam’s eyesbrightened. Here was her opportunity to deliverMrs. Nash’s message and to talk to Nash undisturbed.Since his arrival in the sick room the nightbefore she had had no chance to speak to him, otherthan brief statements as to his wife’s condition.But she had recognized him instantly upon his entranceas Betty Carter’s companion on Mondaynight.

[Pg 115]

Leaving the breakfast tray for Martha to take tothe pantry, Miriam ran lightly down the staircaseand out of the front door. The driveway was entirelyclear of snow and at the sound of Miriam’stread on the gravel, Nash looked over his shoulderand halted abruptly.

“Does my wife need me?” he asked. “I’ll go toher at once.”

“No, wait.” Miriam, to her surprise, was breathingrapidly, and paused to recover herself. Whatwas there about this middle-aged man confrontingher to make her nervous? A certain hardness aboutthe clean-shaven, handsome mouth, a drooping lidwhich partly covered one of his blue eyes—no, theydid not account for her instinctive dread of theclergyman. She caught Nash’s surprise at her continuedsilence and spoke in haste to cover her embarrassment.“Miss Carter is with your wife.”

“Ah, then you are out for a walk. Pardon mefor detaining you,” and Nash raised his hat, intendingto move on, but Miriam checked him.

“Just a moment,” she exclaimed. “Your wifewishes you to send for Somers.”

“Somers?” questioningly. “Ah, very well. I willgo at once and telephone.”

“Again I must detain you.” Miriam spoke withassurance. She had caught sight of Guy Trenholm[Pg 116]as he turned the corner of the house and came towardthem. Her eyes brightened. Trenholm had comemost opportunely. Unconscious of her added color,she turned to the silent man regarding her, as Trenholmpaused by her side.

“Doctor Nash,” she began, “I have told SheriffTrenholm of Miss Carter’s visit to Mr. Paul Abbotton Monday night just before he was murdered andthat you accompanied her and, in my absence fromthe sick room, performed the marriage ceremony.Will you kindly confirm that statement?”

Alexander Nash eyed her and Trenholm, then hisgaze swept upward to a window of his wife’s bedroomwhere Betty Carter stood looking down atthem. His gaze turned again to Miriam and thesilent, attentive sheriff.

“On Monday night?” he asked, and his voice wasunder admirable control. “I fail to recall any suchoccurrence.”

Slowly Miriam took in the meaning of his words.Her face flamed scarlet, then went deadly white.

“You liar! You despicable liar!” she cried, andTrenholm caught her outflung hand. For one momentthey confronted each other, then Nash brokethe tense pause.

“Hysterics,” he commented, pursing up his lips.[Pg 117]“Can you manage her, Sheriff, or shall I sent outone of the women?”

Trenholm looked down at Miriam, then across atNash. “I need no assistance,“ he said, and the drynessof his voice was not lost on the clergyman.“You need not wait.”

Miriam tried to free herself from Trenholm’sgrasp as Nash went inside the house. Suddenly sheceased struggling and rested limply against him.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, and the humansympathy in his voice almost broke her down. “ShallI get you a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be all right in a minute.”Miriam straightened up as she regained her self-control.She laid one hand over her rapidly beatingheart, but her eyes did not falter in her direct gazeat him. “I owe you an apology for creating ascene.”

Trenholm looked at her long and searchingly.From behind a box hedge which skirted the walk,Pierre, the chauffeur, watched the tableau. He wastoo far away to hear what was said, but the sheriff’sexpression provided him with food for thought.

Miriam broke the protracted pause. “DoctorNash does not speak like an American,” she said.“What is his nationality?”

Trenholm turned to accompany her into the[Pg 118]house. They had reached the veranda before heanswered her question.

“Nash is a Canadian,” he replied. “Take care—watchthat step,” as she stumbled.

Miriam slowly released his strong hand, which shehad clutched instinctively to keep her balance.

“Thanks!” She looked up again and Trenholmnoticed the distended pupils of her eyes. “I shall nottrip again.”

Miriam hung up the telephone receiverwith a dissatisfied frown. For the thirdtime her talk with the nurse in DoctorRoberts’ office had been cut off, and her appeal tothe local operator at Upper Marlboro for a clear linehad brought no results. Moving away from the telephonetable she stood hesitating in the center of theliving room. Should she go back to her bedroomand lie down again, or go out for a walk? Thelatter alternative was the most inviting, althoughreason told her she should try to sleep. Sleep!She had tossed and turned on her pillow for twomortal hours and never closed her eyes. Alwaysbefore her was the scene with Alexander Nash andGuy Trenholm. Later, her mind reverted to BettyCarter’s denial of her presence at Abbott’s Lodge.Twice she had been branded a liar—was she to sitdown tamely under it?

Miriam ran softly upstairs to her room, her mindmade up. Putting on her coat and hat, she hurrieddown the hall again, and heard, as she passed Mrs.[Pg 120]Nash’s partly open bedroom door, the sound of amale voice addressing the sick woman. So DoctorNash was with his wife! Miriam did not linger.

As she started to close the front door behind her,the telephone bell rang loudly and she hastily enteredthe living room. Her unexpected return wasa trifle disconcerting to Pierre, the chauffeur, whohad started from the pantry to answer the telephone.At sight of the nurse standing with the instrumentin her hands, he ducked behind the newel post andkept carefully out of sight, while listening intentlyto what was said.

The call was from the operator at Upper Marlboro,and a second later Miriam was again speakingto Doctor Roberts’ office nurse. This time therewere no interruptions and Miriam’s talk with thenurse was clear and, from her viewpoint, satisfactory.Ten minutes later Miriam was trampingacross Abbott’s estate, careless as to the directionshe was taking, providing it led away from thehouse of mystery.

Pierre slipped from behind the newel post in timeto escape Martha as the latter went about her householdwork, a reluctant Anna in tow. The murder ofPaul Abbott had created a sensation throughout thecounty, and, as the mystery surrounding the casedeepened, the old hunting lodge gained a reputation[Pg 121]for ghosts and horrors which kept visitors at arespectful distance, the morbidly curious only daringto venture near it in the daytime. Anna had consentedto “help out” provided she did not have to goabove the first floor and could be taken home byCorbin in the Abbott car before nine o’clock inthe evening. Pierre’s attentions, as he waited in thepantry, supplied a new thrill, which the country girlfound a pleasant diversion from Martha’s sullenirritability and Corbin’s unwholesome leers.

It was approaching the luncheon hour when, fromhis seat by the kitchen window, Pierre perceivedAlexander Nash and Corbin talking together on theroadway. Corbin, on his way from the woodshedwith a wheelbarrow of wood, had stopped and setdown his barrow at a sign from the clergyman.From his gesticulations, Pierre gathered that he wasindicating the points of the compass, but the littlechauffeur did not wait to see more. Martha’s backwas turned as she put several pies in the oven, andAnna had gone for an instant into the servants’dining room. Like a flash Pierre was out of thedoor and up the back staircase to the second floor.His low knock on Mrs. Nash’s door was answeredby Betty Carter.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle!“ he exclaimed, bowing[Pg 122]respectfully. “I came to inquire for the health ofMadame.” His voice carried to Mrs. Nash’s sharpears and she sat up in bed.

“Admit Pierre, Betty,” she directed. “I wish tospeak to him.” At her imperious tone her nieceopened the door still further and Pierre steppedinside. With a quick click of his heels, he bowedfrom the hips, his hands crossed before him, andthen advanced.

“Madame is better!” And his respectful toneheld a note of genuine relief. Mrs. Nash was a kindmistress and her servants were devoted to her. “Ah,Madame, I have been anxious—yes.”

“Thanks, Pierre.” Mrs. Nash was touched. Shehad, with Betty’s aid, slipped on a becoming dressingsacque, one of the articles brought from Washingtonby her husband the evening before, and her boudoircap was attractively arranged. “Have you heardfrom Somers?”

“Yes, Madame. Doctor Nash directed her to takethe afternoon train for Upper Marlboro, and I willbe there to meet her,” explained the chauffeur. Heturned to Betty. “Your bag, Mademoiselle, cameby express just now and Corbin has placed it inyour room.”

Mrs. Nash understood Betty’s quickly checkedmotion toward the hall.

[Pg 123]

“Run along, Betty, and see to your bag,” she said,good-naturedly. “I don’t need you in here everyminute, and will ring the bell if I require anything,”touching the brass ornament which Martha hadresurrected from a china cabinet for her use. “Well,Pierre, have you followed instructions?” she addedin a lower key, as Betty vanished out of sight.

Pierre carefully closed the hall door and then cameover to the bed, and placed a small paper in Mrs.Nash’s outstretched hand. Silently she read the fewlines of familiar writing before addressing theexpectant servant.

“Where did you find this?” she asked.

Pierre’s smile was illuminating. “Corbin has hisprice,” he admitted. “What next, Madame?”

Mrs. Nash sat up a trifle straighter and pointed tothe bureau.

“You will find a roll of money in the top drawer,”she said. “Bring it over here.” Pierre compliedwith her directions so speedily that she had but asecond in which to secrete the paper. Taking themoney from the chauffeur, she handed him a generoussum. “Be watchful, Pierre,” she cautioned, ashe put back the remainder of the bills in their placein the drawer. “Overlook nothing.”

“Oui, Madame.” Pierre halted on his way to the[Pg 124]hall door, struck by a sudden idea. “The nurse,Mees Ward—”

“Well, what about her?” as he hesitated.

“She plans to leave to-night.”

Mrs. Nash’s color changed. “How do you know?”she demanded sharply.

“I heard her telephone to Doctor Roberts to bringanother nurse to take her place.” Pierre explained,and then waited respectfully for her to address him.

Mrs. Nash viewed the chauffeur in silence andthen glanced about the sunny room. It seemed suddenlycold and bare to her. When she spoke hervoice had altered to a shriller key.

“As you go along the hall, Pierre, ask my nieceto return,” she directed, and closing her eyes shelaid down again, one hand stroking, as if for companionship,the tongue of the brass bell.

Miriam’s walk along the Patuxent River finallybrought her to a bridge connecting the highway, andshe paused to rest on its parapet. It was a rollingcountry and she had walked up hill and down dalebefore striking the river bank. She had put on herhigh boots for cross-country walking, but she hadnot found the ground as soft as she anticipated, thesnow of four days before having entirely vanishedexcept in a few sheltered nooks and crannies.

The view from the bridge diverted Miriam’s[Pg 125]thoughts, and she studied the panorama spread beforeher with interest. Perched high on a hill closeat hand was a colonial mansion, its white pillars andgabled roof a fair landmark to be seen for miles,while toward the valley nearer the river, and obviouslyon the same estate, was a low building, thearchitecture of which suggested a church or chapel.

Miriam was still speculating on her surroundingswhen she caught sight of a solitary horseman ridingacross the fields to her right. The man rode withthe unmistakable seat of an American cavalryman,and horse and rider seemed one as they cleared thelow fences and swung at last into the highway,headed for the bridge. As he crossed the bridge,Guy Trenholm checked his horse with such suddennessthat a shower of mud bespattered Miriam, andhis first words, instead of greeting, were an apology.

“Have I ruined your coat?” he asked, in deep contrition,as he sprang to the ground.

“A whisk-broom will remove the damage,”Miriam replied lightly. “No, please don’t try torub it off!” as Trenholm drew out his handkerchief.“It must dry first. Where are you going in such ahurry?”

“Not going—returning,” he answered. “This ismy bailiwick, that—” pointing in the direction from[Pg 126]which he had come—“is Anne Arundel County, andmy jurisdiction ends at the river’s bank.”

“And you dignify that stream with the title ofriver?”

“Don’t be so scornful,” he protested. “To-dayit is a stream, but in the War of 1812 the Britishmen-o’-war sailed up it to this point, burned downthe original colonial homestead yonder,” indicatingthe mansion Miriam had been admiring, “and sailedaway again.”

Miriam was paying scant attention to his historicalfacts, instead she was considering his previous statement.

“So your jurisdiction ends at the river,” she repeated.“And a criminal has simply to run acrossthe bridge to elude you.”

“If he is a fast runner,” dryly. Trenholm strokedhis horse’s soft nostril, as the chestnut mare rubbedher head against his arm and nosed in his pocketfor the apple and sugar she so dearly loved andalways found. “Also, there’s a sheriff in AnneArundel County. Are you returning to Abbott’sLodge, or,” his eyes twinkled, “thinking of a sprintacross Hills Bridge?”

“My conscience is clear,” she replied, “and I amon my way to the Lodge.”

“Then let me show you a short cut,” and, taking[Pg 127]her consent for granted, Trenholm led the way offthe high road and along a footpath, his mare walkingcontentedly along behind them. Miriam, a loverof horses, stopped every now and then to caress her,unconscious of the charming picture she made, hermind carefree for the moment, and her cheeks glowingfrom her long walk in the wind.

They had gone fully three quarters of the distanceto the Lodge when the footpath took a sudden turnto the right and, crossing a wood, skirted a smallgraveyard. The unexpected sight caused Miriamto start slightly and she took in the air of desolationand the unkept appearance of the graves with a senseof depression which she strove to shake off.

“The Masons’ family burying ground,” explainedTrenholm, observing her change of expression. “Itis now part of Abbott’s estate. Not a very cheerfulsight, is it?”

Miriam shook her head. “Not very,” she echoed,and paused idly to count the headstones, some stillstanding upright, while others, badly chipped andlichen-covered, reclined on the ground. “Twelve,”she announced.

“No, thirteen,” added Trenholm, pointing to agrave a little distance from the others and runningobliquely to them.

[Pg 128]

“Surely, I didn’t see that one,” she exclaimed.“Why is it placed in that manner—outside the pale,so to speak?” and she touched a piece of rusty ironwhich had once formed the fence around the familyplot. A number of other upright pieces of ironindicated the line it had once taken.

“It’s a suicide’s grave,” explained Trenholm.“There is an old superstition among the negroesthat such a grave cannot be dug straight or online with the others. Shall we walk on, Miss Ward?”and turning, he whistled to his mare, standing somedistance down the path.

They were both rather silent, Miriam, her momentarylapse into her old, gay self, having dropped backinto a depression deeper than before, while Trenholmwatched her with an absorption of which he wastotally unaware.

“I’m afraid you will be late for luncheon,” he remarked,happening to glance at his wrist watch ashe put his hand on the bridle rein of the mare.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied absently. “Itwon’t inconvenience them, for Martha doesn’t expectme. I should be asleep, you know.“

“You should indeed,” he said, and she wonderedat his emphatic tone. “This is no preparation fornight duty.”

[Pg 129]

“But I am not going on duty to-night,” she brokein. “I’m leaving the case.”

“What?” Trenholm stopped abruptly and eyedher in concern. “Fired?”

“No, indeed!” She flushed hotly. “Do you supposeI can take care of Mrs. Nash after her husband’streatment of me?”

He did not answer at once. “So you are runningaway,” he commented softly. “Frankly, I did notexpect it of you.”

“Mr. Trenholm!”

“Running away,” he reiterated, paying not theslightest attention to her indignant ejacul*tion.“Running away under fire.”

“Nothing of the sort!” she flared back. “Do yousuppose I’ll stay in any house where I’ve twice beencalled a liar?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” he retorted, withequal heat. “You cannot leave Abbott’s Lodge,Miss Ward.”

“What?” She gazed at him astounded. “Whynot?”

“Because you are the last person known to haveseen Paul Abbott alive,” he pointed out slowly.“And your statements regarding the events of Mondaynight are unsubstantiated.”

[Pg 130]

Miriam stared at him as if unable to believe herears. “Do you insinuate I lied?” she demanded.

Trenholm’s hand on his horse’s rein tighteneduntil the knuckles shone white, but his glance didnot waver.

“It is not a question of my opinion one way or theother,” he said sternly. “You are our chief witness,and as sheriff of Prince Georges County, I cannotpermit you to leave Abbott’s Lodge.”

Miriam regarded him intently. “So that is yourattitude,” she said, finally. “I am glad to have itdefined. You have, at least,” with a ghost of asmile, “been honest with me.”

“Thank you!” Trenholm drew a step nearer.“Your reasonable acceptance of the situation encouragesme to ask a personal question.”

“Yes?” she prompted, as he paused. “Well?”

“What is your interest in the black seal?”

Miriam stared at him, thunderstruck. “The blackseal?” she repeated.

“Yes—the seal which you have traced many timeson paper,” and from his coat pocket he drew a numberof papers, and held them so that Miriam couldsee the drawings she had made at odd moments whilein the sick room. They were cleverly done—distinctand clear in every detail.

[Pg 131]

Miriam looked first at them and then up at Trenholm,standing silent and stern by her side.

“Those drawings were in my bag last night,” shestammered. “How did you get them?”

“I examined your bag,” calmly.

Her eyes were dark with anger. Twice her voicefailed her. “You are impossible—intolerable—”she gasped, and turning ran toward Abbott’s Lodge,in her blind haste passing Alan Mason withoutrecognition. The latter stopped and stared after her,then catching sight of Guy Trenholm standingpatiently by his mare, he whistled softly to himself.

The undertaker’s assistant looked in deepembarrassment at Betty Carter as he remainedstanding in front of the closeddoor of the room where lay Paul Abbott’s body.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said. “Those are thesheriff’s orders. No one is to go into the roomnow.”

“But why?” demanded Betty. “The funeral willbe held in half an hour, and”—her voice quivered—“Iwant to—to see him before the casket is closed.”

Thompson moved uneasily from one foot to theother; Betty’s distress disturbed him. “I’m verysorry,” he mumbled. “Indeed I am—but it’s notpossible. Perhaps,” his face brightened as the ideaoccurred to him, “perhaps you can see Mr. Trenholmand get his permission. Here he comes now,“ as afigure appeared at the far end of the corridor andcame toward them. “Oh, pshaw! it’s a woman.”

Somers, Mrs. Nash’s maid, greeted Betty in asubdued voice. “Please, Miss Betty,” she said.“Where will I find your aunt? The young womanwho let me in declined to come upstairs.”

[Pg 133]

Betty glanced impatiently at the British maid.“Come this way,” she turned as she spoke, thenhesitated and addressed Thompson. “If you seeSheriff Trenholm tell him, please, I must go in thisroom.”

“Yes, Miss,” and Thompson, considerably relievedby the maid’s opportune arrival, resumed his slowpacing back and forth before the door.

The sound of his voice and Betty’s had carriedinside the bedroom, but neither of the two men in itpaid the slightest attention. The photographer putup his plates and closed his camera.

“I’ve taken four views, Mr. Trenholm,” he said.“Is that enough?”

Trenholm nodded as he handed the man his flashlightapparatus. “Develop the plates and let mehave the prints as quickly as possible,” he directed.“Do you need any assistance?” as the photographershouldered his camera, tripod, and utility box.

“No, thanks.” In spite of his haste to be gone,the man was careful to walk as far from the undertaker’scouch with its silent figure as the limits ofthe room permitted. “I’ll get these to you to-night.Where shall I send the photographs? Here, or toyour home?”

“My home,” briefly. Trenholm held open the halldoor for him to pass through, then spoke a few[Pg 134]whispered words to Thompson. Ten minutes laterthe body of Paul Abbott had been carried downstairsand the casket closed, while arrangements for thefuneral went steadily on.

Trenholm listened impassively to Thompson’sflurried delivery of Betty’s message, the latterhaving forgotten it utterly in his astonishment atfinding Trenholm had been in the bedroom at thetime Betty wished to enter.

“The casket is not to be opened again,” the sheriffsaid sternly. “Understand, Thompson—under nocirc*mstances is it to be opened,” and turning hemounted the staircase and found Betty standing atthe top landing, waiting for him.

“I heard what you said,” she stated. “And wouldlike an explanation of your extraordinary conduct.”

“There is nothing extraordinary about it,” Trenholmreplied quietly. “If you really insist upon anexplanation—”

“I do,” her passion rising.

“Paul died Monday night—this is Thursday,” hespoke gravely. “A change has already set in and itis not possible to keep the casket open longer.”

Betty was thankful for the railing of the stairsto lean against.

“I have never been permitted to be with him—”

“I beg your pardon—you have.”

[Pg 135]

“Never alone.” She had turned ghastly in color.“Always you have had some one stationed in theroom.”

Trenholm looked at her in growing concern.“Hadn’t you better rest?” he asked. “The funeralwill take place in twenty minutes.”

Trenholm was doubtful if she heard him, so fixedwas her stare. He turned quickly to see what hadfocused her attention. Standing by the newel postwas Alexander Nash in earnest conversation withAlan Mason and a third man, the rector of theEpiscopal church at Upper Marlboro. Trenholmlaid his hand on Betty’s arm. It was shaken offinstantly and she shot down the hall to her bedroomwithout further word. Trenholm stood in thoughtfor several minutes and then joined Alan Mason.

The hands of the grandfather clock in the livingroom were pointing to three when the funeral servicescommenced. Betty, accompanied by AlexanderNash, was the last to enter and take the seat reservedfor her by Alan Mason’s side. A few friendsfrom Washington had motored out to Abbott’sLodge, while the residents in the vicinity had comein a body to attend the services.

Upstairs in her bedroom Mrs. Nash motioned toSomers to come to her, and with reluctance theEnglishwoman left her post by the door where she[Pg 136]had been keeping an attentive ear for all that wastranspiring below.

“Help me up,” ordered Mrs. Nash, in a toneSomers had learned not to disregard. “Get my slippersand wrapper.” She was panting from herexertions when she finally reached the hall door, aprotesting Somers struggling to steady her witha feverish grasp of her elbow.

“Tut, be quiet, Somers; I can’t hear a word,” andMrs. Nash appeared in the hall and peered down it.Shifting her husband’s cane, which she had pickedup on her way from the room, to the other hand, sherested her weight on Somers’ arm, and went slowlyto the top of the staircase. From there she couldhear in the stillness the words of the Episcopalservice. When she raised her head after the finalprayer, Somers saw that her cheeks were wet withtears.

“I’ll rest here,” she announced, dropping weaklyinto a chair by the stairhead. “Oh, it doesn’t matterwhat I’m sitting on,” as Somers attempted to removeseveral overcoats, evidently the overflow from thewraps lying in the living room below. “Bring methe small glass of whisky which Miss Betty pouredout before she went downstairs.”

In her haste Somers neglected to add any waterand Mrs. Nash drank the whisky neat with a wry[Pg 137]face. With the false strength engendered by thestimulant, she managed to get back to her room andinto bed before her husband came upstairs.

“How are you, dear?” he asked solicitously. “Doyou feel stronger?”

“Yes, now that I’ve taken some whisky,” promptly,conscious that the telltale fumes might betray heractivities if questioned on the subject. “Are theservices over?”

He bowed gravely. “Betty and I are just startingfor the cemetery.”

“Where is Alan Mason?” sharply.

“He is going with us, also Sheriff Trenholm. Isthere anything I can do for you before I leave,Dora?”

“Not a thing, thanks.”

Nash looked across the room at Somers; she hadher back turned, while engaged in putting Mrs.Nash’s lingerie neatly away in the bureau drawer.Stooping over, Nash kissed his wife with unwontedtenderness, then, pressing her hand, hurried awayas his name was called by Alan Mason just outsidethe bedroom door.

