red as to be
fit for close cross-examination. Plume could in no wise connect his
beloved wife with either the murderous assault on Mullins or the
mysterious firing of Blakely's quarters, but he knew that Sandy could
not so readily acquit her, even though it might saddle the actual deed
upon her instrument--Elise. He had ordered that Blakely should be
brought to his own quarters because there he could not be reached by
any who were unacceptable to himself, the post commander. There were
many things he wished to know about and from Blakely's lips alone. He
could not stoop to talk with other men about the foibles of his wife.
He knew that iron box in Truman's care contained papers, letters, or
_something_ of deep interest to her. He knew full well now that, at
some time in the not far distant past, Blakely himself had been of
deep interest to her and she to Blakely. He had Blakely's last letter
to himself, written just before the lonely start in quest of Angela,
but that letter made no reference to the contents of the box or to
anything concerning their past. He had heard that Wales Arnold had
been intrusted with letters for Blakely to Clarice, his wife, and to
Captain, or Miss Janet Wren. Arnold had not been entirely silent on
the subject. He did not too much like the major, and rather rejoiced
in this opportunity to show his independence of him. Plume had gone so
far as to ask Arnold whether such letters had been intrusted to him,
and Wales said, yes; but, now that Blakely was safely back and
probably going to pull through, he should return the letters to the
writer as soon as the writer was well enough to appreciate what was
being done. Last, but not least, Plume had picked up near the door in
Blakely's room the circular, nearly flat, leather-covered case which
had dropped, apparently, from Natzie's gown, and, as it had neither
lock nor latch, Plume had opened it to examine its contents.

To his surprise it contained a beautifully executed miniature, a
likeness of a fair young girl, with soft blue eyes and heavy, arching
brows, a delicately molded face and mouth and chin, all framed in a
tumbling mass of tawny hair. It was the face of a child of twelve or
thirteen, one that he had never seen and of whom he knew nothing.
Neither cover, backing, nor case of the miniature gave the faintest
clew as to its original or as to its ownership. What was Natzie doing
with this?--and to whom did it belong? A little study satisfied h