imself free
for the day and be driven to the abode of the two beings who had so
absorbed his interest.

He found Mrs. Marteen reclining on a _chaise-longue_ in her
library-sitting room, the Pekinese spaniel in her lap and Dorothy by her
side. She looked weary, but not ill, and Gard felt a glow of comfort.

"Dear lady, I came at once. Dorothy advised me of your impending
journey, and led me to believe you were not well. But I am
reassured--you do not seem a drooping flower."

Mrs. Marteen laughed. "How 1830! Couldn't you put it into a madrigal? It
really is absurd, though, sending me off like this. But they threatened
me with nerves--fancy that--nerves! And never having had an attack of
that sort, of course I'm terrified. I shall leave my butterfly in good
hands, however. My sister is to take my place; and I sha'n't be gone
long, you know."

"We hope not, don't we, Dorothy? What boat do you honor, and what date?"

Mrs. Marteen hesitated. "I'm not sure. The _Bermudian_ sails this week.
If I cannot go then, and that is possible, I may take the _Cecelia_, and
make the Caribbean trip. It's a little longer, but on my return I would
join Dorothy and Mrs. Trevor, crossing directly from Bermuda to Florida.
It's absurd, isn't it, to play the invalid! But insomnia is really
getting its hold on me. A good sleep would be a novelty just now, and
bromides depress me, so--there you are! I suppose I must take the
doctor's advice and my maid, and fly for my health's sake."

In spite of the natural tone and her apparent frankness, Gard remained
unconvinced. He could not have explained why. All his life he had found
his intuitions superior to his logical deductions. They had led him to
his present exalted position and had kept him there. No sooner had this
inner self refused to accept Mrs. Marteen's story than his mind began
supplying reasons for her departure--and the very first held him
spellbound. Was it another move in her perpetual game? Was she on the
track of someone's secret? Was her scheming mind now following some new
clew that must lead to the discovery of a hidden or forgotten crime--the
burial place of some well entombed family skeleton? He shivered.

Mrs. Marteen observed him narrowly.

"Mr. Gard is cold, Dorothy. Send for the tea, dear--or will you have
something else? Really, _you_ look like the patient who should seek
climate and rest."

"Perhaps you're right," he said slowly. "Perhaps I _will_ go--perhaps
with