think I know what you mean."

"Simply this, dear. What Miss Rowe said last night was true, all of
it. She wasn't raving."

"You mean that Therese and Dr. Sartorius ... you can't mean that..."

"I do. They are murderers. They killed my father."

"Your father! But he died of typhoid fever--you know that as well as I
do; there was nothing wrong about it."

"They gave him typhoid fever, by means of culture in the milk he was
taking. When he was getting well, Sartorius brought on a relapse by
means of injecting the pure toxin, deadly stuff. The old man hadn't
the ghost of a chance. Yet it was all so hidden we should never have
known anything was wrong if it had not been for Esther. She saved my
life, you know. They were out to get me as well."

She put up her hand to her trembling mouth.

"Do you mean to say they would have murdered you too?" she faltered, on
the verge of a collapse.

"There, dear, don't think about it too much. It's all over, thanks to
that poor girl in there. Go back to her now; I'll come with you. Or
no, hold on a minute--I'm going to get you a drink."

Quickly he fetched her a stiff whisky, which he made her force down.
Then when she seemed somewhat recovered, he said:

"Don't say anything to Esther just yet; I'm going to break this to her
myself. I want first to get you both out of the house. Chalmers is
going to get a suite for us all at an hotel; then I'll leave you in his
care for a bit. I depend on your help, Dido, so I may as well tell you
right now that I intend to marry Esther almost at once--if she will
have me."

This statement had the desired effect. He saw the old eyes light up
with a faint spark, while the face was less stricken.

"Do you mean it, Roger?"

"I never meant anything more in my life. I've always wanted her, from
the first day I saw her."

"I--I'm glad, I think. She's the only girl I've known whom I'd be
willing to give you to."

A glance of affection passed between them; then, as she was about to
enter the bedroom, she turned back for a moment, whispering:

"You haven't told me yet what--happened to Therese."

He hesitated, then replied:

"She fell,--from the narrow stone ledge beside the end of the balcony,
on the second story. The wistaria is all torn away where she clutched
at it to save herself. She broke her neck."

There was no shadow of a doubt that this theory was correct. Dr.
Bousquet, who arrived in half an hour, declared