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"Because Maurice was an unusually heavy man," replied the major, "and he could not have been carried off--that is, his body could not have been carried off," he corrected, with a sigh, "unless by two men. There may have been three, for all I know. But what is the meaning of it all?" cried Jen, in bewildered dismay. "Why was the poor lad's body stolen?" "Wrong, missy. I no wish dat man." "H'm! This is all building on sand," said Jen, doubtfully. "Even to drug him, these men must have entered by the window.".

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But I sobbed some more. I like him when his eyes come out from under his bushy brows and are all tender and full of sorry for us. Toward the morning Jen slept for an hour or so, and when he rose and had taken his bath he felt much refreshed, and ready to face Etwald at this final interview. At eleven o'clock Mrs. Dallas arrived with Isabella, the latter looking wan and ill. Even had the major not promised to be silent, he could not have brought himself to tell the poor girl the truth at that moment. After all, she was perfectly innocent, and had committed the crime unwittingly. Dido was the culprit, not Isabella; and the major felt a profound pity for the miserable girl, who had been made a tool of by the unscrupulous negress and the evil-minded Etwald. Griffin nodded. "Tabby March, you know. The young woman who paints pussies. Used to go here three years ago, before she'd arrived. She was a wild one, I can tell you." "I do," replied Jen, decisively. "But the evidence--ah, the evidence. Well," he added, after a pause, "I have something to go on, in this refilled devil-stick, and the saturated handkerchief.".