have stolen that key. Why not Mrs. Beauly?

One word more, and all that I had in my mind at that time will be
honestly revealed.

Miserrimus Dexter, under cross-examination, had indirectly admitted that
he had ideas of his own on the subject of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death.
At the same time he had spoken of Mrs. Beauly in a tone which plainly
betrayed that he was no friend to that lady. Did _he_ suspect her too?
My chief motive in deciding to ask his advice before I applied to any
one else was to find an opportunity of putting that question to him. If
he really thought of her as I did, my course was clear before me. The
next step to take would be carefully to conceal my identity--and then to
present myself, in the character of a harmless stranger, to Mrs. Beauly.

There were difficulties, of course, in my way. The first and greatest
difficulty was to obtain an introduction to Miserrimus Dexter.

The composing influence of the fresh air in the garden had by this
time made me readier to lie down and rest than to occupy my mind in
reflecting on my difficulties. Little by little I grew too drowsy
to think--then too lazy to go on walking. My bed looked wonderfully
inviting as I passed by the open window of my room.

In five minutes more I had accepted the invitation of the bed, and had
said farewell to my anxieties and my troubles. In five minutes more I
was fast asleep.

A discreetly gentle knock at my door was the first sound that aroused
me. I heard the voice of my good old Benjamin speaking outside.

"My dear! I am afraid you will be starved if I let you sleep any longer.
It is half-past one o'clock; and a friend of yours has come to lunch
with us."

A friend of mine? What friends had I? My husband was far away; and my
uncle Starkweather had given me up in despair.

"Who is it?" I cried out from my bed, through the door.

"Major Fitz-David," Benjamin answered, by the same medium.

I sprang out of bed. The very man I wanted was waiting to see me! Major
Fitz-David, as the phrase is, knew everybody. Intimate with my husband,
he would certainly know my husband's old friend--Miserrimus Dexter.

Shall I confess that I took particular pains with my toilet, and that
I kept the luncheon waiting? The woman doesn't live who would have done
otherwise--when she had a particular favor to ask of Major Fitz-David.

CHAPTER XXII. THE MAJOR MAKES DIFFICULTIES.

As I opened the dining-room door the Major hastened to mee