would not permit him to go in for it--Lady Paula has used it to her own
desperate plans, and has practically succeeded in turning Father against
Ross, so that the two hardly speak when they meet, and avoid each other
as much as possible in the daily round of life."

"And what, my dear young lady, makes you think that--er--Lady Paula
would wish to murder your father?"

"My eyes--and my ears, too. Both of which are sharper than one might
imagine. When Paula mixes my father's food--he is an old man and full of
whims and cranks, Mr. Narkom, and he has been much attached to his
second wife and trusts her absolutely--and at night he takes
bread-and-milk for supper, nothing else. And no one but Paula must make
it. She has a little sitting-room of her own just off my father's study,
where there is a little gas-stove and all the necessary paraphernalia
for mixing an invalid's food, and last week I made a point of going in
to watch her--found an excuse to get some note-paper and stepped into
the room quietly. She was stirring the milk in the saucepan, and in her
hand was a little phial of some whitish powder which she was just about
to empty into it when the sound of my step startled her. Instantly she
swung round, went as pale as death, and clapped her hand to her heart.
'How you startled me!' she exclaimed. 'You should not enter the room so
softly, Maud. It is dangerous.' 'Not more dangerous than what you are at
present doing,' I wanted to answer, but I dared not. I had no proof, and
to accuse her without it might only make Father turn entirely from Ross
and me in his quick-tempered, irascible fashion. But she slipped the
phial into her pocket and finished making the bread-and-milk while I
fumbled in the stand where the house paper is kept, all the time
watching her from the tail of my eye. And I could see how her hands
trembled, Mr. Narkom, so that she slopped the milk over into the saucer
from the cup. It's poisoning she is practising upon him-- I know it,
intuitively!" She clenched her hand, and sent an agonized look into the
Superintendent's face. "And all because she is determined to get the
estates for Cyril, and then kill poor Father, and take _everything_, and
turn us all out of our rightful home!"

Mr. Narkom took out his handkerchief and wiped the beads of perspiration
from his brow. The day was warm, and this excitable and evidently very
much upset young woman only made matters warmer.

"Come, come," he said in h