"For what?" The widow tried to keep her tone natural, but a certain shrill alertness crept into it and Barbara, who was watching her closely, was quick to detect the change. Helen's color altered at the question, and she observed the widow's entrance with veiled hostility.

"For my seal," Barbara answered. "The one with the big letter 'B.' Have you seen it?"

"I?--No." The widow took a chair uninvited near Helen. "You look tired, Helen dear; why don't you go to bed?"

"I could not sleep if I did." Helen pa.s.sed a nervous finger across her eyes. "But don't let me keep you and Babs up; it won't take me long to arrange to-morrow's market order for Grimes."

Under pretense of searching for pencil and paper Helen contrived to see the address of every letter lying on the table, but the envelope she sought, with its red seal, was not among them. When she looked up again, pencil and paper in hand, she found Mrs. Brewster leaning lazily back and regarding her from under half-closed lids. "You are very like your father, Helen," she commented softly.

The girl stiffened. "Am I? Babs and I are generally thought to resemble our mother."

"In appearance, yes; but I mean mannerisms--for instance, the way of holding your pencil, your handwriting, even, closely resembles your father's." Mrs. Brewster pointed to the notes Helen was scribbling on the paper and to an open letter bearing Colonel McIntyre's signature at the bottom of the sheet lying beside the pad to ill.u.s.trate her meaning.

"These are almost identical."

"You are a close observer." Helen completed her memorandum and laid it aside. "What became of father?"

"He went to a stag supper at the Willard," chimed in Barbara, stopping her aimless walk about the library. "He said we were not to wait up for him."

Helen pushed back her chair and rose with some abruptness.

"I am more tired than I realized," she remarked and involuntarily stretched her weary muscles. "Come, Margaret," laying a persuasive hand on the widow's shoulder. "Be a trump and rub my forehead with cologne as you used to do abroad when I had a headache. It always put me to sleep then; and, oh, how I long for sleep now!"

There was infinite pathos in her voice and Mrs. Brewster sprang up and threw her arm about her in ready sympathy.

"You poor darling!" she exclaimed. "Let me put you to bed; Mammy taught me the art of soothing frayed nerves. Come with us, Babs," holding out her left hand to Barbara. But the latter, with a dexterous twist, slipped away from her touch.

"I must stay and straighten the library," she announced.

Mrs. Brewster's delicate color had deepened. "It would be as well to open some of the doors," she agreed coldly. "The library looks odd, not to say funereal," she glanced down the s.p.a.cious room and shivered ever so slightly. "Do, Babs, put out some of the lights; they are blinding."

"Oh, I'll turn them all out"--Barbara sought the electric switch.

"But your father--"

"No need to worry about father; he can find his way about in the dark like a cat," responded Barbara with unabated cheerfulness. "Seems to me, Margaret, you and father are getting mighty chummy these days."

The sudden darkness into which Barbara's impatient fingers, pressing against the electric light b.u.t.tons, plunged the library and its occupants, prevented her seeing the curious glance which Mrs. Brewster shot at her. Helen, who had listened to their chatter with growing impatience, looked back over her shoulder.

"Hurry, Barbara, and come upstairs. Now, Margaret," and she piloted the widow along the hall toward the staircase without giving her an opportunity to answer Barbara's last remark. Barbara, pausing only long enough to pull back the portieres of the hall door and arrange them as they hung customarily, turned to go upstairs just as Grimes came down the hall from the dining room carrying a large tray with pitchers of ice water and gla.s.ses.

"I thought you had gone to your room, Grimes," she remarked, as the butler waited respectfully for her to pa.s.s him.

"I've just come in, miss, and found Murray had left the tray in the dining room," explained Grimes hurriedly. "I hope, miss, I'll not disturb the ladies by knocking at their doors now with this ice water."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Brewster and Miss Helen have only just gone upstairs."

Barbara paused in front of the butler and poured out a gla.s.s of water.

"I can't wait, Grimes, I am too thirsty."

"Certainly, miss, that's all right." Grimes craned his head around and looked up and down the hail, then leaning over he placed the tray on a convenient table and stepped close to Barbara.

"I've been reading the newspapers very carefully, miss," he began, taking care to keep his voice lowered. "Especially that part of Mr.

Turnbull's inquest which tells about the post-mortem."

"Well, what then?" asked Barbara quickly as the butler paused and again glanced up and down the hall.

"Just this, miss," he spoke almost in a whisper. "The doctors do say poor Mr. Turnbull was poisoned by acca--aconitine," stumbling over the word. "It's a curious thing, miss, that I brought some of that very drug into this house last Sunday."

"You did!" Barbara's fresh young voice rose in astonishment.