A room had been prepared for Somers halfwaydown the corridor of the right-hand wing of thehouse, and between Mrs. Nash’s periods of dozingthe maid succeeded, with Martha Corbin’s help,[Pg 138]in arranging her belongings to her satisfaction.Somers’ methodical mind would not permit her torest until her own room and that of Mrs. Nash werein apple-pie order. Her trips back and forth tookher past Miriam Ward’s bedroom and on her finalexcursion she stumbled over Martha who, not expectingSomers to return so quickly, had knelt downand applied her eye to the keyhole of Miriam’sdoor.

The commotion aroused Miriam from fitful slumberand, springing out of bed, she threw her dressinggown over her shoulders and looked out into thecorridor. Somers, rising slowly to her feet, wasrubbing a rheumatic knee, while her bewildered eyesfollowed Martha’s fleeing figure.

“Are you hurt?” asked Miriam, noting with surprisethe scattered bundle on the floor.

“No, Madam,” Somers’ precision of speech andher rising intonation clearly denoted her nationality.“A bit shaken,” her smile was wintry. “Excuse mefor disturbing you.”

“Come inside,” suggested Miriam kindly, observingthat, in spite of her disclaimer, the elderlywoman was considerably upset. “Don’t stoop over,I will pick up what you dropped. Sit here in thischair,” and Somers, after a feeble protest, did as shewas told.

[Pg 139]

“I don’t know where that woman sprung from,”she added, after describing what had happened.“My arms were full of bed linen and I wasn’t lookingdown. She’s a bit uncanny, Miss, don’t youthink?”

Miriam nodded absently. “Martha is odd,” sheadmitted, as she handed a small dose of aromaticammonia to Somers. “Drink this and you will feelbetter.”

“Thank you, Miss,” exclaimed Somers gratefully,then her mind reverted to Martha. “She wouldn’tbe so bad, if she wasn’t so—so—” casting about fora proper word to express her opinion—“so creepy;and those eyes of hers!” with a shudder. “They giveme the horrors.”

Miriam smiled, not unkindly. Somers was typicalof her class—intelligent, unimaginative, a trifle garrulousand a lover of routine, with a dislike foranything out of the ordinary. And she had cometo Abbott’s Lodge! Miriam’s smile deepened.Judging by her own experiences, the maid wasreasonably certain to encounter the unusual if sheremained long in attendance on Mrs. Nash.

Somers’ honest, comely face grew troubled andshe straightened up with a jerk. “I must be gettingback to Mrs. Nash,” she said. “If you don’t mind,[Pg 140]Miss, I’ll leave the linen here and put it away laterin my room.”

“How is Mrs. Nash?” asked Miriam, and themaid paused with her hand on the door.

“She was asleep when I left her,” respondedSomers. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Miss Ward?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so,” and Somers nodded sagely. “Mrs.Nash has told me what you have done for her. Sheis very fond of you, Miss, and,” lowering her voice,“Mrs. Nash can be a very good friend, as wellas”—her voice sank to an even lower key—“a goodhater.”

Miriam eyed the maid in some perplexity. Washer snap-judgment wrong and Somers, insteadof a staid, middle-aged Englishwoman, a lover ofromance?

Somers gave her no time for reflection. With amurmured word of thanks she went into the hall andclosed the door. Miriam walked over to her bureauand consulted her watch—nearly five o’clock. Shewas in no mood to return to bed. Pulling her dressinggown around her, she prepared a hot bath and,half an hour later, refreshed and invigorated, shestood staring down at her white uniform. Shouldshe put it on, or her house dress? The nurse, sentout from Washington to relieve her, would surely[Pg 141]get there in time to go on night duty. If Somershad gotten to Abbott’s Lodge so promptly, it wouldonly be a matter of a few hours for the nurse toreport for duty. Miriam laid aside her clean uniformand put on her house dress. She had completed hertoilet when Martha appeared at the door.

“Please, Miss—Ma’am, Doctor Roberts wishesto see you downstairs,” she explained, with characteristichaste. “Say, ain’t them lovely?” observingan oddly wrought gold necklace which Miriamslipped inside her gown. “Rubies, ain’t they?”

“No, garnets,” shortly. Martha’s inordinate curiositywas an unpleasant feature. “What were youdoing at my door a short time ago?”

Martha’s hands twisted in and out of her apron.“I stooped down to pick up a pin and that thereclumsy idiot flopped over me,” she explained in anaggrieved tone. “Had no better sense than not tolook where she was going. She skeered me an’—an’—Iran downstairs.” Her tone changed. “Whydidn’t you come to Mr. Paul’s funeral, Miss—Ma’am?”raising her eyes and lowering themrapidly.

Miriam paid not the slightest attention to thequestion. Stepping past the housekeeper she wentin search of Doctor Roberts. He was sitting at thedesk in the living room, going over his daybook.

[Pg 142]

“Good evening, Miss Ward,” he exclaimed as shepaused in front of him. “I hope Martha did notdisturb you. I told her to wait until later.”

“I was all ready to come downstairs,” she responded.“When will the new nurse be here? Ordid she come with you?” glancing hopefully about.

“No.” Roberts pocketed his daybook and fountainpen. “After your message came Miss Stocktontelephoned to every hospital and the Registry, andnot one had a nurse on call.”

Miriam stared at him in dismay. “You couldn’tget a nurse?” she gasped.

“No, not for to-night, at least; there’s an epidemicof grippe and, therefore, a shortage of nurses.”Roberts looked at Miriam keenly. “Are you ill,Miss Ward?”

“No; that is”—her bitter disappointment wasdiscernible in her voice. “I can’t go on, Doctor.”

Roberts rose and walked past the desk, stoppingby her side. “What is it, Miss Ward?” he askedsympathetically. “What has happened since thismorning?”

She saw his well-cut features, broad brow, andgray hair through a blur. His concern deepened atsight of her evident unhappiness. “What can I dofor you?” he asked. “Tell me.”

Miriam collected her wits. “I—I’ll be myself in[Pg 143]a minute,” she said, brokenly. “I had hoped to leavethe case to-night and was counting on that. I suppose,”looking appealingly at him, “that you won’tlet me off.”

“You realize Mrs. Nash’s condition as well as I,”he replied, and Miriam sighed; she had anticipatedsuch an answer.

“Very well, Doctor. No—” as the scene of themorning rose vividly before her. “I can’t nursethat man’s wife!”

“What has Nash to do with it?” asked Roberts,in astonishment.

“He denied that he was here on Monday nightwith Miss Carter,” looking straight at Roberts, “and,Doctor, he, a minister of the gospel, lied.”

“Well, I’ll be—” Roberts checked back the oathwith an effort. The silence lengthened as they facedeach other. Suddenly the physician turned andpaced rapidly up and down, then paused abruptly.“Miss Ward,” she looked up at the seriousness ofhis tone, “you are acquainted with the ethics of ourprofession. A doctor often becomes cognizant ofconditions in a home of which he cannot speak.Alexander Nash’s conduct,” he paused again, “givesrise to doubt, and, it may be, to investigation.I think,” his voice deepened, “that the quicker we[Pg 144]get Mrs. Nash on her feet, the sooner will we arriveat a solution of—many things.”

Miriam drew in a long breath. “You may beright, Doctor,” she admitted. “I’ll get into myuniform after dinner.”

It was a somber, silent group that drove in theRolls-Royce from the country cemetery to GuyTrenholm’s bungalow five miles distant from UpperMarlboro. Pierre followed the sheriff’s directionsas to crossroads with indifferent success and Bettyfinally complained of the rough going and frequentturns.

Trenholm lifted the speaking tube as they approacheda white gate which opened on a roadwayto a picturesque building partly concealed from theroad by a number of trees.

“Stop here, Pierre,” he directed, then turned tothe silent man by his side. “I am greatly obligedto you, Doctor Nash, for giving me this lift. Goodevening,” and he sprang out of the car before thechauffeur had brought it to a full stop. Not pausingto exchange a word with Alan or Betty, aside froma wave of his hat, he strode across the turf. As hereached his front door he thrust his hand inside hisovercoat pocket for his bunch of keys and pulledthem out, and with them a folded piece of paper.

Trenholm stared at the paper as he thrust the key[Pg 145]in his front door, and before turning it in the lock,paused to unfold the note. The few lines it borewere unsigned and in an unknown handwriting:

Let him who hopes to solve the mystery of PaulAbbott’s death find the lost Paltoff jewel.

Trenholm’s expression was as blank as the otherside of the paper. It was unaddressed. He rereadthe note a number of times, then entered his bungalow.The telephone was in the room he used aslibrary and sitting room. Hardly noticing the policedogs that fawned upon him at his entrance, he satdown before the telephone and quickly got hisnumber.

“Hello, constable,” he called. “This is Trenholmspeaking. Station a guard over the vault whereAbbott lies. What’s that?—Oh, just a precaution,that’s all. Good night!” and he hung up thereceiver.

Taking out his pipe and tobacco pouch, he stretchedhis long legs under the table and sat back, the notein his hand.

“Which one of them,” he mused, unaware that hespoke aloud, “slipped this note in my overcoatpocket?”

Pablo, Trenholm’s Filipino servant, broughtthe after-dinner coffee into the library andwithdrew with the swiftness and silencewhich characterized his movements.

“Excellent coffee,” commented Roberts. He relaxedlazily against the cushioned sides of the bigleather chair in which he was sitting and stretchedhis tired muscles. “It’s strong and black. Betterhave some, Alan.”

But Alan Mason declined. “I am too jumpynow,” he admitted. “Where the deuce is Trenholm?”

“In the kitchen talking to some man.” The physicianput down his empty coffee cup and filled it againfrom the silver pot which Pablo had thoughtfullyleft on the table, with the sugar and cream. “He’llbe back shortly, I imagine; come and sit down,” andwith his foot he pushed around a chair, similar insize to the one he occupied.

Instead of complying with his invitation, Alanwalked moodily about the room, which ran the length[Pg 147]of the bungalow. Its ceiling was oak-beamed andthe windows diamond-paned, and its air of comfortwas enhanced by the good taste evidenced in itsfurnishing. It was typically a man’s room, filledwith hunting trophies, smoking paraphernalia, shotgunand rifle, fishing rods and tackle and curiousweapons of a bygone age and other climes. Mahoganybookshelves lined one wall and Alan stoppedand read the titles of some of the editions.

“Scott, Thackeray, Darwin, Spencer, Dickens,Wells, et cetera,” he announced, running his fingeralong the books. “And blame me, if they don’t lookas if he’d read ’em.”

Roberts turned his head to observe what Alan wasdoing. “Trenholm is one of the best informed menin the country,” he remarked dryly. “He is wellread and has a brilliant mind.”

“And lives in this God-forsaken part of the country!”Alan shrugged his shoulders. “There is noaccounting for taste.”

“Quite so!” Roberts laughed. “But if my memoryserves me right, Alan, you are indigenous to thesoil.”

“Sure, but my parents had the good sense to moveto Washington soon after I was born,” retortedAlan. “We spent only our summers here until[Pg 148]Cousin Paul Abbott bought the old place in a landdeal.”

“Oh, so Abbott’s Lodge is your ancestral homestead?”

Alan nodded. “With many alterations and additions,”he said. “I’d never have known the housewhen I first went to stay with Paul just before theWar. We were at Lawrenceville together, youknow, and then at Princeton.” Alan sighed. “TheWar changed him a lot,” he added wistfully. “Hewas a dandy pal—so much pep and devil-may-carespirit about him.”

“When was he shell-shocked?”

“Toward the last.” Alan changed the subjectwith marked abruptness. “Say, Doctor,” he satdown and his voice dropped to a confidential pitch.“Trenholm does himself mighty well—this mostattractive bungalow, a model farm, and a servantwhose cooking is absolutely faultless. Where doeshe get the money?”

“His salary—”

Alan laughed mirthlessly. “It wouldn’t muchmore than pay Pablo’s wages,” he said. “It takesreal money to keep up a place like this.”

Roberts lighted a cigar, first offering one to Alan,which the latter accepted, with a word of thanks.

“I heard some time ago that a rich relation—one[Pg 149]of the Trenholms of South Carolina—died and leftGuy a handsome legacy, which he has augmented bycareful investments,” he explained.

“Oh!” Alan was having some difficulty in lightinghis cigar. “Who told you that—Trenholm?”

“I believe so. Why?” His question met withno response and Roberts eyed his companion inspeculative silence.

Alan’s complexion was not a healthy color, thephysician decided in his own mind, and the unsteadinessof his hand as he strove to hold a match to hiscigar was not lost on Roberts. The older man’s expressiongrew thoughtful; Alan Mason had changedin the past few days and not for the best. Robertshad observed his tendency to go off alone for longwalks, and his sudden bursts of talkativeness at thetable and his equally abrupt lapses into long, sullensilence from which no one could arouse him.

It was in such a fit of depression that Roberts hadencountered him when about to motor over to Trenholm’sfor dinner, and he had persuaded Alan toaccompany him after the latter had first called upTrenholm and received a hearty invitation to makeone of the party. All through dinner Alan had chattedon first one topic and then another, the othersseconding his efforts, but the three men with oneaccord avoided any reference to the tragedy at[Pg 150]Abbott’s Lodge or to the funeral which had takenplace that afternoon.

Trenholm found his two guests smoking in silencewhen he joined them a few minutes later.

“Sorry to have been so long,” he said apologetically,taking up a cup of coffee, before seating himselfon the divan before the open fire. “There havebeen a number of petty thefts in the neighborhood,but I believe we’ve jailed the right man to-day, fromthe evidence just brought to me.” He swallowed hiscoffee and replaced the cup on the table. “By theway, Roberts, how is Mrs. Nash?”

“Much better this evening,” responded Roberts.“If she continues to show such improvement, shemay be able to sit up to-morrow for a time.”

“Ah, then Mrs. Nash can soon dispense with theservices of a trained nurse,” broke in Alan, with aswift look upward at the clock on the mantel.

“Perhaps,” answered Roberts. “Much depends,however, on what sort of a night she has.”

“Is Miss Ward still on the case?” questionedTrenholm, knocking the ashes from his pipe beforerefilling it.

“Yes.” Roberts puffed silently at his cigar for afew seconds. “I tried to get another nurse to relieveher, but none were disengaged.”

“So Miss Ward told you she wished to go?” with[Pg 151]a quiet persistence which made Roberts glance at thesheriff in surprise.

“Yes. Why?”

“I wondered if she would attempt to leave afterall,” responded Trenholm. “I warned her that shewas wanted here until after the inquest.”

“Wanted?” Alan dropped the cigar from hisnervous fingers and hastily stooped to pick it up.When he sat back his face was flushed. “Wanted—forwhat?”

“As chief witness. Hello, who’s here?”—as theknocker on the front door sounded in three hurriedblows.

Pablo, busy in clearing off the dining room table,scurried into the hall and the murmur of voicessounded first faintly and then came distinctly to theirears. The three men gazed blankly at each otheras Pablo pulled back the portières.

“Mees Carter,” he announced and discreetlyvanished.

“Betty!” Alan was the first on his feet. “Whyare you here?”

Betty’s glance swept by him to Roberts and thento her host.

“I wish to see you, Guy Trenholm,” she said.“Why have you put a guard around the vault wherePaul lies?”

[Pg 152]

As she came further into the library, the men sawthat the hem of her short walking suit and her highboots were splashed with mud. Trenholm pulledback a chair and stepped toward her.

“So that his grave will not be molested,” he repliedquietly. “There are ghouls who, attracted by thenewspaper accounts of Paul’s tragic death, would nothesitate to enter the vault if given an opportunity.You have been there to-night?”

“That is obvious,” with a glance at her muddycondition and the smart walking stick which shecarried. Her hair, naturally curly, showed underthe brim of her sport hat, and her cheeks were rosyfrom the cold night air. But to Trenholm’s keenvision, there was a strained look about her eyes, acontinuous twitching of her hands which betrayednerves keyed to the highest tension. “Doctor Roberts,”she turned impulsively to the older man,ignoring Alan, “has Sheriff Trenholm told you histheory of the murder?”

Roberts looked from her to Trenholm. “No,” hereplied, and would have added more, but Trenholmcut in.

“I have not discussed my theories with any one,”he said smoothly. “But your suggestion is a goodone. Sit here,” dragging forward a chair, “and we[Pg 153]will talk the situation over. Doctor Roberts, youand Alan—and perhaps”—his smile was enigmatic.He did not complete his sentence, but waitedpatiently for Betty to seat herself.

With a swift glance about her she mastered herhesitation—her inclination to run away. She hadcome there with a purpose, and until that was accomplished—herfingers clenched about her stick; itrequired all her self-control not to strike the tall manat her elbow. He dwarfed her in size, but thesmoldering resentment in her eyes flamed up as hebent toward her.

“Do sit down,” repeated Trenholm with gentleinsistence. “Take your old chair, Roberts,” and hedropped into one next the physician as Alan andBetty followed his example. “Now, Miss Carter—”he prompted.

Betty glanced at him for a fraction of a second,then her gaze swept the library. It was the firsttime she had ever been in Trenholm’s house. Slowlyher eyes traveled about the room, noting each object,until finally her gaze rested on a large silver framestanding on the big mahogany table. It was one shehad given to Trenholm in Paris. She caught herbreath slightly—the frame was empty. She suddenlygrew conscious of the concentrated regard of[Pg 154]her companions and involuntarily her glance soughtAlan, sitting across from her.

“Well, Betty, we are waiting,” he exclaimed.

“For the sheriff,” she broke in. “Come, sir, donot keep us longer.”

Trenholm took out a cigarette case and offered itto Betty, but she waved it away. “I’ll take somecoffee,” she said. “Thanks, Alan,” as he filled a cupfor her. Again she turned to Trenholm. “Go on.”

“Suppose we reconstruct the scene on Mondaynight,” began Trenholm slowly. “Roberts turnsPaul over to his trained nurse and leaves. Corbinand his wife go to bed, and Miss Ward is alone withher patient....”

“What then?” asked Alan, bending forward, hiseyes fastened on Betty, who sat sipping her coffee.Trenholm answered his question with another.

“What do we know of Miss Ward?” he asked,and Roberts stared at him.

“Know of her?” the physician repeated. “Shewas sent on the case by Central Registry.”

“And what about her antecedents?” questionedTrenholm. “Where did she spring from? Is she aWashingtonian?”

“She said not,” replied Roberts. “She told methat she had trained in New York.”

[Pg 155]

“And you know nothing more of her than that?”

“Nothing more.”

“You don’t even know that she was not acquaintedwith Paul before.”

“What!” Roberts’ eyes opened as well as hismouth. “Why—why—they were strangers.”

“Ah, were they?” with quiet emphasis. “Can youprove it?”

Roberts shook his head. “No; but judging fromher manner she had never met Paul before.”

“Women are clever actresses,” retorted Trenholm.“Well, Miss Ward, who may or who may not haveknown Paul before, is the last person known to havebeen with him on the night he was murdered—thelast person to have seen him alive!”

“Hold on,” the interruption came from Alan. Hewas not looking at Betty, but kept his eyes steadfastlylowered, the cigar still in his hand. “MissWard claims that Paul had visitors—”

“And Miss Ward’s statements as to their presencehave not been substantiated”—Trenholm paused andBetty could not avoid his stare—“as yet.”

In the lengthening silence Betty’s rapid breathingwas faintly audible. She finished her coffee and herhand was quite steady as she set the cup and saucerdown on a stool by her side.

[Pg 156]

“And your theory is—what?” she asked, raisingher eyes to Trenholm’s.

“That Miss Ward killed Paul while he slept,”replied the sheriff.

Alan drew out his handkerchief and wiped hisforehead. “It’s a rotten theory!” he exploded.“Why, Trenholm, I thought you liked Miss Ward?”

Betty shot a swift glance at Trenholm and herfigure grew rigid.

“It is not a matter of like or dislike,” repliedTrenholm quietly. “It’s a question of finding Paul’smurderer. You asked me for a theory—and mineis a reasonable hypothesis.”

“Just a moment,” broke in Roberts. “Paul wasno slight weight. I doubt if Miss Ward could havelifted him in and out of bed unassisted, especiallyputting him back in bed—a dead body is an unwieldyobject.”

“She could have killed him in bed,” replied Trenholm.

“But the other night you pointed out to MissWard and me that the lack of bloodstains on thesheets proved the crime was not committed inthe bed,” objected Alan heatedly.

Trenholm eyed him thoughtfully. “You forgetMiss Ward is a nurse,” he pointed out slowly. “It[Pg 157]would be a simple matter for her to change the bedlinen with the dead man lying in it.”

Betty leaned forward in her earnestness. “Andwhat became of the bloodstained sheets?” she asked.

Trenholm uncrossed his long legs and leanedcloser to her chair. “Ask Corbin,” he suggested.

Betty’s grasp of her walking stick tightened, andshe grew conscious of the atmosphere of the overheatedroom. Turning from Trenholm’s direct gazeshe saw Alan fumbling with his collar, his face apasty white, and she seized her opportunity to divertattention from herself.

“Are you ill, Alan?” she asked, her eyes big withconcern. “Doctor, can’t we have some fresh air inthe room?”

Roberts threw up the window nearest to him,then went to Alan’s aid. Alan took the flask Trenholmproffered and drank eagerly, putting it downalmost empty.

“I’m better,” he announced. “The room’s infernallyhot. Say, Guy,” turning impulsively tohim, “your theory’s no good. What possible motivecould Miss Ward have had to kill Paul?”

“Frankly, I don’t know”—there was somethingdisarming about Trenholm’s smile and Alan’s angercooled. “Miss Carter asked for a theory and I gaveher one.”

[Pg 158]

Betty shrugged her shoulders. “Which won’thold water.” Her voice altered and her companionsgathered a hint of pent-up passion as she added, intones which she strove to steady, “Paul’s murder wasno motiveless crime.”

“Quite so,” agreed Trenholm. “And that motivewas what, Miss Carter?” He waited in vain for ananswer, and finally broke the pause. “Paul apparentlyhad no enemies, and yet he was killed,” hesaid. “Come, Roberts, you’ve known and loved theboy for years; you, Alan, were his first cousin andchum; Miss Carter, his,” he paused, and she lookedat him dumbly, “his one love. Among you, can younot tell the motive which inspired Paul’s murder—wasit hate, was it revenge, was it greed?”

His deep voice lingered on the last word, thenceased. Roberts had touched him on the arm. Ata sign from the physician Trenholm, without moving,turned his head and glanced at the open window.The light from one of the lamps shone directly onthe outer blind. It had been turned a crack andin it peered a human eye.

With a spring which carried him halfway acrossthe room, Trenholm gained the hall and threwopen the front door, his police dogs at his heels.They swept by him and raced around the house anddown the driveway, the sheriff and Roberts behind[Pg 159]them. As the dogs gave tongue, a strong, powerfulvoice called Trenholm’s name.

“Call off your dogs, Trenholm!” And turninghis flashlight on the newcomer, the sheriff recognizedAlexander Nash, the Rolls-Royce standing down theroadside.

