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"Don't women know, John?" I managed to ask softly in memory of a like question he had put to me across that bread and jam with the rose a-listening from the dark. Dido opened her clenched fist. The Voodoo stone lay in the palm of her hand. "If I thought that--. But," added Jen, breaking off, "how did you know that David was in London?".
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"Maurice! Maurice! Where is he?" she cried, leaving the major and rushing toward the empty bed. "You said he was here--my poor dead love; but I can't see him. Where is he? Where is he?" In the bright moonlight he carefully examined the body, but could find no trace of any wound, until he came to the right hand. Here, in the palm, he saw a ragged rent clotted with blood, but it was a mere scratch not likely to have caused death, unless poison were--. Here Major Jen uttered an oath, and rose to his feet with a new and terrible idea in his brain. Patricia gave her arm a quick squeeze. "If we weren't on a public platform, I'd kiss you for that, Elinor Kendall," she said, ardently. "You make things so comfortable for me." "And I also. Both my boys are dead, one by the hand of the other, and that other by his own hand. It is you and your daughter and Dido who have brought about these things. Go to Barbadoes, Mrs. Dallas, by all means. You and yours have done quite sufficient mischief in England.".
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