"Hush, miss!" The butler raised both hands. "Hush!" He glanced cautiously around, then continued. "Colonel McIntyre sent me to the druggist with a prescription from Dr. Stone for Mrs. Brewster when she had romantic neuralgia."

"Had what?" Barbara looked puzzled, then giggled, but her mirth quickly altered to seriousness at sight of the butler's expression. "Mrs.

Brewster had a touch of rheumatic neuralgia the first of the month; do you refer to that?"

"Yes, miss." Grimes spoke more rapidly, but kept his voice lowered.

"The druggist told me what the pills were when I exclaimed at their size--regular little pellets, no bigger than that," he demonstrated the size with the tip of his little finger, and would have added more but the gong over the front door rang out with such suddenness that both he and Barbara started violently.

"Just a moment, miss," and he hurried to the front bell, to return after a brief colloquy with a messenger boy, bearing a letter. "It's for Mrs.

Brewster, miss," he explained, as Barbara held out her hand.

"I'll give it to her and this also," Barbara took the envelope and a small ice pitcher and gla.s.s. "Good night, Grimes. Oh," she stopped midway up the staircase and waited for the butler to overtake her, "Grimes, to whom did you give the aconitine on Sunday?"

"I didn't give it to n.o.body, miss." The butler was a trifle short of breath; his years did not permit him to keep pace with the twins. "I was in a great hurry as the druggist kept me waiting, and I had to serve tea at once."

"But what did you do with the aconitine pills?" demanded Barbara.

"I left the box on the hail table, miss--"

"Great heavens!" Barbara stared at the butler, then without a word she raced up the staircase and disappeared through the open door of Mrs.

Brewster's bedroom.

The light from the hall shone through the transom and doorway in sufficient volume to clearly indicate the different pieces of furniture, and Barbara put the pitcher and gla.s.s on the bed stand and laid the letter which Grimes had given her on the dressing table, then went slowly into her own bedroom. She could hear voices, which she recognized as those of her sister and Mrs. Brewster, coming from Helen's bedroom, but absorbed in her own thoughts she undressed in the dark and crept into bed just as Mrs. Brewster pa.s.sed down the hallway and entered her own room. The widow had taken off her evening gown and slippers and donned a becoming wrapper before she discovered the letter lying on the dresser. Drawing up a chair she dropped into it, let down her long dark hair, and settled back in luxuriant comfort against the tufted upholstery before she ran her well-manicured finger under the flap of the envelope. A slip of paper fell into her lap as she took out the contents of the envelope and she let it rest there while scanning the closely typewritten lines on the Metropolis Trust Company stationery.

Dear Mrs. Brewster, she read. Our bank teller, Mr. McDonald, has questioned the genuineness of the signature on the inclosed check. An important business engagement prevents my calling to-night, but please stop at the bank early to-morrow morning.

I feel that you would prefer to have a personal investigation made rather than have us place the matter in the hands of the police.

Yours faithfully,

BENJAMIN A. CLYMER.

The widow read the note a number of times, then bethinking herself, she picked up the canceled check still lying in her lap, and turned it over. Long and intently she studied the signature--the peculiarly characteristic formation of the letter "B" caught and held her attention. As the seconds ticked themselves into minutes she sat immovable, her face as white as the hand on which she had bowed her head.

Across the hall Helen McIntyre tossed from one side to the other in her soft bed; her restless longing to get up was growing stronger and stronger. While Mrs. Brewster's deft fingers and the cooling cologne had stopped the throbbing in her temples, they had brought only temporary relief in their train and not the sleep which Helen craved. She strained her ears to discover the time by the ticking of her clock, but either it was between the half or quarters of an hour, or it had stopped, for no chimes sounded. With a gasp of exasperation, Helen flung back the bed clothes and sat up. Switching on the light by the side of her bed she hunted for a book, but not finding any, she contemplated for a short s.p.a.ce of time a pair of rubber-heeled shoes just showing themselves under the edge of a chair. With sudden decision she left the bed and dressed rapidly. It was not until she had put on her rubber-heeled shoes that she paused. Her hesitation, however, was but brief. Stepping to the bureau, she pulled out a lower drawer and running her hand inside, touched a concealed spring. From the cavity thus exposed she took a small automatic pistol, and with a stealthy glance about her, crept from the room.

The library had been vacant fully an hour when a mouse, intent on making a raid on the candy which Barbara had carelessly left lying loose on one of the tables, paused as a faint creaking sound broke the stillness, then as the noise increased, the mouse scurried back to its hole. The noise resembled the turning of rusty hinges and the soft thud of one piece of wood striking another. There was a strained silence, then, from out of the darkness appeared a tiny stream of light directed full on a white envelope bearing a large red seal.