In the library Betty turned aside from her feverishscanning of Trenholm’s papers on the table, to findAlan standing, with his back partly turned, drinkingthe remaining whisky out of the flask. Betty wasby his side in an instant.

“Stop, Alan; you mustn’t!” she pleaded, realterror in her handsome eyes. “You promisedme—”

Alexander Nash’s heavy tread, as he and Robertsentered the room, caused her to swing swiftly intheir direction.

“Your aunt was alarmed by your absence, Betty,”explained Nash, and his voice sounded loudly in thesudden stillness. “She learned of your trip tothe cemetery and sent me to bring you home.”

Miriam Ward opened the window alittle further and looked out. It wasnearly midnight and the cold, raw breezewas an agreeable contrast to the atmosphere of thesick room. Mrs. Nash’s preparations for the nightwere long-drawn-out and Miriam had found her ather worst. In turn she waxed dictatorial, fault-findingand fretful, and Miriam’s stock of patience wasseverely taxed. It seemed an interminable timebefore Mrs. Nash finally closed her eyes with theavowed intention of taking “forty winks,” andthe imperative command that she be awakened themoment her husband returned.

Miriam made herself as comfortable as possibleon the window seat, having carried a sofa pillowwith her, and pulling her sweater more closely overher shoulders, she leaned her head against thewooden sash and stared out into the night. Thestars were out and the moonlight added beauty tothe grounds. It all appeared so calm and peaceful,so utterly different from the last four hectic days.[Pg 161]Miriam sighed involuntarily and closed her eyes.When she opened them a few minutes later she sawthe powerful headlights of a car coming along theturnpike. A second later it had swung intothe driveway and Miriam recognized the Rolls-Royce.The front door was toward the other sideof the house, and Miriam lost sight of the car as itcircled the approach to the porte cochère. UndoubtedlyDoctor Nash had returned.

Miriam’s expression hardened. Her outspoken,frank disposition made it next to impossible for herto cloak her aversion even under the ordinary courtesiesof the sick room. She was commencing toloathe Doctor Nash; while wondering dimly whytwo such opposite natures as Dora Carter and theclergyman had ever fallen in love with each other.Truly, the marriage market was but a lottery!

Leaving her position by the window, Miriamwalked softly over to the bed. Her patient’s deepbreathing assured her that Mrs. Nash was comfortablyasleep and Miriam’s heart lightened; she wouldnot have to summon Doctor Nash, for, in spite ofhis wife’s wishes, Miriam did not propose to awakenher. The closing of a door further down the hallwith a resounding bang brought her hand to herheart and Mrs. Nash’s eyes unclosed in time tonotice Miriam’s agitation.

[Pg 162]

“What was that noise?” she demanded. “Whathas happened to make you so pale?”

“Nothing—it’s the lamplight,” Miriam stammereda trifle incoherently. “A door slammed andstartled me.”

Mrs. Nash rubbed her eyes and inspected herwith interest. Miriam’s trig uniform was becoming.

“Nerves,” Mrs. Nash remarked caustically.“Have you seen Doctor Nash?”

“He has just returned and I believe is still downstairs,”responded Miriam. “But, Mrs. Nash, youshould not see any one at this hour.”

“Tut! My nap has refreshed me, and besides,I am stronger, much stronger,” with emphasis, andshe struggled into a sitting position. “Just throwthat bed sacque over my shoulders and ask DoctorNash to come here, there’s a good child!”

Miriam’s hesitation was interrupted by a low tapon the bedroom door, and walking swiftly over to itshe found Doctor Roberts standing in the hall.

“I am on my way to bed,” he said, softly. “Howis Mrs. Nash?”

“Her general condition is better now.” Miriamslipped outside and held the door so that their voiceswould not carry into the bedroom. “But when Icame on duty I found her cyanosed, so I gave herstimulation and applied heat locally.”

[Pg 163]

Doctor Roberts stroked his chin thoughtfully, thenmoved toward the door and Miriam held it open.Mrs. Nash greeted him with a frown.

“Some more horrid medicine,” she grumbled.“Well, all paths lead to the grave.”

“A cheerful outlook,” smiled Roberts as he tookher pulse. “You ought to be asleep at this hour.”

“I never felt more wakeful,” and Mrs. Nash’salert look confirmed her words. “Where have youbeen all the evening?”

“At Sheriff Trenholm’s—Alan Mason and I dinedwith Trenholm, and your husband drove us back.”

“What was he doing there?” The look whichshe flashed at him startled the physician.

“He had come for Betty Carter, having missedher at the cemetery,” replied Roberts. He was commencingto feel uncomfortable under Mrs. Nash’ssteady stare. Quickly he rose to forestall otherquestions. “We returned together a few minutesago. Now, Mrs. Nash, it is after midnight and youmust get to sleep.”

“Presently,” she retorted. “As you go to yourroom, Doctor, please ask Alex to come here. I shallnot sleep until I have seen my husband,” and her airof finality closed the discussion. “Good night.”

Roberts smiled at her characteristic dismissal. At[Pg 164]the door he turned to Miriam and signed to her tocome into the hall.

“Humor her as much as possible,” he said.“When she gets her own way, she’ll go to sleep. Herpulse is better and she has no temperature. I’ll sendNash along,” and with a friendly smile he hurrieddownstairs.

Miriam had just given Mrs. Nash a drink of waterwhen the clergyman came in. Mrs. Nash’s sharp,black eyes detected his constrained manner as hespoke to Miriam and her equally stiff acknowledgmentof his greeting. Turning her back upon Nash,Miriam addressed his wife.

“I will wait in the alcove in the hall until yourhusband leaves,” she said. “If you wish anything,please let me know.”

Nash remained standing until the hall door closedbehind Miriam and then he seated himself in a chairby his wife’s bed.

“I am so thankful that you are better, Dora,” hesaid, taking her hand in both his and raising it to hislips. “So very, very thankful to a merciful Providence.”

“Save some of your thanks for Miss Ward,” sheremarked dryly. “She gave Providence a helpinghand. By the way, you don’t seem to like her.”

“My dear Dora!”

[Pg 165]

“Why not?” she persisted, ignoring his interjection.

Nash sighed. Custom had taught him respect forhis wife’s tenacity, but there were times when hewanted to shake her.

“She, eh—reh—has an agreeable personality,” hebegan. “I am grateful to her for what she has donefor you, but I, eh, really, my dear, haven’t given hermuch thought.”

“Oh!” Nash squirmed uneasily under her unswervinggaze. “Oh!” repeated Mrs. Nash, and herintonation conveyed much or little according toher husband’s perception. “And Betty, where isshe?”

The rapid change of topic confused Nash, hisslower wits failing to keep up with his wife’s trendof thought. “She is downstairs,” he stated. “Thatis, I left her there talking to Alan and Roberts.”

“She ought to be in bed,” declared Mrs. Nash,with ill-concealed irritability. “Traipsing around thecountryside by herself at night. Did she reachthe cemetery?”

“Yes.” Nash cleared his throat. “The attendantat the vault told me that she had gone to Trenholm’s,two miles the other side of the cemetery; so Pierredrove me there and I brought her home.”

Mrs. Nash looked down at the old-fashioned,[Pg 166]handmade quilt and studied its pattern and crossstitch intently.

“Betty is a great responsibility,” she said, glancingover at her husband. “Her eccentric conduct, hertotal lack of thought for others—”

“She is young,” broke in Nash with some vehemenceand his wife changed color. “And youth isselfish.”

“If that were all—” Mrs. Nash spoke under herbreath and her husband failed to catch what shesaid. He did not care to break the pause and, as thesilence lengthened, Mrs. Nash’s thoughts reverted tothe past.

Alexander Nash did not appear a day older thanthe first time she had met him in London two yearsbefore. The fact that he was again clean-shavenaccounted for his unaltered appearance, his wifedecided. She had never cared for his carefullytrimmed beard and mustache which he had wornuntil a day or so before. A flood of memories ofthe days of their courtship, their marriage in Parisand their happy, happy honeymoon kept Mrs. Nashsilent. A year and six months had passed since then.Mrs. Nash bit her lip.

“I am a romantic old fool,” she admitted, and herusually metallic tones had softened, holding a depth[Pg 167]of feeling which would have startled her skepticfriends. “Kiss me, Alec.”

From where she sat in the hall Miriam caught nowand then the sound of voices from the living room onthe floor below, and recognized Betty’s clear tonesand Roberts’ heavier bass, with now and then a wordfrom Alan Mason. But from Mrs. Nash’s bedroomno sound issued and she waited patiently in her cornerfor Doctor Nash to take his departure. Footstepson the staircase caused her to draw furtherback in the alcove; she was in no mood to talk toany member of the house party that night. Was“house party” the proper term when tragedy hadbrought them together under the same roof? Witha shake of her head Miriam dismissed the questionas Betty came up the steps, followed by Roberts. Onreaching the second floor she paused and spoke tothe physician.

“I cannot sleep,” Miriam heard her say. “Indeed,Doctor, I cannot sleep, and another night like thelast three will drive me to madness. Can’t you giveme something to induce sleep?”

Roberts scanned her closely. Betty’s broken voice,her quivering lips which she strove vainly to keepsteady, were both unmistakable symptoms of heroverwrought condition. Roberts had marveled ather self-control during their drive homeward, unexpectedly[Pg 168]delayed by a puncture which had takenPierre over an hour to repair. Nash’s wrath at thechauffeur for not having a spare tire along had addeda picturesque moment to the monotony of the trip.It was the first time Roberts had seen the generallyself-contained clergyman give way to temper.

“Get ready for bed, Betty,” Roberts advised, “andI will ask Miss Ward to prepare a sedative.”

Betty checked him with an expressive gesture.“Can’t you give it to me?” she asked. “I—I disliketo—to ask Miss Ward for—for—to do anything,”she spoke through chattering teeth. “I believeI am having a chill.”

Roberts laid a firm hand on her arm. “Come,”he said in tones which his patients rarely disobeyed.“Go immediately to bed. I will find Miss Ward toassist you; now, no nonsense,” as she paused tovoice another objection. “Go.”

Miriam emerged from the alcove as Roberts, afterconducting Betty to her bedroom door, came downthe hall.

“Doctor Nash is with his wife,” she explained.“I have been sitting yonder and could not help butoverhear your conversation with Miss Carter.”

“She is on the point of a breakdown,” Robertssaid tersely. “Is your hypodermic ready for use?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

[Pg 169]

“Then please come to Miss Carter’s bedroom: Iwill meet you there in a few minutes,” and taking heracquiescence for granted Roberts hurried to hisown room where he had left his bag.

Miriam paused in indecision; she had beentrained to serve humanity—to care for the sick andto look after the infirm. Was it obligatory uponher to minister to Betty now that she was ill? No,a thousand times, no! From somewhere came thechimes of a clock—one in the morning—DoctorRoberts was powerless to secure other aid in a sickroom at that hour and twenty miles from Washington.Miriam walked quietly to her room, where shehad her hypodermic syringe, secured it and wentdirect to Betty. Alexander Nash would find her ifshe was needed by his wife.

Betty looked up at her approach and Miriam wasstruck by the suffering in her face. In her hasteto undress and get into bed she had scattered herclothes on the floor and she had kept on her dressinggown.

“It—it’s very good of you,” she murmured. “I—I—”she paused, at a loss for words.

“Doctor Roberts will be here in a moment,”answered Miriam quietly. Putting down her hypodermic,she spent the next few minutes arrangingthe room and adjusting the windows. Betty never[Pg 170]took her eyes from her and Miriam was thankfulwhen Roberts knocked on the closed door.

Silently Miriam aided him in his examination andher swift deftness won his admiration. As he tookthe thermometer from Betty Miriam observed a goldchain suspended about her neck. She caughtMiriam’s glance and drew her dressing gown closeabout her throat.

Miriam prepared the hypodermic, then paused byRoberts’ side. “Will you give it?” she said simply,holding the instrument toward the physician, andRoberts grasped her reluctance to administer theopiate.

No one in the room was aware that the door hadbeen cautiously opened an inch or two and then asquietly closed. Alan Mason reached the staircase aminute later and stood listening, his head bent. Onlythe faint tick-tock of the grandfather clock was tobe heard. Convinced that he was alone in the hallhe made his way noiselessly to the door of the roomwhere Paul Abbott’s body had lain until the funeralthat afternoon. The door was locked. Alan drewin his breath sharply, hitched at his dark sweater,and glanced down at his “sneakers”; then he creptsoftly through the darkness of the back hall anddisappeared.

Roberts looked over at Miriam and then at Betty[Pg 171]as he rose and tiptoed to the door. “She will be allright, now,” he said. “If you have an opportunity,come in again during the night.” He paused and,to Miriam’s surprise, held out his hand. “Thankyou. Good night.”

Miriam delayed only a few seconds to adjust thelight so that it would not shine directly in Betty’seyes and awaken her, and then she left the room.She had almost reached her old seat in the alcove,and was debating in her mind whether or not togo at once into Mrs. Nash’s room, when her patient’sdoor swung open and Doctor Nash appeared in thehall. He looked relieved to find her there.

“I waited until my wife dropped asleep,” he said.“You can go in now, but pray don’t disturb her.”

Miriam bit her lip to keep back a heated rejoinder.Instructions in nursing from members of the patient’sfamily, irrespective as to who they were, weregenerally infuriating, but, from Alexander Nash,doubly so. He evidently expected no answer, forturning abruptly, he sought his bedroom.

Nash had not only lowered the lamp before leavinghis wife, but had placed a screen about it—howeverMiriam’s familiarity with the room enabledher to move about without colliding with the furniture.The cot did not appeal to her—she felt, asshe had once expressed it to a fellow student at[Pg 172]the hospital when in training, too “twitchy” to liedown. Going over to the chair which Nash hadoccupied, she sat down in it. It was not the onewhich customarily stood near the bed, but anotherchair, bigger and much lower, and Miriam experienceda sense of sudden shock as she dropped downfurther than she had expected.

It was a chair built for a large man and Miriamfelt lost in its depths and squirmed back, hopingto find an easier position, but that made her stretchher legs before her at an uncomfortable angle. Tootired to get up, she put her hand behind her andpulled up the seat cushion. As she did so, shetouched a paper—evidently a letter, she judged, asshe ran her fingers over what was unmistakably anenvelope with stamps upon it. Half rising sheturned around and bending down saw that a letterwas wedged between the high, tufted cushion andthe upholstered back of the chair. In idle curiosity,Miriam took it up, replaced the cushion, and carriedthe letter over to the lamp. The orange Canadianstamps caught her attention instantly. She turnedit over. The black seal was unbroken, the flap uncut—theletter evidently never had been opened.

Miriam drew a long, long breath. Turning, shegazed at the chair. Its unwieldy size had inducedher to push it behind the bedroom door the first night[Pg 173]of Mrs. Nash’s illness, to get it out of the way.Evidently Doctor Nash had preferred it to the onein which she generally sat, and had moved it up tothe bed. Had he accidentally dropped the letterin the chair and not perceived it when leaving thedarkened room? Miriam consulted the postmarkand then the address. It bore Paul Abbott’s nameand was dated January 23, 1923.

Miriam stood in deep thought holding the unopenedletter, then she slipped it inside her uniform,made sure that it was safe, and, crossing the room,seated herself once more by Mrs. Nash, her mindin a turmoil.

It was close upon three o’clock in the morningwhen Mrs. Nash awoke and called Miriam by name.

“I am so thirsty,” she complained, as the girl bentover her. “Couldn’t I have some orange juice?”

“Certainly,” and Miriam went over to the tableon which she kept her supplies. The oranges werethere, but hunt as she might, she could find no knife.With a few uncomplimentary comments on Martha’scarelessness in neglecting to bring her one when shecarried her night lunch upstairs, Miriam hasteneddown to the pantry, after a brief word of explanationto Mrs. Nash.

Mrs. Nash could see from her position in thebed the hall door which Miriam had left ajar; from[Pg 174]there her gaze shifted to the lighted lamp at thefarther end of the room, and then she closed hereyes. When she opened them the bedroom was indarkness.

As Mrs. Nash lay speechless with surprise, shegrew conscious that some one beside herself wasin the room, and a faint, scraping noise soundedcloser and closer to the bed. Suddenly somethingsoft brushed across the back of her hand lying onthe edge of her bed. Turning her hand over withlightning speed, her fingers closed spasmodicallyupon some object, and a cry escaped her.

Miriam, halfway up the stairs, covered the distanceto her bedroom with flying feet as the lowcry came to her ears. She faltered in consternationat sight of the utter darkness. Mrs. Nash caughtsight of her white uniform as she stood in the doorway,outlined by the light behind her in the hall.

“Bring in the lamp,” she directed, unaware thather voice was hoarse from excitement, and Miriamobeyed her instantly. When she reached the bedside,Mrs. Nash was leaning upon her elbow, a falsebeard suspended from her hand.

“I almost got him,” she exclaimed in triumph,then fainted quietly away.

Doctor Roberts leaned back in hischair and stared at Guy Trenholm.

“So, Paul, poor lad, was stabbed withthat vicious-looking nut pick,” he exclaimed, pointingto where it lay on the table in the sunparlor ofAbbott’s Lodge. “And Mrs. Nash was awakenedlast night by a disguised man and succeeded indragging off his false beard. Upon my word—whatnext?”

The two men, with Alan Mason, looking wretchedlyill, making a poor third in their conversation,were waiting patiently for the arrival from Washingtonof the lawyer employed by Paul Abbott,who had signified his intention of reaching there atten o’clock. It was then eleven, as Alan’s frequentglances at his watch assured him, and his nervousnesswas increasing. He looked up furtively atRoberts at the latter’s question.

“Did Mrs. Nash recognize the man?” he asked.

Roberts shook his head. “She said she was unableto make out if it was a man or a woman—”

[Pg 176]

“A woman!” Alan dropped the penknife withwhich he was fiddling and half rose. “A woman?Why, that’s a man’s beard in your hand, Guy.”

“But a woman could have disguised herself withit, as well as a man,” Trenholm said. “Odd, isn’tit, that something always happens to Miss Ward’spatients when she is on duty.”

“For God’s sake, why are you forever picking onher!” Alan dropped back in his chair and his voicerang out indignantly, reaching the ears of BettyCarter, who was eating a belated breakfast in thedining room.

Betty’s violent start was not lost on Martha, andthe housekeeper decided to remain in the room underpretext of rearranging the silver in the drawer. Butfirst she handed a plate of toast to Betty and as thegirl took a slice she encountered the unfriendly stareof Martha’s oddly assorted eyes and an involuntaryshiver ran down her spine. Her attention distracted,Betty failed to distinguish any reply to Alan’s fervidquestion and, not having heard Trenholm’s remarkwhich had called it forth, she was in doubt to whomthe “her” referred. Who was Guy Trenholm “pickingon” now? She longed to steal to the closed portièresand overhear what was being said, but Martha’spresence kept her in her seat.

The opiate had given her needed sleep and Betty[Pg 177]felt more like her old self once again. Against theadvice of Somers, Mrs. Nash’s maid, who had goneearly to inquire how she was, she had insistedupon getting up and coming downstairs. Somers hadregaled her, while in the process of assisting herto dress, with a dramatic account of Mrs. Nash’sadventures that night—and they lost nothing in thetelling. Betty’s rapt attention would have inspiredan even less imaginative person to thrilling heightsof fancy. A burst of tears relieved the tension ofBetty’s overtaxed nervous system and reduced Somersto contrite silence. Had not Doctor Roberts aswell as Miss Ward cautioned her not to excite MissBetty? Somers’ confused state of mind was notlessened by Betty’s reception of a piece of newswhich the maid let drop incautiously—the expectedarrival of Daniel Corcoran, for many years attorneyand close friend of the elder Abbott and the legaladviser of the latter’s son. Betty’s feverish desire todress and have her breakfast downstairs took awaySomers’ breath and she retired thankfully, a shorttime later, to the comparative tranquillity of Mrs.Nash’s bedroom.

Unaware of Betty’s presence in the dining roomRoberts and Trenholm continued their low-voicedconversation.

[Pg 178]

“Have you made tests for fingerprints on the nutpick, Trenholm?“ inquired Roberts.

The sheriff nodded. “An expert came down fromWashington,” he answered. “Aside from the bloodstains,there were no marks upon it. Evidently theperson using it”—Trenholm held up the nut pickin its wrapping of oil silk as he spoke and thenplaced it carefully in the inside pocket of his coat—“woregloves. As a means of identification the bitof steel is a failure.”

“An ingenious weapon,” commented Roberts.“And Paul’s pyjamas’ jacket offered no resistance.It would not have required great strength to drivethe pick into a vital part of his body—”

“There you go again,” objected Alan, “insinuatingthe murder was committed by a woman. Say, youare a great sheriff, you are!” turning in sudden, unlooked-forwrath to the big man lounging near him.“Why don’t you do something besides loaf aroundthis place? I believe you were here last night!”

“Was I?” Trenholm’s calm smile was provokingin its hint of bored amusem*nt. Was the sheriffpoking fun at him? The thought was intolerable,and Alan jerked uneasily about and finally rose andstrolled over to one of the glass doors leading tothe garden. “Well, this appears to be the place asheriff is needed, Alan. First the cold-blooded murder[Pg 179]of a defenseless man,” his voice rose slightly—“thena housebreaker last night—”

“Deuce take it!” Roberts straightened up andlaid down his cigar. “Something must be done,Trenholm; Alan’s right. Why not try one of thewell-known detective agencies?“

“Perhaps I may, shortly,” Trenholm rejoined inthe same unemotional tones. “I am always open tosuggestions. Have you any more, Alan?”

Alan’s white cheeks turned a more healthy colorand leaving the window he came closer to Trenholm;stopped, opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, thenmoved over to the portières. Parting them slightlyhe gazed into the dining room. It was vacant.

“Listen, Guy;” he had regained Trenholm’s sideand spoke hurriedly, clipping his words together.“What about Corbin? Have you thought of himas a—a—possible suspect?”

Trenholm stared up at his agitated questioner fora moment in silence. “Corbin tells an apparentlystraight tale, Alan,” he replied. “He declares thatafter admitting Miss Ward on Monday evening heand Martha retired to their rooms and slept soundlyall night. Their quarters, as you know, are nearthe roof and at the back of the house. No ordinarysound would carry that distance.”

“What do you mean by an ordinary sound?” asked[Pg 180]Roberts, who was following the rapid dialogue withdeep attention.

“A door bell, for instance,” responded Trenholm,with a quick glance at Alan.

Alan looked away for an instant. “How about asound out of the ordinary?” he demanded. “A cryof terror—of horror—wouldn’t that reach them?”

Trenholm shook his head dubiously. “Not withtheir doors closed. And Martha substantiates herhusband’s statement that they are both heavy sleepers.”

“Oh, Martha!” Alan tossed down his hat whichhe had picked up and held aimlessly, twirling itback and forth. “I wouldn’t believe her on oath—neitherof them, for that matter. Why under heavenPaul kept the Corbins here after his father’s deathI cannot imagine.”

“Possibly because he deemed them faithful,” repliedTrenholm dryly. “You must also recollectthat it is difficult to induce servants to live out herein the country all the year round.”

