ick; but"--she
hesitated on the threshold of the window"--the worst of it is, I
think I understand you a little."

I drew back into the shadow. Her stiff skirt almost struck me on the
cheek as she passed, and, crossing the verandah, leant with both
hands on the rail, while her face went up to the sky and the newly
risen moon.

A voice spoke to her from the moonlit terrace below.

"Hallo!" she answered. "Is that Captain Branscome?"

"It is, ma'am: _and_ Miss Plinlimmon--Amelia--as she allows me to
call her."

Miss Belcher cut him short with a laugh. It rang out frank and free
enough, and only I, crouching by the wall, understood the hysterical
springs of it.

"You two geese!" she exclaimed, and ran down the steps to them.

"Was that Lydia?" demanded Mr. Rogers, a moment later, as he came
along the verandah.

"It was," I answered.

"I don't understand these people," grumbled Mr. Rogers, pausing and
scratching his head. "There was to have been a meeting outside here,
directly after supper, to divide off Doctor Beauregard's share; but
confound it if every one don't seem to be playing hide-and-seek!
Where's the Doctor?"

"In the dining-room," said I, nodding towards the window. . . .

He stepped towards it. At that moment I heard a dull thud within the
room, and Mr. Rogers, his foot already on the threshold, drew back
with a cry. I ran to his elbow.

On the floor, stretched at her master's feet, lay the negress Rosa.
Dr. Beauregard stood by the corner of the table, and poured himself a
small glassful of curacoa. While we gazed at him he reached out a
hand to the icebowl, selected a small piece, and dropped it
delicately into the glass. I heard it tingle against the rim.

"Your good health, sirs!" said Dr. Beauregard.

He sat back rigid in his chair.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Poison Island, by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch (Q)

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