nal property of the deceased. A simple matter it would prove,
he fancied. There was no great estate, and probably but few business
complications.

"Going home, Dr. George?" his hostess asked as the young physician made
his excuses for quitting the table before the conclusion of the meal.

"Dr. Bigdon is not staying in the house, then?" Gordon queried as the
door closed upon him, addressing the remark to the old lady by way of
politely including her in the conversation.

"No, he is a neighbor of ours--a close and constant friend to us." Mrs.
Brinn spoke as with grateful appreciation.

Mrs. Keene took a different view. "He just hangs about here on
Geraldine's account," she said. "He happens to be here today because
last night she took a notion that he must go all the way to Bogue
Holauba to meet you, if the train should stop at the station above; but
he was called off to attend a severe case of ptomaine poisoning."

"And did the man die?" Mrs. Brinn asked, with a sort of soft awe.

"Mercy! I declare I forgot to ask him if the man died or not," exclaimed
Mrs. Keene. "But that was the reason that only a servant was sent to
meet you, Mr. Gordon. The doctor looked in this morning to learn if you
had arrived safely, and we made him stay to breakfast with us."

Gordon was regretting that he had let him depart so suddenly.

"I thought perhaps, as he seems so familiar with the place he might
show me where Mr. Keene kept his papers. I ought to have them in hand at
once." Mrs. Keene remembered to press her handkerchief to her eyes,
and Gordon hastily added, "Since Dr. Big-don is gone, perhaps this
lady--what is her name?--Geraldine--could save you the trouble."

"Mercy, yes!" she declared emphatically. "For I really do not know where
to begin to look. Geraldine will know or guess. I'll go straight and
rouse Geraldine out of bed."

She preceded Gordon into the hall, and, flinging over her shoulder the
admonition, "Make yourself at home, I beg," ran lightly up the stairs.

Meantime Gordon strolled to the broad front door that stood open from
morning to night, winter and summer, and paused there to light his
cigar. All his characteristics were accented in the lustre of the vivid
day, albeit for the most part they were of a null, negative tendency,
for he had an inexpressive, impersonal manner and a sort of aloof,
reserved dignity. His outward aspect seemed rather the affair of his
up-to-date metropolitan tailor and barber t