Alan, silenced but not convinced, walked sulkilyacross the sunparlor and threw himself into a wickerchair. “The Washington papers are still featuringthe murder,” he said, pointing to a newspaper lyingon the floor with a headline running half across[Pg 181]the front page. “I’m tired of heading off the reporters.”

“Send them to me,” suggested Trenholm.

“You!” disgust spoke in Alan’s voice. “They callyou the fresh water clam of Prince Georges County.You’ve got their goat by your uncommunicativeways and rotten bad manners.”

Trenholm looked across at Roberts. “I don’t appearto be popular,” he remarked, a faint twinklein his eye, and changed the subject. “Will you throwme that false beard, Doctor?”

Roberts handed it to him. “Any clue in that,Trenholm?” he asked, watching the sheriff stow itcarefully away in his coat pocket.

“Maybe. I’ve only had it in my possession forthe past hour.” The wicker chair in which Trenholmwas seated creaked under his weight as hestraightened up from his lounging position, preparatoryto rising. “When can I interview Mrs. Nash,Doctor?”

“This afternoon, I imagine,” answered Roberts.“I saw her before breakfast and she seems nonethe worse for her fright last night. Her husbandinsisted that I remain through the morning, however,in case I was needed.”

Trenholm looked around at Alan. “What hasbecome of Nash?”

[Pg 182]

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” roughly. “I keepout of his way.”

“Why?” The question shot from Trenholm andRoberts glanced at him, his interest instantly aroused.

“He’s the type I can’t stand—oily, unctuous, bah!”Alan’s temper had gained the upper hand. “A piousfraud!”

What reply his companions would have made, henever learned, for at that moment the portières werepulled aside to admit the lawyer from Washington.

“Monsieur Cocoron” was the best Pierre coulddo in pronouncing the name of Corcoran. Thechauffeur had taken it upon himself to usher thelawyer into the house in the absence of MarthaCorbin, the newcomer having rung the front doorbell at the moment Pierre was alone in the kitchen.

Daniel Corcoran had known Alan Mason since hisboyhood, Doctor Roberts was his family physician,and Guy Trenholm he had met numerous times whenvisiting Paul Abbott, Senior. The lawyer’s usualcheery smile was absent as he shook hands withthem.

“This is a shocking affair!” he said. “Shocking!Paul was a fine young man, with a brilliant careerahead of him. I cannot conceive of any one harboringenmity against him; he was such a likablechap. And to find him murdered here in his home!”[Pg 183]Corcoran shook a bewildered head. “Have you anyclue to his murderer, Trenholm? Any later newsthan that published in the morning paper?”

Not only the lawyer waited expectantly for thesheriff’s answer; Alan’s eyes were glued to him,and Roberts also was giving him undivided attention;but Trenholm’s expression told them nothing.

“The murder is still shrouded in mystery, Mr.Corcoran,” he replied quietly. “We expected youhere for the funeral yesterday.”

Corcoran’s face clouded over. “I was in Richmondand reached Washington late in the evening.I telegraphed my clerk to take Paul’s will out of myoffice vault and bring it to the house this morning.I have it here,” tapping his brief case. He turnedto Alan. “Did I understand correctly from thepapers that Mrs. Nash and her niece, Miss ElizabethCarter, are staying here?”

“Yes,” replied Alan, looking at him in some surprise.

“Very well; then please ask them to be presentat the reading of the will. And, eh,” looking abouthim, “do you prefer to have the reading take placehere?”

Alan hesitated and glanced questioningly at Trenholm.“How about it?” he asked.

“This is all right,” agreed Trenholm. “Will you[Pg 184]ask Miss Carter to join us, Alan? I must speak toone of my men,” and the sheriff unceremoniouslyopened one of the doors leading into the garden andwalked around the house.

“Don’t forget Mrs. Nash,” called out Corcoran,as Alan hurried into the dining room.

“She is ill in bed,” hastily broke in Roberts, asAlan paused in uncertainty at the lawyer’s hail.

“Ah, then ask her husband to be present, if he ishere,” directed the lawyer. Corcoran moved over toa wicker table and Roberts helped him remove somemagazines and books. Taking up his brief case, theformer unlocked it, drew out a pad of blank paper,a pencil, and an official-looking document with animposing seal. Without unfolding it, he put thedocument down in front of him and addressed Roberts.

“Paul was a queer character,” he admitted. “Inmany ways a lovable fellow, with a curious, suspiciousstreak running through his make-up. In thelast few years he has trusted no one—entirely.”

Roberts’ expression grew serious. “Cheerful andmorose by turns,” he said. “I never knew how Iwould find him, of late years—happy as a lark ordown in the depths. I attribute it,” he lowered hisvoice, “to shell-shock.”

“It may be,” agreed Corcoran. “But you recall[Pg 185]his mother. Ah, here is Miss Carter,” as Bettyappeared, dressed in black, “and Dr. Nash.” Thelawyer shook hands with them gravely. “Now, ifyou will select chairs we will go ahead with thereading of Mr. Abbott’s will. Alan,” as the lattermade a belated appearance, “ask Mr. Trenholm tocome back.”

Betty had selected a chair near the entrance to thelibrary and out of the direct sunlight. From whereshe sat she caught a glimpse through the portières ofTrenholm standing talking to a man. He advancedwith Alan a moment later and entering the sunparlor,closed not only the portières but the folding doorsas well.

Corcoran waited until every one was seated, thentook a chair himself, and, picking up the will, puton his eyeglasses.

“This,” he said, holding up the document so allmight see the seal, “is the last will and testament ofPaul Mason Abbott, duly executed in my office onJuly 23, 1922, six months ago, and witnessed byresponsible persons, whose names are attached hereto.”He cleared his throat. “The will reads as follows:

“In the Name of God, Amen. I, Paul MasonAbbott, being of sound mind, and residing at Abbott’sLodge, Hills Bridge, Prince Georges County, Maryland,[Pg 186]do declare this to be my last will and testament.

“I give and bequeath to Alan Mason, my cousin andonly near relation, $500 in liberty bonds and the burialground, known as the Mason Plot, adjacent to myestate of Abbott’s Lodge.

“To my good friend and physician, Doctor WilliamRoberts of Washington, $5,000. To my neighbor, GuyTrenholm of Upper Marlboro, the valuable huntingprints which he so often admired, a sapphire and diamondscarf-pin, and $25,000.

“To Mrs. Nash, for much kindness and hospitalityshown me, my silver service, bearing the crest of theAbbotts.

“To Martha and Charles Corbin, for their faithfulservice to my father, I give the sum of $1,000 each,and permission to live, rent free, in the gardener’scottage at Abbott’s Lodge, for the rest of their naturallives.

“To my fiancée, Miss Elizabeth Carter of Washington,I bequeath Abbott’s Lodge, and the real and personalestate, not otherwise specified, of which I diepossessed.

“Should Miss Carter marry after my death, my specialbequest to her stands revoked, and Alan Masonwill become my residuary legatee, provided he is marriedbefore my death. If such is not the case, thenall my property, as above specified, is to revert to theState of Maryland and Abbott’s Lodge be made a convalescenthospital for disabled American soldiers anda fund provided for its upkeep, and administered byofficials appointed by the Governor of Maryland.

“I hereby appoint Daniel Corcoran of Washington[Pg 187]my executor, and I charge him to see that all my justdebts are paid out of my estate before it is divided.

“(Signed) Paul Mason Abbott.”

		“John Harbin,
Witnesses.		Marshall Turner,
		George Flint.”

Absolute silence followed the reading of the will.Corcoran laid it down and took several papers outof his brief case.

“I have here a complete list of Paul Abbott’s realestate holdings, investments and securities,” hestated. “Roughly, his estate is estimated at a littleover one million dollars.”

Trenholm broke the thunderstruck silence.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed, and involuntarily hiseyes traveled to Betty Carter and Alan Mason. Thelatter was leaning against the door, looking dazedlyat the little lawyer. Betty had risen and Corcoran,catching her glance, addressed her. He was a trifleconfused by her expression and hastened to adjusthis glasses that he might see her more distinctly.

“Paul Abbott loved you devotedly,” he said, “asyou can judge from his will.”

“Love?” Betty could hardly articulate; her eyeswere dark with passion. “Love, did you say? Thatis a will of hate,” and before any one could stopher she had flung open the folding doors and dartedinto the dining room.

Miriam looked at her watch—two o’clock.The brilliant sunlight and the out of doorsexerted an appeal she could not resist.Stopping only long enough to put on her hatand coat, she started down the corridor and, whenpassing Mrs. Nash’s door, paused irresolutely. Mrs.Nash had recovered, when she left her at eighto’clock that morning, from her fright at discoveringthe disguised man in her room, but Miriam wastroubled about her heart condition. She felt thatshe should speak to Somers before she went for herwalk. She had told the maid to call her at any timeif she needed assistance. If Mrs. Nash was asleepshe could slip out without disturbing her.

Miriam softly turned the knob of the door andpushed it gently open, intending to beckon to Somersto come into the hall. She had opened it but a fewinches when she heard Alexander Nash address hiswife.

[Pg 189]

“I have just received a telegram from Canada,Dora,” he said, and added more quickly as his wifelooked up, a question on her lips, “from FrankChisholm telling me of the sudden death of BorisZybinn.”

Mrs. Nash’s reply was unheard by Miriam. Sheleaned limply against the doorjamb, her strengthstricken from her. Their voices sounded far distant—unreal.It was fully two minutes before herbrain cleared and she had a realizing sense of whatNash was saying.

“A remarkable will,” he commented. “Alan receivespractically nothing from his cousin, whileGuy Trenholm is given twenty-five thousand dollars,a scarf-pin, and those wonderful old hunting prints.It is really extraordinary.”

Miriam waited to hear no more. Closing the dooras softly as she had opened it, she stole back to herroom, unlocked her bag, and drew from it the lettershe had found in Mrs. Nash’s bedroom the nightbefore. For a time she stood quite still, balancingthe unopened letter in her hand; once she took up ahairpin, then laid it down, unused. Boris Zybinn!She shook her head and glanced about as if awakeningfrom a nightmare.

A sound of voices coming through her open windowcaused her to look outside. Anna, her work done[Pg 190]for the time being, was, as she expressed it toMartha later, “joshing” one of the constable’s assistants—ayoung deputy whose susceptible hearthad made him a willing victim to her wiles. Thedeputy’s presence gave Miriam a sudden idea. Carefullyplacing the unopened letter in her hand bag,she went downstairs and hastened through the diningroom, intending to go out of the door of the sunparlorand from there to the back of the house.

Martha—a rejuvenated Martha—looked up fromchanging the tablecloth at her approach, and Miriam,in spite of her absorption in her own affairs, noticedher changed appearance.

“Have ye heard, Miss—Ma’am,” she began incoherently.“Mr. Paul, God rest his soul, has leftme and Charles one thousand dollars each.”

“Is that so? I congratulate you, Martha.” Miriamshifted her hand bag and held it more firmlyagainst her. There was an intangible somethingabout Martha which invited distrust. “Mr. Abbottwas most generous.”

“Yes Miss—Ma’am; he had call to be,” Martha’svoice had assumed its old complaining whine. “Ustook good care of him. I don’t mind telling youMiss—Ma’am, that my husband ain’t quite satisfied.He wants more.”

“Oh!”

[Pg 191]

“Yes.” Martha’s grievances were displacing herfirst feeling of elation at the, to her, large sum ofmoney. “Charles, he’s mad, clean through. Hesays he’s goin’ to Sheriff Trenholm.”

“And why to the Sheriff?” questioned Miriam insurprise.

“Oh, he’s kinder good at giving advice—when yegot something to tell him.” Martha’s slow, expressivewink annoyed Miriam and without paying furtherattention to the woman, she went through thesunparlor and outside the house.

Martha, in no wise disturbed by Miriam’s coolreception of her confidences, went slowly on withher work, her mental process of “thinking” betrayedby her facial contortions.

The young deputy was just starting his enginewhen Miriam appeared at the side of his car.

“Can you tell me where I will find Sheriff Trenholm?”she asked.

Ben Riley touched his hat and a pleased smile stoleover his freckled face. He had admired Miriam ata distance for several days, although she had beenutterly oblivious of his existence. That she mightbe under surveillance never entered her head. Theindefatigable Martha had complained to her of thepresence about Abbott’s Lodge of a number of deputies,[Pg 192]and Riley had been pointed out to her bySomers as one of them.

“The sheriff’s at his home,” Riley explained, then,as her face showed plainly her disappointment, headded, “Can I take a message to him? I’m on myway there now.”

With Miriam to think was to act. It was imperativethat she see Trenholm.

“Can I drive over with you?” she asked, and hercharming smile completed Riley’s conquest.

“Yes, Miss Ward,” he stammered, with gratifyingemphasis, and opened the door of his roadster.“Hop in.”

They had gone half the distance to Upper Marlboroand were about to turn from the main roadto the one leading to Trenholm’s bungalow, whenthey were passed by Mrs. Nash’s Rolls-Royce whichcontinued down the main road at such a speed thatMiriam had only a glimpse of Alexander Nashseated by the chauffeur. The fur collar of Pierre’sheavy chauffeur’s overcoat was turned up about hisface and his most intimate friend would have failedto recognize him as he drove along, under Nash’sinstructions, breaking the speed laws of Maryland.

Pablo, the Filipino, answered Miriam’s ring ofthe door bell at the bungalow with a promptness that[Pg 193]suggested that he had observed Riley’s car whenit turned into the driveway.

“Come inside, Mees,” he said with hospitable intent.“My master will return in one little moment.He is in de garage and I will go at once and tellhim that you are here. It is cold, yes?” as therising wind blew the daily papers off the hall table.He closed the door with alacrity and led the wayinto the library. “Sit down, Mees, and be comfortable.”

Miriam hardly noticed his departure. The longdrive over had brought reflection in its train andshe was regretting her hasty action. She glancedabout the library, taking in, as Alan had done thenight before, its suggestion of cultivation, its homelikeatmosphere. Guy Trenholm’s personality permeatedthe room. She did not sit down, as Pablohad suggested, but remained by the table in deepthought, and Trenholm, about to enter the room,stopped in the doorway and studied her intently.The proud poise of her head, her becoming toque, herplain, but well-fitting coat, her vivid coloring, mademore brilliant by her drive in the wind, all were afitting complement to the setting in which she stood.Trenholm caught his breath and his heart beat morequickly, but his expression and voice conveyed no[Pg 194]feeling beyond a courteous welcome as he steppedforward to greet her.

“Won’t you sit down?” he asked, pulling forwarda chair. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.Let me help you with your coat.”

Miriam thanked him, then sat down and waitedfor him to take the chair opposite hers. As he lookedat her inquiringly, she came directly to the point.Opening her hand bag, she took out the letter bearingthe Canadian postage and held it up.

“I found this letter,” she said, “when on dutylast night. It was tucked in one of the chairs inMrs. Nash’s bedroom. I bring it to you as I foundit—unopened.”

Trenholm took the letter from her outstretchedhand, and turned it over several times before makingany comment.

“And what is there about the letter to have attractedyour attention, Miss Ward?” he finally asked,and wondered at the look in her eyes.

“The seal,” she said simply. “It matches this,”and she drew out of her bag the half-burnt envelopeand turned it over so that he could viewthe flap with its black crest. “It is that crest ofwhich you found drawings in my bag.”

“Yes, I recognize the three beehives,” he replied.Leaning back in his chair he reached over and took[Pg 195]up a heavy volume from a smoking stand wherehe had flung it earlier that day. “I borrowed thisbook on heraldry from the Congressional Library,”he explained, and turned the leaves with lightningrapidity until he found the page he wished. “See,the three beehives,” pointing to a fine colored engraving,“and the proud motto of the Paltoffs ofRussia—‘Always without Fear.’”

Miriam stared at the printed page and then atTrenholm, and respect and admiration were in herglance.

“That was clever of you,” she exclaimed. “Soyou guess—”

“Much,” quietly, “except your connection withthe Paltoffs.”

Miriam looked about the library. There was nolikelihood of their conversation being interrupted.

“Dmitri Paltoff, Grand Maitre de la Cour, marriedmy aunt,” she said simply. “He was the lastof his race, and when he was killed, the right touse that crest died with him. Its use on these envelopeswas consequently a shock, and aroused mykeenest interest at once, for”—she hesitated andspoke more slowly—“this black crest has a peculiarindentation and varies in no particular from the sealon my uncle’s watch fob, which I saw snatched[Pg 196]from his dying grasp by a Bolshevik in Vladivostok.”

Trenholm was regarding her with absorbed interest.“So that was it,” he murmured, then raisedhis voice slightly. “Do you, by chance, know theBolshevik who took the seal?”

“Yes. It was my uncle’s secretary, Boris Zybinn.”Miriam leaned forward in her earnestness. “Justbefore I left Abbott’s Lodge, I accidentally overheardDoctor Nash tell his wife that he had a telegramfrom Canada stating that Boris had diedsuddenly.”

Trenholm stared at her a moment. Rising withsome abruptness, he went over to the wall, toucheda concealed spring and one of the wooden panelsslid aside and revealed the door of a small safe.When he came back and resumed his old seat, hecarried a package of letters.

“I watched you when you glanced over theseletters,” he confessed, “in the hall at Abbott’s Lodge.And I have read them a dozen times trying to findout what there was about them which claimed suchinterest on your part.”

“I was looking for the black crest,” she admitted.“You see the envelopes are identical with this burntone,” holding it up again. “I did not open any ofthe letters. Who wrote them?”

[Pg 197]

“They are signed by Boris Zybinn,” Trenholmopened several and laid them in her lap. “Do yourecognize the handwriting?”

She shook her head. “No. Boris was clever; hemight easily have learned to disguise his writing.He was an excellent linguist, as most Russians are.What was he doing in Canada?”

“Gentleman farming,” answered Trenholm. “Hehad a place outside of Toronto and adjoining DoctorNash’s country estate. It was while visitingNash that Paul Abbott and he became acquainted.”

“And these letters, what are they about?” questionedMiriam eagerly.

“Farming,” briefly. “And nothing else. Paulwished to model his place here after Zybinn’s, especiallyhis fruit orchard. I suppose that he kept them,for reference,” and Trenholm tossed the remainingletters on his desk table which stood almost atMiriam’s elbow.

Miriam drew back in bitter disappointment. “Andthat is all,” she exclaimed. “I have indeed found amare’s nest.”

“As far as the letters go,” agreed Trenholm, withcharacteristic frankness. “But there is another matterof vital importance,” he glanced carefully aboutthe room, sprang up and closed both of the doors,one of which led into the main hall and the other[Pg 198]into a smaller room, where he generally conductedbusiness. When he came back to Miriam he movedhis chair closer to her side. “You know of thePaltoff diamond?” he asked.

“Yes. I have heard its history often from myuncle,” she replied. “It was given by one of hisancestors to Peter the Great.”

“To purchase royal favor,” supplemented Trenholm“And forms one of the Crown jewels.”

“You are wrong,” she corrected him swiftly. “Itis not a Crown jewel, but it has always been in thepossession of the reigning Czar, handed down fromfather to son.”

“And where is it now, Miss Ward?” The swiftquestion took her unawares and she grew pale.

“I do not know,” she stated, and her eyes didnot falter before his searching glance. “Frankly, Ido not know its present whereabouts.”

“There is a rumor that it was smuggled out ofRussia.” Trenholm never took his eyes from her.“Can you tell me if that is true?”

She did not at once reply and he did not hurryher. “Why do you ask?” she demanded finally.“What is your interest in the Paltoff diamond?”

“This!” Trenholm opened his leather wallet andtook from it a folded note. “Read it.”

[Pg 199]

Slowly Miriam took in the sense of the writtensentence:

Let him who hopes to solve the mystery of PaulAbbott’s death find the lost Paltoff jewel.

“What!” She half rose from her chair, thendropped back again. Her face was ghastly andTrenholm watched her in growing concern. “Whowrote this note?”

“I do not know. I found it in the pocket of myovercoat when I returned from Paul’s funeral.”Trenholm paused. “The handwriting is unfamiliar.”

He doubted if Miriam heard his last sentence;she kept so quiet, so immovable. Suddenly shepressed her fingers to her eyes and when she tookthem away, the lids were wet. She looked at himlong and searchingly. Could she trust him? Shemust—there was no other course open to her.

“I will tell you in confidence what I know of thePaltoff diamond,” she said. “But you must pledgeme your word not to repeat it.”

“I give you my word,” Trenholm held out hishand, and as she felt his strong, steady clasp herheart lightened and her sense of utter lonelinessgrew less.

“I will be as brief as possible.” She paused toclear her throat of a suspicious lump. “My father,[Pg 200]John Ward of Indianapolis, was in the Diplomaticservice, and stationed for a long time in Russia,where we lived with my aunt and her husband.After father’s death, mother and I came to NewYork. She was a great invalid and did not longsurvive him.” She stumbled in her speech andstopped, and Trenholm gave her a moment to collectherself.

“Yes?” he prompted gently. “Continue.”

“Mother died just before the outbreak of theWorld War,” she went on. “It was necessary forme to find employment and I decided to become anurse. I trained at St. Luke’s Hospital and wentoverseas at once upon graduation. It would be toolong to tell you of my experiences, but finally Ireached Russia and saw service in the hospitalsthere. Then came the revolution.” She drew inher breath sharply. “God! The horrors that welived through—the Bolsheviki were fiends in humanform!”

“And the Paltoff diamond?” he asked.

“Oh, the diamond.” She collected herself. “Myuncle was for years Grand Master of the ImperialCourt and trusted absolutely by the Czar. Just beforehe was made prisoner, the Czar took from thehilt of his dress sword, worn only on state occasions,the Paltoff diamond, and charged Uncle Dmitri, on[Pg 201]his fealty to the Crown, to smuggle it out of Russia,and raise money upon it so that, should the Imperialfamily have to flee, something might be savedfor them.”

“What happened next?” demanded Trenholm asshe paused.

Miriam sighed. “My uncle saw his gallant soncrucified before his eyes; his daughters, taken prisonerswith other ladies of the Court, were transportedby steamer to a loathsome prison. Beforethe vessel docked they threw themselves into the sea,oh, gladly”—she added, seeing Trenholm’s expression—“forthe captain and his crew forced themto leave their cabin doors unlocked at night.” Shepaused and put her hands before her eyes. Whenshe looked up, Trenholm saw tragedy mirrored intheir dark depths.

“With other refugees Uncle Dmitri and I finallyreached Vladivostok, in rags and our money gone.Oh, Mr. Trenholm, pray God that you may neverknow what starvation is!” She stopped to controlher voice. “We lived in a hovel in the filthiestpart of the city. I had lost my passport or it hadbeen stolen from me. I applied to the Americanconsul—he promised help but none came.”

“Poor girl!” Trenholm took her hand and pressedit warmly. “Would you rather stop?”

[Pg 202]

“No. Uncle Dmitri still had the Paltoff diamondand despite our agony would not part with it. Whenwe dared to talk, for spies were all around us, wetried to plan to get the jewel safely out of Russia,even if we ourselves failed to reach the UnitedStates.” Miriam stopped to clear her throat, forher voice had grown husky with emotion.

