o escape."

We had come down the wide staircase into the library, where we joined
Myra, who was resting on a chaise-longue.

"I should like very much to have a talk with Dr. Goode," suggested
Craig.

"By all means," agreed Myra eagerly. "I'll go over to his office with
you. It is only next door."

"Then I'll wait here," said Lionel, rather curtly, I thought.

I fancied that there was a coolness that amounted to a latent hostility
between Lionel and Dr. Goode, and I wondered about it.

Across the sparse lawn that struggled up under the deep shade of the
trees stood a smaller, less pretentious house of a much more modern
type. That was where Dr. Goode lived.

We crossed with Myra through a break in the hedge between the two
houses. As we were about to pass between the two grounds, Kennedy's foot
kicked something that seemed to have rolled down from some rubbish on
the boundary line of the two properties, piled up evidently waiting to
be carted away.

Craig stooped casually and picked the object up. It was a queer V-shaped
little porcelain cone. He gave it a hasty look, then dropped it into his
pocket.

Dr. Goode, into whose office Myra led us, was a youngish man,
smooth-shaven, the type of the new generation of doctors. He had come
to Norwood several years before and had struggled up to a very fair
practice.

"Miss Moreton tells me," began Kennedy after we had been introduced,
"that there is a theory that theirs is one of these so-called cancer
houses."

The doctor looked at us keenly. "Yes," he nodded, "I have heard that
theory expressed--and others, too. Of course, I haven't had a chance to
verify it. But I may say that, privately, I am hardly prepared to accept
it, yet, as a case of cancer house."

He was very guarded in his choice of words, but did not succeed in
covering up the fact that he had a theory of his own.

I was watching both the young doctor and Myra. She had entered his
office in a way that suggested that she was something more than a
patient. As I watched them, it did not take one of very keen perception
to discover that they were on very intimate terms indeed and thought
very highly of each other. A glance at the solitaire on Myra's finger
convinced me. They were engaged.

"You don't believe it, then?" asked Craig quickly.

The young man hesitated and shrugged his shoulders.

"You have a theory of your own?" persisted Craig, determined to get an
answer.

"I don't know whether I h