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Patricia halted by the chair at a side table where her name card lay. Her eyes were fastened on Judith with a peculiarly penetrating gaze, and her firm grasp detained the arm that would have escaped. "You know something?" Again he bent down and examined the face and hands. Both were swollen and discolored; he tore open the shirt at the neck, and saw that the young man's breast was all distended and bloated. Undoubtedly the cause of death was blood-poisoning, and the devil-stick had been the instrument used to effect the deed. But here the problem proposed itself: Who had killed Maurice? The person who had stolen the devil-stick! Who had stolen the devil-stick? The person who--Major Jen came to an abrupt pause. He could think for the moment of no answer to that question; but it is only fair to say that, dazed by the terrible occurrence of his dear lad's death, Jen had not his wits about him..

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"In a state of high fever, poor soul," said Jen, with a depressed look. "He does nothing but rave. Yet, in all his wild talk he never lets slip a single word likely to help us." "You'd better go, man, before I bring my father to set our dog on you," he exploded, and, before I could stop him, his thin little legs went trundling down the garden path toward home. Patricia puckered her brows judicially. "About the loveliest day that ever happened in Hillsboro," he said, and there was still more of the delicious smile, "though I hadn't noticed it so especially until——".