“One morning I was half delirious from hungerand privation, when Uncle Dmitri came inside thehovel followed by a man,” she continued. “Hecrawled over to the straw on which I lay and toldme that his companion was an American soldierwho had saved his life in a brawl with drunkenpeasants. He feared that he had been recognizedas Paltoff, the trusted friend of the Czar.”

“I see,” broke in Trenholm. “What next?”

“Our plight was desperate and my uncle took theAmerican into his confidence, and the latter agreedto carry the diamond to the United States, providedhe could smuggle it aboard the transport.” Shesighed deeply. “I was too ill to follow all that wassaid, but uncle took the diamond from its hidingplace and the American sat down near me andunwound a bandage from about a wound in the calfof his leg. At his direction I opened the wound,placed the diamond inside it, and, having a surgeon’sfield service kit which a doctor, like ourselves a[Pg 203]refugee, had left in the hovel the day before, Isutured the wound and replaced the bandages.”

Trenholm stared at her. “American brains andpluck!” he exclaimed, and the admiration in hisvoice brought the swift color to her white cheeks.

“The American had not been gone five minutesbefore Boris Zybinn came in, followed by a swarmof the Bolsheviki,” she went on, keeping her voicesteady by an effort of will only, as the tragic scenerose vividly before her. “A whisper had gottenaround that Uncle Dmitri had the Paltoff diamond.They put him to torture and he died as a braveman should, without fear and without betrayingthe Czar’s trust.”

“And you? What did they do to you?” demandedTrenholm, his usually calm tones betraying interestat fever heat.

“The American consul came in time to save mefrom all but this.” Drawing back her sleeve sheshowed a brand burned into the soft white flesh.“Thank God! I had the strength to tell Boris nothingof the diamond.”

Trenholm leaned forward impulsively. “I’d liketo shake hands with you,” he said, and the strongclasp of his fingers made her wince. There was abrief pause before he asked: “And the name ofthe American soldier?”

[Pg 204]

Miriam drew from around her neck a gold chainfrom which hung a locket. Opening it she took outa tiny soiled paper.

“The soldier wrote down his name and addressand handed it to Uncle Dmitri,” she explained.“But Boris got there before he could give it to meand it was torn up—all but this.”

Trenholm looked long and carefully at the oneletter on the paper.

“‘M’,” he repeated. “‘M’—it is Paul Abbott’speculiar formation of his middle initial. I haveseen it too often to be mistaken. And Paul Abbott,I know, saw service with the A.E.F. in Vladivostok.”

Guy Trenholm raised his head. “MayI keep this little paper in my safe?” heasked, taking it up. “I will return it atany time should you require it.”

Miriam snapped her locket shut and slipped itinside her gown.

“The paper is far safer with you than withme,” she replied, and sat quietly in her chair untilTrenholm returned from placing it in a compartmentof his safe. “It is incredible that Paul Abbottshould have been the American soldier to whomUncle Dmitri intrusted the diamond.”

“But not impossible,” retorted Trenholm. “Andthe law of chance brought you to his bedside justbefore his death. How was it you failed to recognizehim?”

“I never really saw the American soldier’s face.”She sat back in a more comfortable position, conscious,for the first time, of complete fatigue.Recounting the tragic death of her Russian relativesand her own suffering, even to Trenholm’s sympathetic[Pg 206]ears, was a severe strain. “We had no windowin our hovel; only the faint light from a candle.I believe he wore a beard, but I was too ill to care,at the moment, what he looked like. My uncletrusted him and that was enough. Five years havepassed since then.”

“I understand,” exclaimed Trenholm sympathetically,then with a tenaciousness which was part ofthe man, he added: “Was there nothing familiarabout Paul’s appearance?”

She shook her head. “No. I have no doubt thatillness had changed his appearance, Mr. Trenholm,to some extent. But with the Paltoff diamond farfrom my thoughts, and looking upon Mr. Abbottsimply as a patient, if he had seemed even vaguelyfamiliar I would have attributed it to the same feelingone has in passing a stranger in the street whom*one might have met somewhere. You know thesensation.”

Trenholm nodded in agreement. “Have youmade no effort to trace the Paltoff diamond?”

“I was desperately ill for months, Mr. Trenholm;and it was fully a year before I regained anythinglike my old strength. There was no one I couldrely upon—no one in whom I had confidence. Itried, however, to interest one man, a lawyer,” herlips tightened, “that experience taught me a lesson[Pg 207]I shall never forget.” She turned scarlet and forthe first time dropped her eyes before Trenholm’sglance. She missed the sudden hot wrath whichkindled in his eyes; a second later and he had himselfin hand again.

“Can you describe the diamond, Miss Ward?” heasked. “And tell me its value?”

“It is a diamond of astonishing purity, of aboutforty-nine carats, and has an extraordinary playand brilliance,” answered Miriam. “Though muchsmaller in size than other world-famous diamonds,it is claimed by experts to be an absolutely flawlessgem. I believe it is worth in the neighborhoodof $200,000 and possibly more.”

A low whistle escaped Trenholm. “A frightfulinvitation to crime!” he ejacul*ted.

“And Boris Zybinn was in Canada and in communicationwith Paul Abbott,” pointed out Miriamslowly. “Mr. Trenholm, I know a little of the evilaccomplished by that renegade Russian. There issome significance in those letters of his to Mr.Abbott, innocent as they may appear. I will neverbelieve otherwise!”

Trenholm leaned forward and, picking up theletters, laid them in Miriam’s hands. “Read themover carefully,” he begged. “I am open to conviction.[Pg 208]But look here, Miss Ward, why didn’t Zybinncome down to Abbott’s Lodge and visit Paul andthen steal the diamond? He might have done thatwithout arousing suspicion. Why write lettersabout it?”

“Possibly he feared arrest and extradition for aformer crime if he came into the United States,”suggested Miriam, and Trenholm straightened upabruptly.

“There may be something in that idea,” he admitted.“Read the letters aloud, Miss Ward.”

Obediently Miriam opened first one and thenanother. Except for the precision of the languageused, none were out of the ordinary. Each letterbegan: “My dear Abbott,” and closed with the conventional,“Yours sincerely,” and the signature,“Boris Zybinn.” The contents of each referredonly to agriculture. Miriam dropped the last onein her lap with a despondent gesture; then herexpression brightened.

“You haven’t looked at the unopened letter,” sheexclaimed. “See, you have left it there on thetable.”

Trenholm picked up the envelope and examinedit carefully. “It is just like the others in appearance,”he declared. “It must have come several days[Pg 209]before Paul’s murder,” examining the postmark.“Corbin, however, can answer that question.”

“I wonder why Mr. Abbott did not read it?”

“Too ill, perhaps—especially if he judged theletter unimportant.”

Trenholm hunted about on his table until he founda letter opener and, using it dextrously, succeeded inraising the flap without breaking the seal. Takingcare not to crease or otherwise mar the envelope, hedrew out the folded sheet and read aloud the briefmessage it contained:

Sunnymeade Farm
Toronto, Canada
January 22, 1923

Dear Abbott:

Sorry to learn that you are not well. Perhaps achange may do you good. Why not run up here for aweek or two? I will be very happy to put you up if theNashs are not at their place.

Chisholm says the two grays are seventeen hands andentirely sound. Would advise offer of a thousand forthe pair.

Yours in haste,
Boris Zybinn.

Trenholm tossed down the letter in disgust.“Nothing to that!” he exclaimed. “They have finehorses in Canada, and Paul purchased several lastyear, and sold them at a good figure to one of our[Pg 210]neighbors. What is it, Miss Ward?” observing herchanged expression.

Without answering, Miriam pulled her chairaround so that she sat facing the table. Picking upthe letters she spread each one, with its envelope,before her, and slowly counted them.

“Eleven,” she explained, “and this burnt envelopeis twelve, and this last letter makes a total of thirteenunimportant letters.”

“What then?” asked Trenholm, struck by hermanner. Going around the table he stood lookingover her shoulder.

“Have you noticed the postage?” she queried.

“Surely. They are Canadian stamps.”

“Isn’t postage from Canada three cents for first-classmail?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does each letter bear five one-centstamps?” glancing swiftly upward. “Boris Zybinnmust have known the correct postage required.”

“Perhaps he thought that his letters weighed morethan one ounce.”

“If so, the postage would have been double, orsix cents,” she remarked quickly. “Five cents wouldnot have covered it. Besides, I don’t believe that oneof these letters weighs over an ounce.”

Trenholm reached over and picked up his letter[Pg 211]scales. “Try one,” he suggested, and, as she did so,“Not quite one ounce. Try the next.”

Miriam laid each letter on the scales, first puttingit back in its proper envelope; not one was aboveone ounce in weight!

“They all come under the three-cent postage rate,”she exclaimed. “Any one writing as many as thirteenletters to one correspondent would have foundout that fact, especially a person living in Canada.”

Trenholm considered Miriam and then the lettersin silence for a minute. Picking up the thirteenthletter, which Miriam had brought to him unopenedthat afternoon, he took out the sheet of paper andheld the envelope up to the light and studied it intently.As he lowered it, Miriam caught sight of hisface and sprang to her feet.

“You have found something?”

“Yes, thanks to your persistency!” And shecolored warmly at the enthusiasm in his voice andmanner. “See here!” and Trenholm again held theenvelope up to the light and at an angle so that shecould see it as well as he. “The edges of the stampsappear cut in a wedge shape in certain places, andthere are several pinholes through two of the stamps.The cuts do not appear to result from the carelesstearing off of the stamps from the sheet, and consequent[Pg 212]damage to the perforations, but are apparentlymade with scissors.”

“You are right,” agreed Miriam. “And whenthe letter has no light behind it, they do not show atall against the white ground of the envelope. Is ita code?”

Trenholm twirled his mustache in perplexity.“The cuts appear at irregular intervals,” he replied.“They seem to be hastily made and are not absolutelyuniform. I wonder—” he broke off abruptly,stood in thought for several seconds, then goingover to the book shelves which lined one of the walls,searched about until he located several books andcarried them back to the table where Miriam stoodexamining the thirteenth envelope.

“Strangely enough,” he explained, “Paul’s fathergave me his stamp collection—a fine one—as Paulnever had the craze for collecting stamps even as aboy, and being a human magpie I keep everythingbestowed upon me,” with a quick boyish smile whichsoftened wonderfully his usually self-repressed expression.“I hope luck is with me and I still havetucked inside one of these albums a perforationgauge.”

“A what?”

“Perforations, Miss Ward, have a definite positionon each stamp with relation to one another,[Pg 213]though they may be irregular on two separatestamps,” went on Trenholm. “In other words, thedistance between perforations is always the same,though they may vary a fractional part of a line intheir position at the corners.”

“And the gauge,” she prompted, as he paused.

“Is used to measure the number of perforations tothe inch,” Trenholm spoke slowly, to be sure that sheunderstood his meaning. “By applying a perforationgauge to the edge of a stamp, if the position ofone perforation is known, that of all the others willbe indicated.”

Trenholm paused and opened one of the stampalbums. He turned the pages rapidly, and foundthe stamp he wanted, but no gauge. Taking up theother album he shook it over the table. A smallshower of loose stamps, several odd envelopes anda piece of bristol board fell on the table. With arelieved exclamation, Trenholm clutched the perforationgauge, brushing the stamps aside.

“Here is a Canadian stamp of the same issue,” hesaid. “Paul wrote me when he was last in Canada,and I kept the stamp. Let’s see—”

Miriam waited with absorbed attention while heapplied the gauge to the stamp. When he looked uphis eyes were shining.

[Pg 214]

“The stamp has exactly fifty-two perforations,”he announced. “Can it be a coincidence or a—”

“A what?”

He looked at her without speaking for a moment.“The number is just twice that of the letters of thealphabet.” Trenholm drew in his breath. “I havecome to your way of thinking, Miss Ward. It mustbe a code, and it may be that two alphabets are registeredon each stamp, the cuts corresponding to theletters according to the number of the particularperforation affected, counting from one corner ofthe stamp.”

Miriam, who had been following his explanationwith close attention, nodded her head wisely.

“I see,” she broke in. “That would explain anyirregularity in the cuts, because for coding it wouldbe sufficient to indicate the perforation intended to becut, without making a mark of a definite character,and with this gauge of yours the number of the perforationwhich has been cut would be recognized atonce.”

“Exactly,” he answered. “Without a gauge therewould be great difficulty in determining the numberof the perforation, because the cut might seem tocreate new indentations if carelessly made.” Trenholmstopped and took up the envelope of the thirteenth[Pg 215]letter and applied his gauge to the left-handstamp, and Miriam, pencil in hand, assisted him.

Trenholm counted clockwise. “Five perforationsare damaged,” he declared, “numbers 8, 20, 23, 27,30. Now, if the code is based on a double alphabet,these would become 8, 20, 23, 1, 3, or the lettersH, T, W, A, C. How are the letters to be arranged,Miss Ward?”

She looked at her pad, where she had jotted downthe letters as well as the figures. “There is only onevowel,” she said. “It must be one word. Then whyuse two alphabets?”

“Possibly because of the accidental chance that thestamp perforations count up to fifty-two,” repliedTrenholm. “It would be convenient, in case of aword with many letters, to prevent destroying theappearance of the stamp by cutting too many indentationsclose to one another. Have you solved thefirst word?” as she checked an exclamation.

“Yes—‘watch.’”

“Good!” Trenholm’s eyes were bright with excitement.Looking again at the first stamp, henoticed that the first, third, and fifth letters of thewords “watch” were indicated on the first alphabet,and the remaining letters on the second one.

Trenholm held up the envelope to the light again.“See, Miss Ward!” he exclaimed. “The stamp[Pg 216]on the extreme right has only four indentations,though the left-hand corner has been cut off.”

She studied the envelope in silence for a fewseconds. “The letters are G and E in the first alphabet,”she pointed out. “They must be the odd lettersof the word coded, and R and V in the second alphabet,corresponding to the even letters, but I can’tmake any word out of them.”

“Suppose we call the cut of the left-hand cornerof the stamp an A,” suggested Trenholm. “It maybe a quick way to mark an indentation when a cornersquare was involved; though better care was usedin the A of the second alphabet in the first stampexamined. What word have you now, Miss Ward?”

“Grave.”

Trenholm stared at her. “Grave,” he repeated,then, suppressing comment, went ahead decoding themessage. “This center one appears the simplest,”he said. “Here the perforations cut are numbers5, 12, 20, 5, 18, 20—odd letters, E, L, T; even letters,E, R, T. Got them down, Miss Ward?”

“They make the word—letter,” briefly, not glancingup. “Go ahead.”

“The next letters are E, I, T, for the odd, andE, H, N, R, for the even.” Trenholm laid down hisperforation gauge and frowned. “The code seemsto fail here,” he grumbled. “It has given four even[Pg 217]letters and only three odd. The other way aroundwould be all right, but it is impossible to make aword with more even than odd letters.”

“Let me see the envelope.” Miriam put aside herpencil and carefully examined the stamps againstthe light. “Look, Mr. Trenholm, here are pinholesopposite some of the letters—two opposite the oddT, and one opposite the even H.”

“Probably they stand for repetitions of the sameletters, in which case the letters would be: odd—E,I, T, T, T; even—E, H, H, N, R,” declared Trenholm.“But they don’t make sense.” He pausedand looked at the stamps already decoded. “Seehere, the first letter in each word we have decipheredis on the side of the stamp which faces the left sideof the envelope.”

“Oh, then that accounts for the apparently carelessmanner in which the stamps are stuck on theenvelope,” said Miriam. “The only letter onthe second stamp, which is indicated by a cut in theway you have just described, is T.”

“So our next word begins with T.” Trenholmtook up a pencil and did some figuring on Miriam’spad. “With so many T’s and H’s to use, supposewe start off with Th,” he began, “and the next letteris either E, I, or T. It must be one of the vowels.No, E is no good.” Trenholm ran his fingers[Pg 218]through his hair until it stood upright. “We’ll takeI, and here is an R available—by Jove—thirteenth!”

“So it is!” Miriam’s excitement was rising.“The words we have so far are, ‘watch thirteenthletter——grave.’”

“Now for the last stamp!” Trenholm took upgauge and pencil. “The odd letters are E, two I’s,one indicated by another pinhole, and S. The evenletters are C, D, S, U. The position of the stampshows that the first letter is S. Of the four evenletters available for the next position, only the vowelcan be used, making Su.” Trenholm paused andwrote rapidly several combinations of the availableletters, then looked up with a low exclamation—“Suicides.”

“And the completed message then stands—‘Watchthirteenth letter suicides grave,’” repeated Miriam.“What do you make of it, Mr. Trenholm?”

“Nothing—now,” he admitted frankly. “Weknow the code. Help me decipher these other elevenenvelopes and the burnt one. Fortunately the stampson it are intact.”

Half an hour later Miriam and Trenholm sat backin their chairs and looked at each other. The lattertook up one of the pads they had used.

“Here are the thirteen decoded messages, of fivewords each, concealed in the stamps on the thirteen[Pg 219]envelopes,” he stated. “Listen carefully, Miss Ward,and tell me what you make of them.”

Fear Paul suspicious of Betty.
Unwise to trust her judgment.
Judge her influence is waning.
Is there any other woman?
Last interview with Paul disastrous.
He declines to return jewel.
Do not lose your nerve.
Believe he can prove nothing.
Does not guess your motive.
Situation growing tense; money required.
Learned hiding place changed often.
Next time can tell definitely.
Watch thirteenth letter; suicides grave.

Miriam wrinkled her forehead in deep thought.“For whom were those messages intended, Mr.Trenholm?” she asked.

“For the man who later killed Paul Abbott,” hereplied quietly.

“And he—”

“Is some one who was with Paul and had access tohis mail, and so could read the code on these apparentlyinnocent letters.” Trenholm rose suddenly andlooked down at her. “It was a devilish scheme anddevilishly carried out.”

“By Boris Zybinn’s confederate.” Miriam also[Pg 220]rose. “Have you any idea who that confederate is?”

Absently Trenholm took up his pipe and fingeredit. “Some one who knew Paul intimately,” he said.“And who has been with him during the past fewmonths, for the dates on these letters cover thatperiod of time. But as to his identity—the codedmessages give no clue.”

“That is true,” agreed Miriam. “Another question—Whenhe murdered Paul Abbott did he securethe Paltoff diamond?”

Trenholm had located his tobacco pouch and filledhis pipe mechanically, his thoughts elsewhere.

“Frankly,” he said slowly, “I am inclined to thinkhe didn’t.”

Guy Trenholm helped Miriam into hispowerful roadster and then, with a murmuredword of apology, slipped back intohis bungalow. Miriam waited patiently, unmindfulof his prolonged absence and thankful for the opportunityof rest undisturbed. Her ideas were confused—chaotic.The thirteen messages which sheand Trenholm had just decoded were ringing in herhead, but, try as she would, she could think of nosolution to the enigma. The Law of Chance hadindeed plunged her into an impenetrable mystery.Trenholm’s voice at her elbow caused her to startslightly.

“I am extremely sorry to have been so long,” hesaid, taking his place behind the steering wheel.“Pablo,” to the Filipino, who had followed him fromthe front door and was clinging frantically to thecollars of the police dogs in his endeavor to keepthem out of the car, “let no one enter the house. Ifany one calls on the telephone, tell them I am atAbbott’s Lodge.”

[Pg 222]

The next instant the roadster had glided into thehighway, and with Trenholm’s impatient foot onthe accelerator, was making record time in its dashfor Abbott’s Lodge.

Pablo was busy going about his work, whistlingshrilly, when a heavy knock on the side door interruptedhim. Answering it, he found a man in chauffeur’slivery just about to implant a heavy kick onthe panels by way of emphasis.

“Your mastair, where is he?” demanded Pierre,and Pablo’s back stiffened at his insolent manner.

“None of your business,” he retorted, andslammed the door. The heavy bombardment ofknocks which followed was stopped by AlexanderNash’s appearance on the scene. He had waited inthe Nash limousine, but the sound of conflict stirredhim to action. His voice, raised in anger, causedPablo to glance through the pantry window, and atsight of the clergyman, he at once opened the sidedoor.

“What is eet?” he asked blandly, ignoring Pierreutterly. “Did some one knock?”

“I wish to see Sheriff Trenholm at once,” statedthe clergyman. “Tell him that Doctor Nash ishere.”

“He is away.”

[Pg 223]

“Oh!” Nash looked a trifle nonplussed, thenasked briskly, “Where will I find him?”

Pablo paused, in his turn, for reflection. Trenholmhad stated very clearly that should any one callhim by telephone he, Pablo, was to say that he was tobe found at Abbott’s Lodge. Trenholm, however,had specified a telephone call only, and not a callerin person, therefore, according to Pablo’s reasoning,he could not divulge the whereabouts of his masterto Nash.

“He gone out,” he replied, assuming a stupid airand lack of English, which he spoke remarkablywell, except for a distinct accent. “No tell wherego.”

Nash’s disappointment was obvious. “Thinkagain!” he begged, and jingled some loose coins inhis pocket suggestively. But Pablo’s total lack ofexpression proved more exasperating than enlightening.“Come, where is the sheriff?”

“I dunno,” Pablo shrugged. “Maybe he comeback to dinner, maybe not. Want to wait in yourcar?”

“No, certainly not.” Nash frowned thoughtfully.“Let me use your telephone a moment,” and he heldout a bank note.

Pablo backed away. “Sorry, can’t use—” Hegot no further.

[Pg 224]

Pierre, with a dexterity which Pablo had notanticipated, had slipped between the Filipino and theopen door, and, with a vigorous push, sent Pablosprawling. But the latter was too quick for him.With a spring like a panther, Pablo was on his backand Pierre measured his length on the ground.

“Stop this unseemly brawling,” commanded Nash,looking genuinely shocked. “Pierre, go at once tomy car. As for you,” turning to Pablo, who rosewith reluctance and one final kick which sent thechauffeur’s headgear down the path, “I shall reportyour conduct to Mr. Trenholm.” And he stalkedaway.

Without giving a thought to Pablo’s habit oftaking everything he said literally, Trenholm slackenedthe roadster’s speed when they got within amile of Abbott’s Lodge.

“Do you see very much of Miss Carter?” heasked.

“No. She is never with Mrs. Nash at night andI am not around the house in the daytime,” repliedMiriam. She hesitated perceptibly. “Betty is theonly name given in the messages we decoded. Doesit refer to Miss Carter?”

“To whom else could it refer?” and Miriam wassilenced by his tone. She stole a look at Trenholm.She dared not admit, even to herself, how frequently[Pg 225]her thoughts were centered on the self-contained manby her side.

“Miss Ward”—Trenholm drove the car to theside of the road and stopped—“did you catch sightof the man in Mrs. Nash’s bedroom early this morning?”

Her answer was disappointing. “No. I was halfwayup the staircase when I heard her cry out, butwhen I reached her she was alone in the room,” sheexplained. “I had left the hall door partly open andfound it practically in the same position upon myreturn.”

Trenholm considered her answer for a second.When he addressed her again she was struck by thegravity of his tone.

