I don't see him," he said, "But
there is Mrs. Brewster dancing in the front room; the Colonel must be
somewhere around. If I meet him, Mr. Kent, shall I tell him you are
looking for him?"

"I will be greatly obliged if you will do so," replied Kent, and
straightening his tie, he went in quest of the pretty widow. He had
found her a merry chatter-box in the past, possibly he could gain
valuable information from her. He found Mrs. Brewster just completing
her dance with a fine looking Italian officer whose broad breast bore
many military decorations.

"Dance the encore with me"--Kent could be very persuasive when he
wished, and Mrs. Brewster dimpled with pleasure, but there was a faint
indecision in her manner which he was quick to note. What prompted
it? He had been on friendly terms with her; in fact, she had openly
championed his cause, so Barbara had once told him, when Colonel
McIntyre had made caustic remarks about his frequent calls at the
McIntyre house.

"Just one turn," she said, as the foreigner bowed and withdrew. "I am
feeling a little weary to-night--the strain of the inquest," she, added
in explanation.

"Perhaps you would rather sit out the dance," he suggested. "There is an
alcove in that window; oh, pshaw!" as a man and a girl took possession
of the chairs.

"Never mind, we can roost on the stairs," Mrs. Brewster preceded him to
the staircase leading to the third floor, and sat down, bracing her back
very comfortably against the railing, while Kent seated himself at her
feet on the lower step. "Extraordinary developments at the inquest this
afternoon," he began, as she volunteered no remark. "To think of Jimmie
Turnbull being poisoned!"

"It is unbelievable," she said, and her vehemence was a surprise to
Kent; he knew her as all froth and bubble. What had brought the dark
circles under her eyes and the unwonted seriousness in her manner?

"Unbelievable, yes," he agreed gravely. "But true; the autopsy ended all
doubt."

"You mean it developed doubt," she corrected, and a sigh accompanied the
words. "Have the police any clew to the guilty man?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," Kent spoke with caution.

"You don't?" Her voice was a little sharp. "Didn't Detective Ferguson
give you any news when talking to you on the porch?"

"So you recognized the detective?"

"I? No; I have never seen him before"--she nodded gayly to an
acquaintance passing through the hall. "Colonel McIntyre told me his
name. I