d brought with him from
the office Ford's mail and cablegrams. Among the latter was the one for
which Ford had asked.

"Wait," he commanded. "This is about the girl. You had better know what
it says." The cable read:

"Girl orphan, Dalesville named after her family, for three generations
mill-owners, father died four years ago, Pearsall brother-in-law until
she is twenty-one, which will be in three months. Girl well known,
extremely popular, lived Dalesville until last year, when went abroad
with uncle, since then reports of melancholia and nervous prostration,
before that health excellent--no signs insanity--none in family. Be
careful how handle Pearsall, was doctor, gave up practice to look
after estate, is prominent in local business and church circles, best
reputation, beware libel."

For the benefit of Cuthbert, Ford had been reading the cable aloud. The
last paragraph seemed especially to interest him, and he read it twice,
the second time slowly, and emphasizing the word "doctor."

"A doctor!" he repeated. "Do you see where that leads us? It may explain
several things. The girl was in good health until went abroad with her
uncle, and he is a medical man."

The eyes of Cuthbert grew wide with excitement.

"You mean poison!" he whispered. "Slow poison!"

"Beware libel," laughed Ford nervously, his own eyes lit with
excitement. "Suppose," he exclaimed, "he has been using arsenic? He
would have many opportunities, and it's colorless, tasteless; and
arsenic would account for her depression and melancholia. The time when
he must turn over her money is very near, and, suppose he has spent
the money, speculated with it, and lost it, or that he still has it and
wants to keep it? In three months she will be of age, and he must make
an accounting. The arsenic does not work fast enough. So what does he
do? To save himself from exposure, or to keep the money, he throws her
into this private sanatorium, to make away with her."

Ford had been talking in an eager whisper. While he spoke his cigar had
ceased to burn, and to light it, from a vase on the mantel he took a
spill, one of those spirals of paper that in English hotels, where the
proprietor is of a frugal mind, are still used to prevent extravagance
in matches. Ford lit the spill at the coal fire, and with his
cigar puffed at the flame. As he did so the paper unrolled. To the
astonishment of Cuthbert, Ford clasped it in both hands, blotted out
the tiny flame, a