“Exactly what is the matter with Mrs. Nash?” heinquired. “I am not asking from idle curiosity,Miss Ward,” observing her hesitation, “but as anofficer of the law.”

Miriam eyed him in startled wonder. What didhis question portend?

“Doctor Roberts told me he felt that he had notlocated the real trouble,” she replied. “Nor can Igive a reason for her, at times, alarming symptoms.”

“Can you not venture an opinion?”

“Mr. Trenholm!”

[Pg 226]

He turned and his rare smile gave her a ray ofcomfort and a sense of security.

“It’s unethical, I know,” he said. “But you mustrealize, Miss Ward, that we are confronted with adastardly conspiracy, the tentacles of which reachfrom Russia to Abbott’s Lodge. Can I not countupon your aid to expose Zybinn’s plot?”

“You can.” Her voice rang out clearly, and againTrenholm smiled, well pleased. “I have sometimesthought that Mrs. Nash’s condition is due to a heartdepressant—”

“A coal-tar poison,” quietly. “And by whomadministered?”

Miriam moved unhappily. “I am not in the sickroomat all hours,” she observed dryly. “Miss Carteris there during the day, and Doctor Nash spendsmuch time with his wife.”

Trenholm contemplated her, a gleam of somethingbesides admiration in his eyes; then shifting hisgears and releasing his brake, he drove onward.

“Do you recall the exact wording of the codedmessage in the thirteenth letter?” he asked, after abrief silence.

“Yes. It was: ‘Watch thirteenth letter suicidesgrave,’” she looked at him inquiringly. “Does theword ‘suicide’ take the possessive ‘s’, or is its meaningplural?”

[Pg 227]

“That remains to be seen.” He turned the carinto the driveway to Abbott’s Lodge, and beforestopping under the porte cochère, addressed her in avoice carefully lowered to reach her ear alone. “Saynothing of the thirteen letters to any one.”

“Of course not!”

He was quick to detect her hurt tone. “Forgiveme,” he begged, and his low, earnest voice impressedher. “I depend on your aid absolutely and trust youimplicitly,” then as she flashed a glance upward ofglad relief, he added, “Don’t forget those five words,for I firmly believe that the solution to Paul’s mysteriousmurder rests in the thirteenth letter.” Theirapproach had been seen from inside the Lodge andCorbin swung open the door. Trenholm had opportunityfor only one hurried sentence, “The thirteenthletter,” he repeated, under his breath, “of the alphabetis ‘M.’”

Corbin favored Miriam with an unpleasant glanceas she sped by him into the house, but touched hisforehead, with some show of respect, to Trenholm.

“Mrs. Nash wishes to see ye,” he stated. Hisshifty eyes fell before the sheriff’s steady gaze.“Can I have a word with ye, sir; me and Martha—”

“Yes?” inquiringly, as the caretaker paused inuncertainty. “Well?”

Corbin licked his lips. Talking to the sheriff was[Pg 228]not quite so easy a task as he had represented toMartha, and he instantly shifted the responsibility.

“Martha’s dressin’ now, sir; but she’ll be downd’reckly,” he mumbled. “An’ before ye go, sir,please ask for her.”

Trenholm took silent note of the man’s twitchingfacial muscles and his unhealthy pallor.

“Very well,” he said. “I will send for Martha.Wait—no, go on,” as Corbin stopped reluctantly atthe first injunction, and, giving Trenholm no timeto reconsider his second order, he disappeared in thedirection of the kitchen.

Trenholm hung up his hat and overcoat in thecloset off the living room in deep thought. He hadintended questioning Corbin as to the hours of receivingmail at Abbott’s Lodge, but he shrewdlysuspected that Martha would prove a more reliablesource of information, and so dismissed the caretakerwith the question unasked.

Trenholm’s low tap on Mrs. Nash’s bedroom doorbrought Somers in response. On recognizing thesheriff she drew back and held the door more widelyopen.

“My mistress is expecting you,” she said. “Comein, sir.”

It was the first time Mrs. Nash had met GuyTrenholm face to face, though each had had glimpses[Pg 229]of the other during Mrs. Nash’s occasional visits toAbbott’s Lodge in the past. Under pretense of muchlanguor, she was slow in offering him her hand andequally slow in releasing his. Trenholm’s pressureon her icy fingers forced her rings into her flesh, butaside from a slight, very slight, intake of her breath,she gave no sign of how much he hurt her.

“Please take that chair,” she said, as Somers,obedient to previous instructions, pushed forwardthe chair Miriam had occupied the night before andin which she had found the thirteenth letter. “Youwill fill it nicely, Mr. Trenholm; it is made for suchbig frames as you and my husband. I feel,” sheadded as he kept a discreet silence, waiting for herto open the interview, “that you and I should be oldacquaintances; I have heard so many nice thingsabout you from both Paul and his father.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Nash!” Trenholm sat backand eyed her gravely. Her rouge was cleverlyapplied and her hair was becomingly dressed. Butto his critical mind there was something unnatural inthe high notes of her voice, in the constant trembleof her hand, which, strive as she did, she could notcontrol. “I have frequently hoped to meet you, andfrankly”—with a disarming smile—“particularlyafter your experiences last night.”

“You come directly to the point,” she remarked.[Pg 230]“I can only tell you that, after Miss Ward left me,I closed my eyes—for a few minutes only—andopened them to find the room in darkness, to feelsome one creeping to my bedside, the touch of thebeard on my hand—” The shrug of her shoulderswas eloquent. “Have you, Sheriff Trenholm, discoveredthe identity of the intruder?”

He shook his head. “I must admit failure,” hesaid. “Give me a little more time.”

She frowned, then smiled, and Trenholm decidedthat a fiery temper was kept under iron control.“My husband has gone to employ a celebrated detectiveagency to solve the mystery,” she stated. “Ithought that you should know and so sent for you.”

“Thank you,” simply, and settling himself morecomfortably in the big chair Trenholm awaited hernext remark.

“You are not exactly loquacious,” she commenteddryly. “Have you been told the terms of PaulAbbott’s will?”

“Yes. Your niece will inherit a very handsomefortune.”

“Provided she remains single the rest of hernatural life.” Mrs. Nash’s laugh smote unpleasantlyon his ear. “Betty is so very young—not yet out ofher twenties. Does wealth compensate, Mr. Trenholm,for a lonely old age?”

[Pg 231]

“To some natures it does.” Trenholm’s voice wassoftly modulated to suit a sick room, and Mrs. Nashhad to listen attentively to catch every word he said.“It seems a pity that Paul and Miss Carter werenot married before his death.”

Mrs. Nash’s eyelids flickered slightly; otherwiseshe regarded him with unchanged expression. “It isa pity,” she agreed, “in a way. But I have no doubtthat certain terms in Paul’s ridiculous will can be setaside.”

“Ah, on what grounds?”

“That he was not of sound mind when it wasdrawn up,” quietly. “In view of the mystery surroundingPaul’s shocking murder, Mr. Trenholm,I feel that you should be informed on certainmatters.”

“And what are they, Mrs. Nash?” as she paused.Trenholm was giving her flattering attention and shesmiled shrewdly.

“My father had given his consent to Betty’sengagement to Paul,” she went on, “when, shortlyafter, we noticed a change in Paul. His morbidtendencies became more pronounced and he sufferedfrom the delusion that people were pursuing him.”She looked at Trenholm. “You know the unfortunatestory of his mother?”

“That she died insane, yes.”

[Pg 232]

“My father grew more and more distressed, forBetty is his only grandchild. At last my husbandwent to Doctor Roberts and asked him to join myfather’s party on our yachting trip to Bermuda, sothat he might have Paul under mental observation.”Mrs. Nash paused to clear her throat. “That wasonly two months ago.”

“And what conclusion did Roberts come to regardingPaul’s mental condition?” questioned Trenholmswiftly.

“Roberts is an old fogy!” For once Mrs. Nash’sself-control slipped. She had herself in hand againbefore Trenholm could guess the cause of her emotion.“And his affection for Paul biased his judgment.My husband would have done better had heemployed another physician.”

Trenholm scrutinized her intently for severalminutes. “And what connection is there betweenPaul’s mental condition and his murder?” he askedfinally.

“Suicide—”

Trenholm laughed outright. “An utterly unpracticaltheory, Mrs. Nash,” he remarked, and the drynessof his tone brought the carmine to her cheeksunder her rouge. “It was physically impossible forPaul to have stabbed himself.” He rose without ceremonyand stared openly about the big bedroom. “I’ve[Pg 233]been in here often when Mr. Abbott, Sr., used it as asitting room,” he said, “and these are the huntingprints which Paul left me.” He looked down at Mrs.Nash, a faint smile still lingering about his lips. “Iwant these prints awfully. Please don’t contest Paul’swill,” and turning his back upon her, he walkedleisurely across the room and examined them.

Mrs. Nash’s emotions were too great to permit herclear vision and she failed to detect Trenholm whenhe quietly took down the sketch of neglected graveswhich hung where Miriam had seen it during herfirst vigil in the sick room. Slipping the small pictureinside his pocket, he strolled back to the bed.

“Good-by, Mrs. Nash,” he bowed courteously,then bent further down until his lips nearly touchedher right ear. “I am not much of a doctor, but I amof the opinion that you can get up.”

When Mrs. Nash recovered her breath onlySomers was in the bedroom.

Miriam did not stay long in her bedroomafter leaving Guy Trenholm in the hallof Abbott’s Lodge talking to Corbin.She had thought at first of lying down for a littlewhile, but she was too restless. A walk would quiether nerves, and, if Mrs. Nash had a good night, shemight have an opportunity of relaxing and therebygain some rest before morning.

It took Miriam only a few minutes to put on hercoat and hat again and, not bothering to take gloves,she went down the staircase. Mrs. Nash’s door wasclosed as she passed it and she wondered if GuyTrenholm was still with her patient. She wouldhave given much to have been present at the interview.Her thoughts veered back to Trenholm. Shemust see him before he left. There was somethingshe must tell him, an idea which had come to her.Should she stay in? Miriam wavered. If she waitedit would be too late to go out. Ah, she had it!Martha would give Trenholm a message for her.

Knowing that Martha usually sat in a window[Pg 235]nook just between the pantry and the dining room,Miriam went in that direction but paused near thedining room table at sight of Betty Carter standingin the doorway leading to the sunparlor. Shedoubted if Betty had heard her approach, for theyoung girl’s attention was riveted on Alan Mason,who lay asleep in one of the long wicker loungingchairs standing directly at the entrance to the diningroom.

Alan’s comely features were free of the haggardlines which had aged him in the past few days, andhis graceful pose in the abandon of sleep resembledthat of a tired boy after a day of play. Evidentlyhis dreams were happy, for a smile trembled on hislips and he murmured softly, “Betty!”

Betty Carter’s eyes were dimmed with tears andMiriam, glancing at her, read the carefully guardedsecret of her heart. Alan Mason, and not his deadcousin, was the man she loved. With a swift, gracefulmovement Betty stooped down and kissed him onthe forehead with a touch so delicate that it did notawaken the sleeping man. Then, with a gesture ofutter despair, she dropped on her knees in front of achair and buried her face in her arms.

Miriam stole softly away, her desire to see Marthaforgotten in the scene she had inadvertently witnessed.It had all happened in a second of time.[Pg 236]There had been no opportunity for her to withdraw,but Miriam felt self-reproached. Walking rapidly,head down, hands in pockets, she took no note ofher direction, save that she was on a footpath leadingaway from Abbott’s Lodge, and she honestly triedto banish Betty and Alan from her thoughts. Butone idea persisted and would not down. If Bettyloved Alan, why had she married Paul on Mondaynight?

A high wind had sprung up and Miriam had forgottento use hatpins. The next second she was bareheaded.Her hat, a chic affair of the mushroomvariety, sailed gracefully ahead of her around a curveand then another and stronger gust of wind carriedit into a field on her left. With a disgusted ejacul*tionover her stupidity in omitting the pins, Miriamfollowed her hat as best she could. She had justretrieved it and slapped it vigorously on her head,regardless of the angle, when she espied a couple ofcows in the corner of the field. Miriam stopped noton the order of her going and when she halted shehad reached the edge of a wood. Having a goodbump of locality, she recognized, after a carefulglance around, the wood as the one she and Trenholmhad walked through when returning fromHills Bridge.

It was growing dark and Miriam faced in the[Pg 237]direction she judged Abbott’s Lodge to be and hurriedalong the path. In making the next turn shepaused abruptly. To her left lay the graveyardwhich she had remarked upon to Trenholm. Its airof desolation was emphasized by the fading light,and Miriam did not plan to linger as she had donewhen Trenholm was with her. But her intention tohurry past the old Mason burying plot was checkedat sight of a man kneeling by a grave and diggingin it with a trowel. Miriam stopped short as theman looked up. The recognition was mutual.

Corbin rose stiffly to his knees and, bending over,brushed off some dirt and dry leaves which clungto his trousers.

“How come ye here, Miss?” he demanded suspiciously.

Miriam’s first impulse was to decline to answer,but Corbin had stepped back from the grave andstood almost directly in front of her, blocking thefootpath.

“I am out for a walk,” she replied, “and by chancecame this way.”

“It’s lonesome like, for a lady.” Corbin hitchedhimself a trifle closer, a beam of admiration in hiswatery eyes, which Miriam found more objectionablethan a glare of rage.

“What are you doing here, Corbin?” she asked,[Pg 238]coolly taking the situation into her hands. “Whatinterests you in these old graves?”

Corbin shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.“Getting some ivy,” he explained. “I wanted toplant some around the garage.”

“So you rob a grave—”

Corbin’s complexion turned an even more unhealthycolor.

“Oh, the old suicide won’t miss it,” he saidcoarsely, and hastily changed the subject. “Funny,weren’t it, that Mr. Paul should ha’ left in his willthis here graveyard to Mr. Alan, ’cause it belongedto his ancestors, and never given him nothin’ else,’cept five hundred dollars.”

Miriam was not following closely Corbin’s jumbledaccounts of the provisions of Paul’s will, whichMr. Corcoran had explained to Martha and to himat the close of the reading of the will.

“Who lies in this suicide’s grave?” she asked suddenly,and the question took Corbin by surprise.

“Mr. Alan’s grandfather.”

“And his name?” with a persistence which surprisedherself as well as Corbin.

“’Cordin’ to the headstone his name was Mason,too.” Talking to an extremely pretty woman was anovel sensation and Corbin was commencing to enjoyhimself. “There’s a saying in these parts that he[Pg 239]stole some money when he was ’zecutor to a friend’swill and killed heself when found out. The nigg*rsburied him, as you see. Mr. Alan ain’t got much callto be proud of his gran’-dad.”

“But I don’t think he will approve of your digginginto his grave,” Miriam stated quietly, “for ivy.”

Corbin’s lips curled back viciously over his yellowteeth. “He ain’t goin’ to hear of it,” his voice grewlow and menacing. “Not from you, anyway.”

“Why not?”

He came a step nearer and his breath was unpleasantlyclose. “I gave the bloodstained sheet toSheriff Trenholm,” he whispered.

Miriam stared at him, open-eyed. “The bloodstainedsheet!” she echoed. “What are you talkingabout?”

“The sheet off Mr. Paul’s bed after he was murdered,”with a slow, knowing wink, which sent thehot blood to her cheeks. Her color ebbed as quicklyas it had come, leaving her deadly pale. “The sheriffwas mighty curious to know if I had shown youwhere to get clean linen for the bed when you fustcome. Don’t worry,” observing her expression andmisinterpreting it. “I didn’t give him no directanswer.”

“What!” Corbin drew back at the force of her[Pg 240]exclamation. “Why didn’t you tell him at once thatyou showed me the linen closet?”

He leered at her. “There wasn’t any call for meto give you away—then”—he supplemented.

Miriam missed the last word. Her eyes wereblazing with indignation.

“And so you let Mr. Trenholm infer—”

“What he pleased—yes, Miss!”

Miriam’s small hands were clenched. “You contemptiblecur!” she cried, and would have addedmore but wrath choked her utterance.

“Here, Miss, don’t you be so handy with misnamin’me,” protested Corbin. “I’ve got feelin’slike other fellows and I done ye a good turn.”

“By concealing the truth!” scornfully. “You arenot only a knave, Corbin, but a fool!”

“Am I?” Corbin’s slow smile sent a shiver downher back in spite of her hot anger. “Come, Miss,there ain’t no use o’ you an’ me fussin’. I’ll standyer friend, if ye’ll just give me a little snow”—hecame nearer and brushed her shoulder with hishand—“just a little snow.”

Miriam stared at Corbin. Was the man demented?Her eyes left his face and fell on his hand as hestood stroking her coat. It was a remarkably smallhand for a man, well-shaped, the long, creepingfingers stained with soil from the grave. The seal[Pg 241]ring on his third finger caught on a button as shesprang back.

“Don’t touch me!”

Corbin paid not the slightest attention to her command.His eyes aflame with desire, he stepped afterMiriam and caught her hand, fawning upon her—

“You’re a nurse, Miss,” he whined. “Gimme adeck to-night.” He saw her expression of dawningcomprehension and clung to her hand more tightlythan before.

Miriam wrenched her hand free. At last sheunderstood—Corbin was a cocaine addict. For thefirst time she felt a twinge of fear as her glanceswept the lonely countryside. Of all the demoralizingdrugs, cocaine was the worst—whisky raised toits nth power was pap compared to it.

“I have none, Corbin,” she said, hiding her abhorrenceof the man under a brusque manner. “Wenurses are no longer permitted to keep a supply ofnarcotics on hand.”

“Doctor Roberts will let ye have a shot,” eagerly.“Ye need never tell him it’s for me.”

“Go to him yourself.”

Corbin stared at her for a long moment, his bloodshoteyes taking in her beauty appraisingly. Thecollar of her coat had turned back and he caught aglimpse of a gold chain. Martha had told him of[Pg 242]rubies which she had seen around the nurse’s neck.

“I’ll take care o’ Roberts,” he said thickly. “Butme an’ you are goin’ to come to an understandin’right now. Hand over that gold chain. Ye won’t!—then,by God—”

Miriam had read the look in his eyes in time tospring aside and avoid his clutching fingers. Farmore agile than her adversary, she eluded his attemptto trip her and, fear lending wings to her feet, sheraced madly toward Abbott’s Lodge.

Corbin’s heart hammered and thumped as hestrove to overtake her. He was in no physical trimand, as Miriam left the footpath and took to thefields, he sank down by the roadside, panting fromhis exertions. As he rested his brain cleared and hecursed aloud as he realized the folly of his act. Inhis mad craving for cocaine he had betrayed hisprecious secret to Miriam. And she would tell.Corbin ground his teeth in rage, then his face cleared.Only Miriam knew—so far. When he got up andlimped toward Abbott’s Lodge, his lips wrinkled ina low and vicious smile.

Finally convinced that she had outdistanced Corbin,Miriam dropped back to a walk. Considerablyshaken by the fright he had given her, it took hersome little time to stop looking over her shoulder tosee if the caretaker was still following her. Then[Pg 243]her thoughts switched around to Guy Trenholm andthe bloodstained sheet, and her recent terror wasforgotten. Had Corbin, by his evasive answers tothe sheriff’s question about the sheet, made Trenholmbelieve that she was implicated in Paul Abbott’smurder? She recalled vividly his persistent questionsat his bungalow that afternoon as to whetheror not she had recognized Paul as the Americansoldier to whom her uncle had intrusted the Paltoffdiamond.

Could it be that Trenholm suspected her of havingrecognized Paul and seized the opportunity of beingalone with her patient to kill him and recover thePaltoff diamond?

The thought was torment! Miriam brushed herhair back from her forehead. She was suddenlyblinded by tears, and paused in uncertainty, unableto go on. In that moment she realized what GuyTrenholm had grown to be to her. Love—had shegiven her love to a man unasked—unsought? Herface flamed scarlet. Had romance come into her lifeonly to be bitter-sweet? She bowed her head in herhands and the old, familiar prayer, which had sustainedher through the horrors of war and Russianrevolution, again passed her lips: “God, give mestrength!”

When Miriam approached the entrance of Abbott’s[Pg 244]Lodge she was once more calm and collected. As shestepped inside the house she was met by Martha.

“You are wanted upstairs in Mr. Paul’s old bedroom,”the housekeeper stated. “They are waitin’for ye,” and giving Miriam no chance to find outwho “they” were, she retreated to her kitchen, in timeto meet her husband slinking in the back door.

Considerably mystified by the message, Miriamwent first to her bedroom, tossed off her hat andcoat, and then paused long enough to arrange herhair deftly, which had escaped from her hair netwhen her hat blew off. Miriam had not been inPaul’s old bedroom since her interview with Trenholmthe night after the murder. The door hadalways been closed and, never having tried to enterit, she was not aware that, by the sheriff’s orders, ithad been kept locked. However, she found it notonly unlocked, but wide open when she reached there,and, without knocking, she stepped inside the room.

Seated near the table were Betty Carter and GuyTrenholm, and, by their attitude, she judged thatthey were awaiting her in growing impatience.Miriam’s heart beat a trifle faster as she met Trenholm’sstraight gaze, but her manner was entirelynatural and composed.

“You sent for me?” she asked, addressing himrather than Betty.

[Pg 245]

It was Betty who answered as Trenholm rose andplaced a chair for Miriam and, from a motive whichMiriam failed to guess and Trenholm himself toanalyze, stood by her side, his eyes watching everyplay of emotion in Betty’s beautiful face.

“I sent for you, Miss Ward,” Betty stated, “andfor Sheriff Trenholm, because I wished to see himin your presence,” she faltered and grew paler. “Itwas before him that I flatly contradicted your statementthat I was here in this room with Paul on Mondaynight. I wish to withdraw that denial.”

The room swam around Miriam. It was the lastsentence she expected from Betty. She had exoneratedher and before Guy Trenholm. He would knowthat she had not lied. She stole a look at him. Trenholm’sattention was entirely centered on Betty andhis expression was difficult to decipher.

“Your motive for denying your presence here,Miss Carter?” he asked, and she winced at his toneand the formality of his address. Her woman’sintuition told her that she could not sway him byfeminine wiles as in the old days in Paris. He haddeveloped from a shy country boy into a man, sternperhaps, but just, resourceful and strong. “Whatwas your motive?” he asked again, with more emphasis,as she kept silent.

“The danger of being arrested for Paul’s murder,”[Pg 246]she said, and this time it was Trenholm’s turn to feelastonishment, mingled with a reluctant admiration.Betty, with characteristic courage, was taking theground from under his feet.

“And your reason for such a fear?” he questionedswiftly.

“My marriage to Paul under such peculiar circ*mstancesand my immediate departure, whichoccurred,” she added, addressing Miriam, whom surprisehad kept silent, “judging from your testimony,just before Paul was killed.”

“Your departure just before he was killed is thevery point which clears you of all suspicion,” declaredTrenholm dryly, and Betty changed color.“Come, Miss Carter, what has Paul’s will to do withyour sudden admission of your marriage to him?”

“Mr. Trenholm!”

“Please—no heroics!” holding up an authoritativehand. “Let us have the truth at last, Miss Carter.”

Betty’s eyes blazed at him wrathfully. “It is yourprivilege to insult a woman, I presume—one of yourprequisites as sheriff of the County.”

