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Dinner was long over, Judith's lessons done and bed-time come, when at last Patricia hurried down to the long parlor where Doris sat in the dim light. "That word again!" cried Maurice, in a puzzled voice. "Dido used it when we met Etwald; she repeated it to me before I left. Voodoo! Voodoo! What does it mean, Uncle Jen?" "Supper—slice of toast and an apple." Why the apple? Why supper at all?.

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Bruce roared with laughter. "My dear Dragon!" he cried, "don't you be afraid of your precious charges. Grantly hasn't any time to waste on young 'uns like Miss Pat. He's working, I tell you, and he doesn't like young ladies, anyway. Her only chance would be to overhear him spouting to me, which if she's discreet she may occasionally be able to do." "Is that the grand surprise you meant, Bruce Haydon? Sure you aren't fooling us? Oh, you are! You've got something else—I know it by your eyes. You look awfully guilty." "Upon my word, David," said Jen, seeing that Maurice could hardly speak for rage, "you go too far. The girl loves Maurice and not you; and it would be much more honorable for you not to press your suit." This discovery at once irritated, amazed and perplexed the major. That the handkerchief of Mrs. Dallas should be bound around the head of Jaggard was strange, but that it should be perfumed with the deadly scent which impregnated the devil-stick was stranger still. Had Mrs. Dallas found the wand of sleep? Had Mrs. Dallas perfumed the handkerchief with its cruel poison? Had Mrs. Dallas drugged or stupefied Jaggard on that fatal night by means of that saturated handkerchief? These were the vital questions which presented themselves to the puzzled major, and which he found himself unable to answer..