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"A mistake that under the present dispensation of things might prove awkward for me," said Etwald. "I was no friend to the dead man; I did not like him, nor he me. We both loved the same woman--we were rivals. What then so easy as for you to say--for a jury to believe--that I had stolen the devil-stick and killed Mr. Alymer, so as to get him out of my way.",

"I won't wear out your patience," she promised, as quiet was restored and her voice could again be heard. "I haven't any oration to deliver. I only want to say that I don't know who it was asked me those questions, and I hope I never shall know. You've all been very kind to me, and I'd hate to think that any of you wanted to make me uncomfortable. I'm sure it was simply an initiation stunt, and I for one shall never think of it again.",

"Ask de great massa.",

"Oh, that's so," acquiesced Patricia. "I suppose you do have to be there for that private view of the panels."

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"Does she refuse to give evidence against Etwald?",

And here, at this point, the personality of Dr. Etwald intruded itself into the affair. It was Etwald who had bound up the wound with the handkerchief in question, and who, according to the housemaid, had forbidden its removal. The question was, had he received it from Mrs. Dallas, or had he found it on that night by the side of the insensible man. If the first, Mrs. Dallas must have perfumed it designedly with the poison, and Etwald, knowing that it was so impregnated, must have used it advisedly as a bandage. If the second, Mrs. Dallas must have been in the room on the night in question, and have used the handkerchief to render Jaggard insensible. And in either case, as the major very sensibly concluded, Mrs. Dallas must be in possession of the devil-stick. Otherwise, how could she have obtained the deadly scent?,

Patricia had barely clicked the bolts in the glass upper doors and heard the heavy clash of the wooden contact as Bruce slid the great leaves of the big door into place, when with a swish and sweep the storm broke.,

And when that conflagration was lighted in me about my début, Tom did it. I was sitting peaceably in my own summer-house, dressed in the summer-before-last that Jane washes and irons every day while I am deciding how to hand out the first sip of my trousseau to the neighbours, when Tom, in a dangerous blue-striped shirt, with a tie that melted into it in tone, jumped over my fence and landed at my side. He kissed the lace ruffle on my sleeve while I reproved him severely and settled down to enjoy him. But I didn't have such a good time as I generally do with him. He was too full of another woman, and even a first cousin can be an exasperation in that condition.