the accused had tried in vain to hide from the eyes of the
hunters. There was a correspondence that was carried on with the utmost
caution, letters received that had thrown him quite off his guard, and
that were destroyed as soon as read. Finally and lastly, there was the
bottle broken into fragments and thrown to the dust heap; but, without
doubt, the counterpart of the one found at Miss Wardour's bedside on the
morning of the robbery; while, among some cast-off garments, had been
found the _half of a handkerchief_, that matched precisely the one found
over the face of the heiress. All these facts Mr. Belknap had laid
before her with elaborate explanations, and "notes by the way," but
instead of drawing from her the expected indignant demand for the
instant arrest of the accused one, Miss Wardour had listened coldly, and
with marked impatience, and had finally declared her decision not to
move in the affair, nor to allow any one to act in her behalf.

As Constance reviewed the arguments of the detective, a new thought came
to her. Doctor Heath, all unconscious of the danger menacing him, might
in some way, do himself an injury, and add to the chain of
circumstantial evidence that was lengthening for his overthrow. He must
be warned.

This was a delicate task, and she hesitated a little over the manner of
accomplishing it.

Finally, she seated herself once more at her desk and wrote another
letter, or rather a note.

It contained only a few lines, and was addressed to, "_Mr. Raymond
Vandyck._"

Meanwhile, private detective Belknap was driving slowly in the
light buggy, that had brought him to Wardour Place, toward the
residence of Jasper Lamotte. His features wore a look of complacent
self-satisfaction, and he hummed softly to himself, as he drove easily
over the red and brown leaves that were beginning to flutter downward
and carpet the highway.

Arriving at Mapleton; he drove leisurely up the avenue, and lifting his
eyes toward the stately edifice crowning the hill, he saw, standing on
the broad piazza, and gazing directly toward him, a beautiful woman,
clad in trailing silk, and wearing a shawl of richest crimson cashmere,
draped about her head and shoulders; as he drew nearer, he was startled
at the strange mingling of pallor and flame in her face; the temples
were like blue veined ivory, and the slender hands, clasping the folds
of crimson, seemed scarcely strong enough to retain their hold; but the
lips an