restrain an indication of it when he reached The Haven, and
found Miss Mary Carwell and Viola there. They were not expected until
the next day, but while her niece was temporarily absent Miss Carwell
explained the matter.

"She couldn't stand it another minute. She insisted that I should pack
and come with her. Something seemed to drive her home."

"I hope," said the Colonel gently, "that she didn't imagine that I
wasn't doing all possible, under the circumstances."

"Oh, no, it wasn't anything like that. She just wanted to be at home.
And I think, too," and Miss Carwell lowered her voice, after a glance at
the door, "that she wanted to see him."

"You mean--?"

"Mr. Bartlett! There's no use disguising the fact that his family and
ours aren't on friendly terms. I think he did a grave injustice to my
brother in a business way, and I'll never forgive him for it. I don't
want to see Viola marry him--that is I didn't. I hardly believe, now,
after he has been arrested, that she will. But there is no doubt she
cares for him, and would do anything to prove that this charge was
groundless."

"Well, yes, I suppose that's natural," assented the detective. "I'd be
glad, myself, to believe that Harry Bartlett had nothing to do with the
death of Mr. Carwell."

"But you believe he did have, don't you?"

"I haven't yet made up my mind," was the cautious answer. "The golf
course mystery, I don't mind admitting, is one of the most puzzling I've
ever run across. It won't do to make up one's mind at once."

"But my brother either committed suicide, or else he was deliberately
poisoned!" insisted Miss Carwell. "And those of us who knew him feel
sure he would never take his own life. He must have been killed, and if
Harry Bartlett didn't do it who did?"

"I don't know," frankly replied the colonel. "That's what I'm going to
try to find out. So Miss Viola feels much sympathy for him, does she?"

"Yes. And she wants to go to see him at the jail. Of course I know they
don't exactly call it a jail, but that's what I call it!"

Miss Carwell was nothing if not determined in her language.

"Would you let her go if you were I--go to see him?" she asked.

"I don't see how you are going to prevent it," replied the colonel.
"Miss Viola is of legal age, and she seems to have a will of her own.
But I hardly believe that she will see Mr. Bartlett."

"Oh, but she said she was going to. That's one reason she made me come
home ahead of ti