Trenholm smiled. “Put it that way, if you wish,”he said, in entire good nature. “By the terms ofPaul’s will you inherit nothing if you marry afterhis death; but, as his widow, the law allows you one[Pg 247]third of his estate, irrespective of any will,” hepaused—“or any marriage thereafter.”

Betty rose and dropped him a curtsy, and Miriam,watching her with a critic’s eye, saw no tremor inhands or lips and no evasive glance. “You make meout a very clever woman,” Betty said. “I thankyou.”

Trenholm bowed. “There is only one flaw in yourreasoning,” he said. “You did not marry PaulAbbott.”

Betty stared at him, astounded. “Are you mad!”she gasped. “Why, Miss Ward witnessed themarriage!”

“I beg pardon, but I was not in the room,” interruptedMiriam. “Doctor Nash sent me to get alamp and I returned just as he completed the marriageceremony.”

Betty surveyed them both scornfully. “What isthis—collusion?” she demanded.

“No, just statements of facts,” retorted Trenholm.“When Miss Ward returned to this room after seeingyou depart, she went over to the bed and found,not Paul, but a stranger lying there.”

Betty sank back in her chair. Her face wasghastly. There was no make-believe in her emotionand her half-fainting condition was genuine. Witha word of explanation, Miriam bolted out of the[Pg 248]room, to return a second later with smelling salts.Betty accepted them with a broken word of thanks.

“I don’t understand,” she began, glancing piteouslyfrom one to the other. “You found a strange manin Paul’s bed just after I left?”

“Yes,” replied Miriam, quietly. “It was a greatshock and I fainted, and in that condition was chloroformed.When I revived I found Mr. Abbott lyingdead in that bed.”

As in a daze, Betty raised her hands and pressedthem to her throbbing temples.

“You mean that some man got in this room whileMiss Ward was in the hall with the lighted lamp,showing Uncle Alexander and me the way downstairs,threw Paul out of bed, and took his place?”she asked. “And being detected by Miss Ward,chloroformed her, and then murdered Paul?”

“You have described the scene very admirably,”stated Trenholm, slowly, “except in one particular.The man assumed Paul’s place in the bed when MissWard went downstairs to the door to admit you andDoctor Nash.”

“Impossible!” Betty’s eyes were half startingfrom her head. “Why, I stood near the bed—”

“Exactly where?” broke in Trenholm. “Showme.”

Betty rose and walked over to the bed and paused[Pg 249]by it. “When I came, I stopped here,” she explained.“I did not move, did I, Miss Ward?” glancingappealingly at Miriam.

“No,” quickly.

“And how were the curtains of the four-posterdraped?” asked Trenholm.

Miriam quickly arranged them to the best of herrecollection.

“Then, Miss Carter, you did not have a good viewof the man in the bed?”

“But it was Paul,” she protested. “I knew hisvoice.”

“Voices can be imitated,” Trenholm spoke slowly.“And a poor imitation would have passed muster inyour state of excitement. You were expecting tofind Paul there—and you were not critical.”

“But I tell you I saw his face.”

“How much of it?”

“His dark hair, his general contour—oh, pshaw,his beard—”

“Did you see his eyes?” asked Trenholm. “Didyou lean over and kiss him?”

Betty flushed crimson, from throat to brow. “Hekept his eyes closed—sick men do that”—with adefiant glance at Miriam as if challenging her tocontradict her statement. “I, eh, I didn’t kiss Paul[Pg 250]because—because—” her voice died away and roseagain. “He was ill and—eh—”

“And you loved another man!” Trenholm’s tonecut like a whiplash, and she swayed upon her feet.“Come, confess that you consented to marry Paulbecause he promised you the Paltoff diamond.”

Three times Betty strove to speak. “You are thedevil incarnate!” she gasped. “I tell you I marriedPaul!“ Her clenched fist struck the bedstead a sharpblow. “See, look here,” and from around her neckshe dragged off a gold chain which she had wornconcealed underneath her gown. From it was suspendeda heavy gold ring.

“You knew Paul intimately, Guy Trenholm. Doyou recognize this ring?”

He took it from her hand and Miriam movedcloser to his side and examined it intently. It boreonly a large and beautifully carved “M” upon it.Trenholm dropped it in Miriam’s hand and she wasastonished at the ring’s weight and its massive size.

“You know the ring’s history, but Miss Ward doesnot,” went on Betty, as Trenholm kept silent. “Thisring was Paul’s fetish—he was intensely superstitious.He declared that it would never leave hispossession until he placed it on my finger.” Shedrew in her breath. “Paul made that statement inyour presence, Guy Trenholm, and in mine, and he[Pg 251]placed that ring on my finger during the marriageservice on Monday night.”

From his leather wallet Trenholm drew a numberof photographs and selected one.

“This photograph,” he said, holding it so that bothgirls could see it, “was taken of Paul as he lay onthe undertaker’s couch in the room down the hall,and just before he was placed in the casket. Youwill see that he is still wearing his seal ring—in fact,his finger was so firmly bent to hold it upon his handthat we would have had to break the bone to take itoff. His ring, Miss Carter, is buried with him.”

Betty stared dumbly at him. Suddenly herstrength deserted her, and before Miriam couldcatch her she fell in a crumpled heap at their feet.

Trenholm’s noiseless pacing back andforth before Betty Carter’s bedroom doorgave no evidence of the impatience consuminghim. Miriam Ward had promised to join him theinstant she was able to leave Betty. He had carriedthe unconscious girl to her room and then gone insearch of Doctor Roberts, only to be told by Anna,who in her capacity of temporary maid was settingthe dinner table, that Roberts and Alan Mason hadgone for a motor ride in the former’s car earlier inthe afternoon.

Trenholm’s restless walk drew him further andfurther from Betty’s room and when he finallypaused he found he was standing in front of theclosed door where Paul Abbott’s body had lain untilthe funeral. A hasty search in his pockets producedthe key of the room and a second later he wasinside it.

Trenholm took the pains to relock the door from[Pg 253]the inside and to hang his handkerchief securelyover the door knob, thereby obstructing Corbin’sview of the interior of the room. The caretaker hadwatched the sheriff from a respectful distance and,on seeing him enter and close the door, he had stolendown the hall and, first poking out the key in the lockwith a slender steel instrument, he applied his eyeto the keyhole, and saw nothing. With a gruntindicative of acute disappointment, Corbin slipped upto his living quarters in pursuit of his helpmate,Martha.

When Trenholm reappeared in the hall his facewas set and stern. He paused, after locking the dooragain and pocketing the key, to wipe tiny drops ofmoisture from his forehead. Were his theories entirelywrong? No, he would stake his reputationthat he was right, in spite of his last discovery.

“Mr. Trenholm!” Miriam touched him on thearm and aroused him from his abstraction, an abstractionso profound that he had never heard herapproach. “Miss Carter has revived and is restingquietly. I think it is safe to leave her.”

“Good!” Trenholm’s relief was unmistakable andsincere. “Where are you going?”

“Downstairs to see if Doctor Roberts has returned,”she said, as he walked with her. She looked[Pg 254]up at him impulsively. “Miss Carter is sufferinghorribly—”

“I thought you said that she was improving,”halting abruptly on the landing of the staircase.

“I mean mental agony. Mr. Trenholm, can’t youhelp her?”

“And you ask that?” The light in his eyes causedher to catch her breath sharply, then her heart racedon. “Come, you have never told me whom you thinkguilty of Paul’s murder?” He led the way into thesunparlor, where Anna had lighted two of the lampsbefore returning to the kitchen. Trenholm adjustedthe Holland shades and curtains before the windowsto his satisfaction, then sat down near Miriam.

She stared at him thoughtfully before speaking.“I learned only a few hours ago of the bloodstainedsheet,” she said, “and that Corbin was so treacherousas to let you infer—”

He interrupted her hastily. “My inferences ordeductions cleared you of any complicity in thecrime,” his clear, strong voice and charming smiledispelled her agonizing suspense. “I never doubtedyou, Miss Ward, never. Although the exigencies ofthe case may have led me to imply otherwise, I neverlost faith in your integrity—your honor—yoursplendid courage—”

“Ahem!”

[Pg 255]

Trenholm and Miriam, who had sat enthralleddrinking in his words and the message which hiseyes spoke more eloquently than human lips, bothlooked up to find Alexander Nash standing in thedoorway contemplating them.

“I drove over to see you, Trenholm, but that rascallyservant of yours refused to tell me where youwere to be found,” explained Nash. “I then droveto Upper Marlboro and the constable finally ‘allowed’you might be here. Such crass stupidity has cost mevaluable time!” And Nash, the usually polished,suave clergyman as known in Washington andToronto church circles, flung himself into a chairnear Miriam, his face like a thundercloud.

“Why the excitement?” asked Trenholm, regardinghim keenly.

“I have a confession to make.” Nash took outhis large silk handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.“No, don’t go, Miss Ward—this interview holds asmuch interest for you as it does for the sheriff. Itwas in his presence that I told you that I failed torecall certain incidents of Monday night—”

“Whereby you lied,” pointed out Miriam coolly,and noted with relish Nash’s apoplectic complexion.

“You use a harsh term, Miss Ward,” he objected.“My statement was, strictly speaking, an evasion—I[Pg 256]did not deny that the incidents took place—simplythat I did not recall them.”

“Oh, come to the point!” Trenholm’s tone wasnot complimentary, and Nash squirmed in his chair.

“Miss Carter and I were here on Monday night,”he began. “And I did perform the marriage service—unitingPaul and Betty in holy wedlock.”

Nash’s statement did not create the excitement hehad anticipated and he looked from one to the otherof his companions in intense surprise.

“Did you talk with Paul?” asked Trenholmquickly.

“No—not directly. Betty told him of my presence.I stood a little distance from the bed”—hecleared his throat. “Illness is upsetting to me.I—eh—have a peculiar dread of—eh—disease.Paul made the necessary responses—after he was—eh—dulyprompted.”

“I see!” Trenholm was watching the agitatedclergyman with disconcerting attention. “And whatwas your motive in denying your visit to Paul onMonday night?”

“Betty met me on my way here Tuesday afternoonand asked me not to tell of it”—Nash started upheatedly. “Why are you glaring at me in thatoffensive manner, Mr. Trenholm?”

[Pg 257]

“Is your first name Adam?” asked the sheriffdryly.

“No, Alexander,” with indignant emphasis. “Isee no occasion for levity, Mr. Trenholm. My wifeis devoted to her niece and so am I. I agreed tocarry out Betty’s wishes, blindly it may be, and perhapsfoolishly, but my motive was to protect hergood name.”

“Explain your meaning.” Trenholm was thoroughlyawake at last, and the clergyman could notcomplain of not creating a sensation.

“Betty received a special letter from Paul justbefore our departure from Toronto, telling of hisillness and begging her to hurry to him,” went onNash. “He feared that he might not recover anddesired her to marry him. Betty was frightfullyupset, and on our approach to Baltimore asked thatwe leave the train there and catch the last train outfor Upper Marlboro. We did so, and on reachingthere I secured a Buick touring car from the locallivery—” Trenholm nodded his head.

“I know that,” he said. “Get on with your story.”

Nash favored him with a frown. “I drove Bettyout here. We left the house, as Miss Ward knows,before Paul’s murder.” He paused to clear histhroat again. “I helped Betty into the back seat, as[Pg 258]the curtains were up and she was more protectedthere, and, as the starter did not work, spent somefew minutes cranking the car. Without addressingBetty again I headed the car for Washington and itwas not until we were nearly at Anacostia that I discoveredI was alone in the car.”

“What became of Miss Carter?” demanded Trenholm,as Nash came to a dramatic pause.

“I presume she left the car when I was stoopingover cranking it,” explained Nash. “She had arrangedthe heavy laprobes so that they gave theappearance of some one seated there.” Nash waitedfor comment from his companions, but none forthcoming,he added, a trifle pettishly, “Betty’s disappearancewas a great shock, but I continued on myway to Washington, wondering what I should do.Then came the news of Paul’s murder and I waspositively staggered. And to be greeted before Ireached Abbott’s Lodge with Betty’s piteous pleathat I say nothing of our visit here on Mondaynight—why, it threw me entirely off my feet. Forthe sake of Betty—for the fair name of my wife’sfamily—to save them from scandal—I kept silent.”

“And what has caused you to break that silence?”questioned Trenholm.

“Only to you,” in alarm, “and to Miss Ward.[Pg 259]I must ask you to pledge your word not to speak ofit outside.”

“And why have you told us?”

“Because you are investigating Paul’s murder andI feel that you should know all the facts of thecase.” Nash sighed. “I learned only this morningfrom a reliable source that Betty spent Monday nightwandering about Abbott’s Lodge and in the garage.She walked to Upper Marlboro in time to catch themilk train for Washington.”

“Who told you this, Doctor Nash?” asked Trenholmsternly. “I insist upon an answer.”

“Well, perhaps you should know—” somewhatdoubtfully. “Corbin.”

Trenholm sat back and contemplated the clergyman.“Corbin,” he repeated. “Thank you, DoctorNash,” as the latter rose. “How is your wife?”

“Not so well.” Nash’s face clouded over. “I amgoing to stop and see her now,” he said, and with apolite bow to Miriam, he left them.

Trenholm waited until he was sure Nash had hadtime to reach the second floor before addressingMiriam.

“You don’t admire our reverend friend?” heasked, noting with secret amusem*nt her wrathfulexpression.

“I think he is horrid!” she ejacul*ted. “So—so[Pg 260]slimy. And Mrs. Nash is so straightforward andabsolutely sincere.” Hastily she changed the subject.“How did that last code message read?”

Trenholm looked carefully around before answeringher, to be sure they were alone, then approachingclose to her side, whispered it in her ear.

“‘Watch thirteenth letter. Suicides grave.’”

“It sounds like gibberish,” she murmured. “Doyou still think it refers to the thirteenth letter of thealphabet?”

“I do,” firmly. “And quite appropriately so,” hewent on slowly, “when it commences such words asmorphine, murder, madness—”

“And Mason,” she completed, quietly. “But, Mr.Trenholm, it’s a poor rule that doesn’t work bothways—”

“What do you mean?” as she paused.

“Counting the alphabet from A to M is thirteen,”she said. “But counting from M to A the thirteenthletter is A.” She looked at him queerly. “AlexanderNash.”

“Why not Alan Mason—counting both ways hisinitials make the number thirteen?” Trenholmstuffed his hands into his pockets and gazed at hertall, shapely figure, her clear, olive skin, and her greatbeautiful eyes, and was conscious of an acceleratedpulse. He came a step closer. “I have learned that[Pg 261]Alan was on the troopship from Vladivostok withhis cousin Paul.”

She started and stared at him aghast. “I can’tbelieve Mr. Mason had a hand in the murder,” shedeclared vehemently. “Call it instinct—or what youwill—I believe absolutely that Mr. Abbott’s murderwas planned and carried out by Boris Zybinn, andI cannot forget that Alexander Nash was Zybinn’sneighbor in Toronto. Tell me,” she came closer tohis side, “has Doctor Nash a parish in Washington?”

“No—nor in Toronto.” Trenholm stroked hischin reflectively. “I understand that he was a manof considerable means before he married RepresentativeCarter’s daughter—and that in spite of the differencein their ages, it was a love match, pure andsimple. I think Paul told me that Doctor Nash hadretired from the ministry.”

“O-o-h!” Miriam’s exclamation was long-drawnout and Trenholm stared. She gave him no opportunityto question her further. “To go back to thecoded message,” she began, “have you thought thewords ‘suicides grave’ have any connection with theMason plot out yonder and the poor suicide—thatmakes the thirteenth grave—as you pointed out theother day, in that neglected family cemetery?”

[Pg 262]

Trenholm looked at her keenly. “Time will show,”he replied, and wondered at her disappointment.“Why do you ask?”

“I walked by the graveyard just now,” she saidhurriedly, “and was amazed to see—”

“Excuse me, Miss—Ma’am”—Martha’s complainingvoice caused Miriam to jump—startled bythe woman’s proximity. “Dinner will be ready in aminute. I’ve just telled the folks upstairs, andthought mebbe you’d like to know. There’s a coupleo’ boys outside inquirin’ for ye, Sheriff,” and, hermessage delivered, Martha took herself off.

Trenholm caught up with her before she reachedthe kitchen, and drew her to one side.

“Martha!” His low stern voice sent a shiver downthe woman’s back, and the pressure of his hand onher arm tightened. “When did this letter reach Mr.Paul?” and he held before her the thirteenth letter.“No lies, now. I want the truth.”

“Yes, sir,” Martha’s quavering tones did not belieher feelings. “Please, sir, that there letter with themqueer stamps come the morning Mr. Paul was killed,sir.”

“No go, Martha,” Trenholm shook her slightly.“The postmark shows this letter should have reachedUpper Marlboro last week.”

[Pg 263]

“I ain’t sayin’ it didn’t,” she whined. “But bymistake it was put in Anna’s father’s box by thecarrier; an’ havin’ sickness in the family, Anna onlybrought it up on Monday mornin’. I took it fromher, sir, and went right up to the room where Mr.Paul was talkin’ to Mr. Alan—an’ laid it on thetable.”

“Mr. Alan!” Trenholm strove to keep his voicelowered. “Was he here then?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Paul sent for him,” she lookedup craftily. “He stayed ’round most of the dayuntil ’bout time the doctor was to come, and thenhe cleared out.” She raised herself on tiptoe andwhispered as he bent down to hear her better. “Corbinwa’n’t here then. He’d kill me if he knew Iwas keepin’ anythin’ from him. But Mr. Alan,”her voice held unexpected, unmistakable pathos,“years back, he beat Corbin for mishandlin’ me, andI ain’t never forgot how good he was.”

“Hush!” Trenholm took out his handkerchief andhanded it to her. “Dry your eyes, Martha; and saynothing about Mr. Alan or this letter”—returningit to his pocket. “Remember I trust you.”

Martha drew a long, long breath. Trenholm wastreating her like a human being. Gratitude, mingledwith a return of self-respect, caused her to raise hishand to her lips, then, in frantic bashfulness, she[Pg 264]slipped back into the dining room, upsetting Annain her hurried entrance.

Trenholm paused in deep thought, then, goingthrough the side door, joined the three deputies whowere anxiously awaiting him. His concise directionswere listened to with the respect which Trenholminspired among those who worked with and for him.

“You understand,” he said finally, and the mennodded as they stood grouped about him. “Riley,go to the telegraph office and await the answers tothe messages I have sent and bring them to me.Do not permit them to telephone any message to me;there is too much danger of ‘listening in.’ Now, beoff,” and Trenholm again entered Abbott’s Lodge,but by the front door.

Trenholm’s entrance went unnoticed by DoctorRoberts and Alan Mason, who were chatting withMiriam, while Alexander Nash stood moodily contemplatingthe blazing logs on the hearth at thefurther end of the living room, deaf alike to hiscompanions and Anna’s announcement that dinnerwas served.

With old-fashioned courtesy, Roberts offered hisarm to Miriam, then paused abruptly as footstepson the staircase caused him to glance upward.

“God bless my soul!” he ejacul*ted in completesurprise.

[Pg 265]

Coming down the staircase, with the assistance ofa flurried Somers, was Mrs. Nash. She had donneda pretty negligée, and the excitement and her exertionscombined had brought the color to her face.Miriam hastened to Somers’ assistance and Robertswas immediately behind her.

“This is most imprudent, Mrs. Nash!” he exclaimedsternly. “In your condition—”

“Poof!” Mrs. Nash snapped her fingers. “I amgetting on famously. Don’t be pessimistic, Doctor;instead, you should congratulate me upon my recovery.Thank you, my dear,” as Miriam helpedher toward the dining room. “Come here, Alexander,and give me your arm.”

At sound of her voice, the clergyman wheeledaround and stepped backward with such suddennessthat he walked on the fire tongs and fender.

“Dora—here! Have you taken leave of yoursenses?” he demanded.

“I seem the only one to have retained my senses,”she retorted tartly. “Miss Ward, you were alwaysassuring me I was not very ill, but judging fromDoctor Roberts’ conduct and my husband’s, theymust have thought me at the point of death.”

Nash collected his scattered wits and came forward.“I suppose you will have your way, thoughthe skies fall,” he said resignedly. “But I should[Pg 266]have thought, my dear, that poor Zybinn’s suddendeath through imprudent neglect of his health wouldhave warned you to be careful.”

What rejoinder Mrs. Nash made was lost byTrenholm, who had stood out of sight behind thegrandfather clock watching the scene. He waiteduntil, judging from the sounds that came from theother room, they were seated around the dinner table,and then, taking care to make no noise, he ranlightly up the staircase and darted into Mrs. Nash’sbedroom.

Before going to her supper, Somers had airedthe room and remade the bed, and Trenholm’s electrictorch showed everything in order. First convincinghimself that he was the only person in thebedroom, he went over to the wall and taking fromhis pocket the pen and ink drawing which he hadcarried away almost under Mrs. Nash’s nose, hehung it back in its place.

Trenholm laid down his torch on a convenientchair and drew out the thirteenth letter. He hadinserted a little paste under the flap before leavinghis bungalow, and to all intents and purposes theenvelope looked as if it never had been opened.Holding it in his hand, he scanned the bedroomeagerly and spied a dustpan and brush which Somershad carelessly forgotten and left standing by the[Pg 267]bureau. Trenholm slipped over to it and laid theenvelope on the small pile of trash in the pan. Whenhe had arranged it to his liking, the envelope lookedas if it had been brushed up with the rest of thetrash, but the Canadian stamps were plainly in view.

Trenholm stood up and, taking his torch withhim, tiptoed to the hall door which he had left openas he had found it. A glance outside showed thatthe hall was empty. Looking about the bedroom,Trenholm noticed a screen which Somers hadbrought into the bedroom and stood between Mrs.Nash and an open window. It would make an excellenthiding place. Like a flash he was behind it.From where he crouched, he had an excellent viewof the open door and the entire bedroom. Trenholmdrew a long breath—the stage was set, and he hadstaked all on the fall of the dice!

Half an hour passed and he was commencing toworry when a light footfall came down the hall andhe heard Betty Carter exclaim at sight of the darkenedroom.

“Somers!” she called, very softly. Getting no reply,she peered into the room and then very cautiouslycame inside it. A startled exclamation,quickly suppressed, escaped her at sight of the emptybed, and she drew back and glanced hastily overher shoulder. Gathering courage from the continued[Pg 268]stillness, she went over to the bureau andfumbled in one of the drawers. Something fell fromher hand—from Trenholm’s position he could notsee what, and he dared not move—and she struck amatch. Shielding it in her hand, she stooped over.She remained so long in that position that Trenholmgrew alarmed; then, with a swiftness andstealth which left him breathless, she was gone.

Had Betty taken the thirteenth letter? Trenholmwas on edge, but, before he dared venture out, anotherfigure stood in the doorway, and by the lightfrom the hall lamp, he recognized Miriam. Withouthesitation she went at once to the bureau andopening the second drawer took out one of Mrs.Nash’s scarfs. Would she see the envelope and,thinking it had accidentally fallen in the dustpan,pick it up? Or was it not there for her to pick up?Trenholm heaved a sigh of thankfulness when Miriamturned and went into the hall.

