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Mrs. Dallas fell back on the sofa, with a white face. Dido laughed in a guttural fashion, and shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.,

"Yes; but he professes his inability to explain it. He thinks the man was stunned and not drugged. I think, on the grounds I have explained, that he was first drugged and then stunned.",

To learn the truth, he thought it advisable to call at "The Wigwam" and interrogate Dido. With the evidence of Jaggard to go on, the major felt satisfied that he could by threatening her with arrest, force her into confessing the whole nefarious plot. Who had thieved the devil-stick? Who had slain Maurice? Who had stolen the body? Undoubtedly, Etwald was the villain who was guilty of all three crimes, and the evidence of Dido would be sufficient to convict him of the deeds.,

Outside, the peaceful landscape was filled with a warm amber light, and this poured into the oak-paneled dining-room through three French windows which opened onto a close-shaven lawn. Dinner was at an end; Jaggard, the major's valet, butler and general factotum, had placed the wines before his master, and was now handing around cigars and cigarettes. All being concluded to his satisfaction--no easy attainment, for Jaggard, trained in military fashion, was very precise--he departed, closing the door after him. The warm light of the evening flashed on the polished table--Major Jen was sufficiently old-fashioned to have the cloth removed for desert--and lighted up the four faces around it with pale splendor. This quartette of countenances is not unworthy of a detailed description.

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"The horrid things!" murmured Patricia to herself, with her wrath beginning to rise. "I'd pinch their noses for them if they made me kiss them! Elinor's too gentle with them. I wonder why she doesn't pull the string? She could reach it easily now.",

"Who was it, do you know, Griffin?" she inquired in a lowered tone.,

Patricia smiled and opened her lips, but the words died away, as Bruce, now with a gayety that bespoke a different sort of announcement, mounted the model stand in the middle of the room, and rapped loudly for attention. Miss Jinny had vainly tried to grab his sleeve as he slipped past her and now stood with an expression of grim martyrdom glaring at Mr. Spicer, who was smiling at her openly and, Patricia thought, heartlessly.,

She followed Elinor into the larger room where a feeble daylight, filtering in through heavily grated basement windows, struggled with the flaring gas jets, and the odor of cocoa and bread and butter mingled with sachet and the fumes of turpentine and paint.