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"Sure thing," supplemented Griffin genially. "I'm in it now, and if you'd put it off, I'd been in Kalamazoo or Madagascar, and missed it all." "Certainly I do. I believe she killed Maurice; but the evidence is as yet too slight upon which to accuse her. If I thought that she--" here the major checked himself and resumed in an altered tone--"but I must think of these things later on. In the meantime I must conclude my examination of this man." "You must be, if you know who killed Maurice, yet refuse to confess," retorted Jen, with some heat. "Will you tell me the truth? I ask you for the last time.".
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"That I shall certainly do," said Maurice, for he was resolved to learn all he could about this strange man, so that he could protect Isabella from his arts. It struck his sense of smell with the belief that he had smelt it before. Nothing is so strong to awaken memory as odor, and in less than half a minute the mind of the major leaped back to where he had smelt it before. It was the perfume of the dried poison of the devil-stick. Patricia, promising to give Doris' messages to Elinor and the rest, hurried off, leaving the drawing-room windows once more blank and impassive. She ran into the studio as Griffin was rising to go, with her umbrella, reclaimed from the stand, still dripping slow occasional drops unheeded on the polished floor. There was a general murmur of surprise and a following rustle of gratification..
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