A stealthy step inside the bedroom a few secondslater caused Trenholm again to draw back into theshelter of the screen in time to miss being seen byCorbin. The caretaker had advanced only a fewpaces when a hand was laid on his shoulder and hewas jerked back.

“Sacré Dieu! What do you in my mistress’bedroom, cochon?” hissed Pierre in his ear. What[Pg 269]answer the terrified man would have made waschecked by Alexander Nash’s voice in the hall.

“Pierre, bring the car around!” Nash failed tosee the two men, chauffeur and caretaker, steal outof his wife’s doorway, for he turned at the momentto address Alan Mason—only to find that the youngman had disappeared. Nash hesitated for a fractionof a second, then tiptoed down the hall.

Trenholm’s sensitive ears caught the creak of afloor board, and the faint “seep—seep” of somethingbeing dragged across the floor. A flood of lightfrom an electric torch half blinded him, accustomedto the almost total darkness of the room, and herubbed his eyes to clear his vision, just as the lightwas focused full upon the dustpan. The thirteenthletter stood out in bold relief. The light was dimmedinstantly and again Trenholm caught the sound ofsomething creeping across the floor.

The light flared up again with unexpected swiftnessand Trenholm saw a shapeless figure, its headand shoulders enveloped in some black garment,squatting over the dustpan. The torch lay at restby it, and Trenholm had a glimpse of long, slenderfingers holding the letter as he crept from behindthe screen and as noiseless as the shadows abouthim, reached the kneeling figure. The stamped envelope[Pg 270]was held in one hand and in the other was aperforation gauge—

With lightning swiftness Trenholm snapped thehandcuffs on the two upraised wrists. With a sweepof his arm, he drew back the black, shroudlike garment,as he cried:

“In the name of the law I arrest you for themurder of Paul Abbott”—Trenholm’s voice diedaway at sight of the distorted, ghastly face confrontinghim, then rose in horror—“Doctor Roberts.”

Betty Carter, too unhappy to keep toher room, where she had found bed intolerableafter recovering from her faint, wasthe first to hear Roberts’ frantic cries for mercy asTrenholm got him upon his feet and half dragged,half lifted his prisoner into a chair. She stoodaghast in the doorway of Mrs. Nash’s bedroom untilpushed further inside by Alan Mason and DoctorNash, who had paused to pick up a lighted lampand carried it with him. Mrs. Nash, leaning heavilyon Miriam’s arm, was likewise not slow in reachingher room, while Martha was only restrained fromracing upstairs also by a terrified Anna, whose detainingclutch she could not loosen.

“Good God!” Alan dashed to Trenholm’s side asRoberts, his paroxysm over, sank weakly back in hischair and covered his face with his manacled hands.“What is the meaning of this, Guy?”

“Doctor Roberts murdered Paul Abbott,” statedTrenholm, and his announcement created a profoundsensation.

Mrs. Nash dropped into the nearest seat, for once[Pg 272]bereft of speech, while Alan, his face transfigured,stumbled over to Betty, and kneeling, pressed herhand to his lips.

“Betty, my darling!” he exclaimed incoherently.“I knew that you were here on Monday night, andthen you denied your visit. Corbin told me thatyou had bribed him into giving up your bloodstainedscarf. God forgive me! I was afraid that you hadkilled Paul.”

“Do not reproach yourself too much,” she said,and her soft, clear voice held its old accustomedthrill. Unmindful of the presence of the others, shedrew him to his feet and his arms encircled her.“I did you a greater wrong, Alan, when I marriedPaul, while my heart was given to you.”

“But you did not marry Paul—you married me,”declared Alan, and but for his supporting arm Bettywould have fallen.

“You—she married you!” Mrs. Nash was gettingher fill of excitement. With eyes half starting fromher head, she gazed at her niece and Alan. “You—Alan”—whileher husband feebly echoed her words.

“Yes”—facing their concentrated regard withhead thrown back, his face alight with hope andlove, Alan’s voice rang out clearly. “Paul sent forme and I spent Monday morning with him. Justbefore I left came your telegram, Betty, saying that[Pg 273]you and Nash were on your way here and that youwould marry him. It was a frightful shock, andfor hours I wandered about the countryside, keepingout of people’s way. I determined to see Paul againand tell him of my passionate love for you, Betty—” hesighed. “I must have been a bit mad—”

Betty pressed his hand. “Go on,” she begged;“don’t stop.”

“I reached here after midnight and knocked onthe side door, but could not arouse Corbin,” continuedAlan. “Paul and I had often entered thehouse in the old days when he had forgotten hisdoorkey, by climbing up to the veranda roof andentering a window of his room. As I reached hiswindow, which was conveniently open, I heard thefront door bell ring loudly. I judged it was Bettyarriving with Doctor Nash and, pausing to take offmy muddy shoes and overcoat, I left them outsideon the roof, and then dropped inside the bedroomand rushed over to speak to Paul. The bed wasempty.”

“Great heavens!” Miriam stared, astounded, atAlan. “Where was Mr. Abbott?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Alan. “At the time Isupposed he was out in the hall, as I could hearvoices. When they came closer I climbed into theempty bed, to avoid being seen, and pulled the bedclothes[Pg 274]up over me. I couldn’t face Betty and Paulin their, what I supposed to be, hour of happiness.I was horrified when Betty and Nash came directlyinto the bedroom, and I suddenly realized that theytook me for Paul.”

“Were you wearing a false beard?” asked Trenholm.

“No, not a false one. I had let my beard growfor the past two weeks,” explained Alan, “and shavedit off on Tuesday morning. To go back to thescene in the bedroom—the lamp had gone out, andexcept for the firelight the room was dark, and Iprayed that Betty would leave without recognizingme. Before I could collect my senses, Doctor Nashread the marriage service—”

“And you made the responses?”

“Yes; the doctor prompted me.” Alan flushedhotly, then paled. “I think I was mad that night.My voice is like Paul’s.”

“It was your greatest point of resemblance,” commentedTrenholm, “and the recollection of it finallygave me the key to the situation.”

Alan turned to Miriam and spoke with honestcontrition. “I didn’t know that Paul had a nurse,”he said. “You weren’t here in the morning. I wasstill lying in Paul’s bed, trying dazedly to plan something—anything—whenI heard some one return and[Pg 275]walk swiftly to the bed. I heard your outcry andthe sound of your fall, and,” in shame-faced honesty,“I bolted out of the window, gathered up myhat, coat and shoes, and fled.”

“Just a moment,” broke in Trenholm. “Howabout the ring you gave Miss Carter?”

Alan eyed him in surprise. “Oh, the ring?” heechoed. “Paul gave it to me Monday morning—thatwas why I happened to have it about me.”

“And why did Paul give you a ring which hevalued with almost superstitious fervor?” inquiredTrenholm.

“It wasn’t his original ring, but an exact replicawhich, Paul told me on Monday, he had had madefor me. The original ring was a gold coin of theFirst century of the Christian era and belonged tomy grandfather, another Alan Mason—”

“The suicide?”

Alan winced slightly as he bowed. “I don’t knowPaul’s motive in having the ring copied for me—heoften did freakish, unaccountable things.”

His remarks were checked by an exclamation fromRoberts, who had regained some semblance of self-controlwhile listening to Alan.

“There was no accounting for what Paul woulddo,” he stated, and all eyes turned to him, partlyin curiosity, but more in unconcealed horror. “I may[Pg 276]as well make my confession now as later,” he sighed.“After I left Abbott’s Lodge I motored to UpperMarlboro, deciding, as it was such a bad night, thatI would remain at the hotel. It was before midnightwhen Corbin came in and told me that a letterhad come that day from Canada from Zybinn andthat he had taken it, with other papers, to the roomPaul used as a sitting room. I gave Corbin hiscustomary bribe—”

“Cocaine,” interposed Miriam quickly, and Robertsnodded.

“I took Corbin’s key to the front door,” he wenton, speaking with more of an effort, “and came backto find the letter which,” turning with a scowl toTrenholm, “with your infernal astuteness, you divinedbore a stamp code. You planted that letterand this trap—”

“I did,” admitted Trenholm quietly. “I realizedthat the thirteenth letter had not been read eitherby Paul or the person for whom the code was intended.Knowing that attempts had been made tosteal something from this room, I judged that theletter had been lost here, and so”—with a quietsmile at Mrs. Nash—“I arranged to have the roomvacated for an hour or two. I knew whoever wouldattempt to steal that letter had killed Paul.”

“But why?” demanded Doctor Nash.

[Pg 277]

“Because the stamp code tells where Paul hadsecreted the Paltoff diamond.”

“It does!” Roberts was on his feet; his featuresdistorted. “Good God! to think that I failed byso short a margin.”

“Sit down!” directed Trenholm, with a significantpressure on the physician’s shoulder. “Whatdid you do, Roberts, when you reached Abbott’sLodge on Monday night?”

“I stole softly up here.” Roberts moistened hisparched lips. “I found the letter which Corbin hadplaced on the table and took up the nut pick, intendingto open the envelope, take out the letter andleave it, and study the stamp code at my leisure atthe hotel. A noise at my elbow caused me to glancearound—Paul was standing at my side.”

“Well—what next?” prompted Trenholm, as Robertsceased speaking.

“My face must have betrayed me,” he continued,a second later. “Paul’s unexpected appearanceshocked me out of my self-control. He turned, Isuppose to call for help, and I drove the nut pickinto his back.”

There was a pause which none cared to break.Roberts wiped some perspiration from his foreheadand then spoke more rapidly.

“I stood gazing down at the dead man, for I[Pg 278]had turned out the lamp which I had lighted onlya second before, and waited in the dark, my brainwhirling. Paul had left the door partly open andI not only heard but saw Betty and Nash and MissWard enter Paul’s bedroom. Every instant I expectedto hear an outcry when they discovered Paulwas not in the bed. The suspense was somethingfrightful”—his voice shook, and he steadied it withan effort. “Peering out from behind the door I sawNash and Betty leave, and Miss Ward return toPaul’s bedroom. There followed a slight cry, aheavy fall, and then silence. I waited for a secondor two, then crept across the hall and into the bedroom.Miss Ward was lying in a faint on the floor,and Paul’s bed was empty.”

“So, fearing she would revive too soon, youchloroformed her and carried Paul’s dead body intothe room and put it into his bed,” completed Trenholm,as Roberts broke down, unable to go on.“How did you lose the letter?”

“I don’t know—it is the one confused incidentof the night,” replied Roberts, after some hesitation.“The letter must have flown out of my hand as Istruck at Paul.” Roberts sighed heavily. “It happenedthat Paul fell on some soiled sheets whichMartha had thrown on the floor, intending to takeaway the next morning. I used the sheets and a[Pg 279]woman’s scarf to staunch the flow of blood andgave them, with my driving gloves, which I hadnot removed, to Corbin to destroy. There was nothingto indicate that Paul had been in this bedroom,nothing to link me with the crime.” Roberts sighedagain. “Then an overwhelming terror and an unspeakablehorror of what I had done drove me out ofthe house and I did not come again into this bedroomto make a search for the letter. The nextmorning Alan and Trenholm and the coroner gaveme no time alone, and then came Mrs. Nash andshe was put in here—and with her awake in the daytimeand Miss Ward on duty at night”—Roberts’gesture was eloquent as he looked at Trenholm.“Well, you beat me. But I’d like to know whereyou found the letter and how you discovered thecode.”

“Miss Ward did both,” replied Trenholm as theylooked at him. “She found the letter in that chair,”pointing to it, “tucked under the upholstery and theseat cushion where it evidently had fallen; and shesuspected that a code was concealed in the peculiaruse of five one-cent Canadian stamps, in place of theregular three-cent postage, on thirteen letters. Wedeciphered the code—and this message:—”

“Well?” questioned Roberts eagerly, as he paused.“What?”

[Pg 280]

“‘Watch thirteenth letter suicides grave,’” repeatedTrenholm, and his listeners gazed at himblankly. Turning abruptly to Betty, he addressedher. “Did you take some photographs of this housea little while ago, and one of this room?”

“Why, yes,” she exclaimed. “Just before I wentto Canada, and Mr. Zybinn developed the negativesfor me. He was a paralytic, and while unable towalk, dabbled in photography. He had some enlargementsmade of my kodak films.”

“And one of this room?” quickly.

“Yes. He said it was a remarkably good interiorand made me describe all the objects in it—”

“Especially this”—going over to the wall, Trenholmtook down a picture and held it in plain view.He stopped as the constable and Riley came intothe bedroom, the latter with a sheaf of telegramsin his hand. “Ah, Constable, you are just in time—thispicture was made by Paul’s mother, who was anartist of some ability. She modeled it after thosequaint Swiss paintings of a cemetery with a churchin the background, in which a real clock was put inthe tower. In this picture of the Masons’ neglectedburying ground, Mrs. Abbott etched in the backgrounda church tower and placed in the tower thisantique watch.”

Trenholm turned the picture around and pointed[Pg 281]to a watch, a tiny affair, which was firmly held inthe canvas by a clever contrivance. He drew outthe watch with a careful hand, the others watchinghim breathlessly.

“The first word of the code is ‘watch.’ Here itis,” Trenholm held up the antique watch. “Thenext two words, ‘thirteenth letter,’ which is ‘M’, youwill find is the initial engraved on the back of thewatch; and the last two words, ‘suicide’s grave,’exemplified by this picture of Colonel Mason’sgrave.” Trenholm turned to Betty and asked: “Didyou not tell Zybinn that you chanced to see Paulremove the works from this watch?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Zybinn asked me if thewatch was too old to keep accurate time and I toldhim Paul had taken it apart.”

“So that was it,” and Trenholm nodded. “Paulremoved the works from the watch because he evidentlyjudged it to be an admirable hiding placefor—”

“The Paltoff diamond!” shouted Roberts.

For answer Trenholm opened the watch. Insidethe round hollow lay a wad of cotton—and on topof it the lost jewel.

They gathered about the table, even Roberts, forgetfulfor a brief second that he was handcuffed,[Pg 282]and gazed at the beautiful gem, dazzled by its lusterand purity.

Trenholm was the first to speak. “Paul knew littlerest after the Paltoff diamond was intrusted to hiscare. He was constantly haunted by a morbid fearof losing it or of being robbed of it, so that hecould never be induced to exhibit it.”

“He showed it to Betty and to me,” declared Mrs.Nash, breaking her long silence. “And swore us toabsolute secrecy. I greatly feared,” she added, “thatBetty was in some way mixed up in the tragedyand my husband’s extraordinary denial of their presencehere on Monday, when Pierre had brought meBetty’s telegram to Paul, fed my imagination—and—and—Idropped that note to you, Mr. Trenholm,and—” not meeting her husband’s reproachfulglance, but looking instead at Miriam—“I took surreptitiousdoses of phenacetin and accidentally overdidit and nearly killed myself, but,” with a returnof her old arrogant air, “I was determined to findout what was going on in this house, whatever theconsequences.”

“I see,” Trenholm concealed a smile, and thengrew grave. “The usual ill-luck, apparently inseparablefrom the possession of great diamonds, hasovertaken Paul,” he said sorrowfully. “He remainedtrue to his trust and never parted with the jewel.[Pg 283]Miss Ward,” with an abruptness which startled herfrom her study of Roberts, whose eyes had neverleft the diamond, “your uncle, M. Paltoff, gave thegem to Paul—they are both dead—what do you wishdone with it?”

She could not prevent a shudder. “I cannot takeit,” she protested. “Can you not turn it over to theDepartment of State and let the Government decideas to its disposition?”

“An excellent suggestion.” Trenholm, after replacingthe diamond in its hiding place, secreted thewatch carefully in an inside pocket. “Stand back,Roberts,” as the physician made an effort to wrenchit from him. “You will go with the constable andRiley, but first,” his voice deepened, “how was itthat you, supposedly a reputable physician and a manof honor, joined Zybinn in his endeavor to steal thePaltoff diamond?”

Roberts turned sullenly, the veneer gone; and acriminal, crafty and sinister-eyed, faced them.

“I am a drug addict,” he admitted. “I becameso two years ago after a nervous breakdown. I wasship’s surgeon on the transport with Paul. He sentfor me and I removed the diamond from the woundin his leg. I was straight then. My practice hadfallen off; I was, in fact, a ruined man when, on avisit to Doctor Nash, I met Zybinn. He wormed[Pg 284]Paul’s secret out of me, and promised, if I wouldsteal the jewel, to give me half the value of thediamond. I knew he had money, for he had depositeda large fortune in a bank in Toronto beforefleeing from Russia after a quarrel with Lenin.Zybinn pointed out that the diamond was too celebratedto be negotiable in the usual channels, andthat, cut into smaller stones, it would lose most of itsvalue, and so I agreed to his terms.”

“And why the stamp code?” asked Trenholm, asRoberts came to an abrupt halt.

“Doctor Nash had employed me to travel withPaul and keep him under observation, and it wasthought wiser for Zybinn not to communicate directlywith me,” Roberts turned to Miriam. “A glassof water, please.” Riley got it for him, beforeMiriam could move, from the pitcher placed for Mrs.Nash’s use on the bedstand.

Roberts looked over at Betty, a malignant grindistorting his face.

“Zybinn used you as a cat’s paw,” he said.“Through you he gained an intimate knowledge ofPaul’s habits, his mode of life, and, using his remarkablepowers of deduction, twice located thehiding place of the diamond—in each instance toolate, for Paul’s capricious habits, his secretiveness,yes,” with grudging admiration, “his cleverness[Pg 285]balked us. And so did you,” wheeling on Mrs. Nashwith a suddenness which made her jump. “I triedto secure the thirteenth letter on Tuesday night, butMartha detected me, and last night you pulled offmy disguise.”

“Why did you risk discovery?” asked Mrs. Nash.“Why not have telegraphed to Zybinn for the messageon his last letter?”

“I telephoned from Washington on Tuesday andwas told he had died from apoplexy on Mondayafternoon—his third stroke,” added Roberts. “Thatmessage on his letter to Paul was Zybinn’s last wordto me. He thought I was still here at Abbott’sLodge.”

“Just a moment,” broke in Trenholm. “Why didZybinn use the words ‘thirteenth letter’ to designatethe initial ‘M’ on the back of the watch?”

“Because in devising our code we failed to makeprovision for indicating an initial, expecting neverto use one.” Roberts chafed one cold hand over theother. “Had I decoded Zybinn’s last message, I’dhave gotten his meaning, however, for that littlesketch is the only painting by Paul’s mother on thepremises and always cherished by her son. Heinvariably spoke of the sketch as ‘The Suicide’sGrave.’”

[Pg 286]

“I told Zybinn that,” admitted Betty. “Greatheavens! how I played into his hands—”

“Just so!” agreed Roberts with sneering emphasis.He straightened up, swayed slightly and recoveredhis balance with an effort. “Come,” addressingTrenholm, “I can stand no more.”

The constable was by his side and Riley at hisheels instantly. “We’ll take him to Upper Marlboro,sir,” the former stated, and at a nod fromTrenholm, Roberts, with eyes averted from hisformer friends, left the room, the black shroudlikecloth still thrown about his shoulders—typical in itsvague outlines of the shadowed and complex natureof the man.

Mrs. Nash’s overcharged feelings found relief intears. “There,” she exclaimed, as her distracted husbandheld a glass of water and Miriam the smellingsalts. “I’ll be myself in a minute. Betty, come andtell me why you remained here, instead of returningto Washington with your uncle, and why you liedabout your visit to Paul.”

Betty cleared her throat. “You were partly responsible—”

“I?” her aunt regarded her in astonishment.

“Yes. After leaving the house I remembered mypromise to Uncle Alexander to telephone you why[Pg 287]we were detained, and while he was cranking thecar, I jumped out and rang the bell. No one cameand I waited and rang again. Looking around Isaw that Uncle had driven off. I tried to overtakehim and failed, so spent the night here in Paul’sgarage, the door being unlocked. Martha found methere in the morning and gave me some breakfast.She told me Paul had been murdered. It was afrightful shock!” Betty drew in her breath. “AndI lost my head and ran away; and, to make badmatters worse, denied my visit here.” She turnedimpulsively to Alan.

“You will never know the suffering I have enduredsince Monday,” she said, and her voice quiveredwith emotion. She read his expression, and a lookof hope, of joy, flashed up in her face. “Am I forgiven?”

Alan’s arms were around her, his lips against hers.“You are loved,” he whispered. “Does not that coverall?” and he led her from the room.

Martha intercepted Miriam as she was on herway to her own room an hour later.

“He’s waiting downstairs,” she said, pointing inthe direction of the living room.

“He?—Who?”

“Mr. Trenholm.” And Martha who, since Corbin’s[Pg 288]arrest for complicity in Paul’s murder and forhaving narcotics concealed in his cache in the suicide’sgrave, had kept carefully hidden in the kitchencloset, stole softly to bed.

Trenholm dropped the paper he was reading asMiriam paused in front of him, and sprang to hisfeet.

“I hoped that you would come,” he said. “Bettyand Alan are in the sunparlor. In our talk theyhave cleared up the last threads of the mystery. Itseems that Betty’s telegram to Paul was telephonedout from Upper Marlboro and Alan wrote it downon a slip of paper and gave it to him. It was tosecure that paper, Betty thinking it a regular telegraphblank, that they both tried to search this houseand my bungalow.”

“Mr. Abbott had a paper in his hand when hetold me that Miss Carter would be here,” broke inMiriam.

“Ah, then he must have carried it with him intothe sitting room, and dropped it on the way there,”replied Trenholm. “Pierre found it and took it toMrs. Nash.”

A ghost of a smile hovered about Miriam’s lips.“I cannot help but like Mrs. Nash,” she confessed,then changed the subject swiftly. “What took Mr.[Pg 289]Abbott into the sitting room when I went downstairsto admit Miss Carter and Doctor Nash?”

Trenholm shook his head. “We will never know,but I imagine it was some sixth sense which warnedhim of danger to the diamond—the gem seemed toexert a remarkable influence over him. Poor Paul!”Trenholm sighed. “His extraordinary will-powertriumphed over physical disability and gave himstrength to reach the sitting room.”

Miriam’s eyes filled with tears. “I cannot shakeoff a sense of responsibility for the tragedy—”

“Nonsense!” Trenholm spoke with the vehemencecharacteristic of him. “Never think that.”

Miriam’s smile did not dispel the shadow whichsaddened her expression.

“It is good-by, Mr. Trenholm,” she said, holdingout her hand. “I leave for Washington early to-morrow.”

Trenholm’s hand closed over hers with a pressurethat hurt.

“Good-by,” he repeated mechanically. “No, Ican’t let you go out of my life; for you have becomeall in all to me.” As he met the gaze of her lovelyeyes, his set speech, which he had rehearsed againand again while waiting to see her, flew out of hismind.

[Pg 290]

“Miriam, I have only love to offer—” His clearvoice faltered. For a second they gazed steadfastlyat each other, and the old, old story which nevergrows old was told again as Trenholm claspedMiriam to his heart and her lips met his inunconditional surrender.

THE END

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