“Then just about the time of your coming with the dog, your uncle undertook to obtain a swift and sure poison. Have I gone far enough?” “I—I don’t know.” “Well, am I still ordered out of the house?” “N-n-no.” “Thank you for your enthusiastic hospitality,” said Average Jones so dryly that a smile relaxed the girl’s troubled face. “With that encouragement we’ll go on. What is your uncle’s attitude toward the dog?” “Almost what you might call ingratiating. But Peter Paul—that’s my dog’s name, you know—doesn’t take to uncle. He’s a crotchety old doggie.” “He’s a wise old doggie,” amended the other, with emphasis. “Has your uncle taken him out, at all?” “Once he tried to. I met them at the corner. All four of Peter Paul’s poor old fat legs were braced, and he was hauling back as hard as he could against the leash.” “And the occurrence didn’t strike you as peculiar?” “Well, not then.” “When does your uncle give up this house?” “At the end of the week. Uncle and aunt leave for Europe.” “Then let me suggest again that you and Peter Paul go at once.” Miss Graham pondered. “That would mean explanations and a quarrel, and more strain for auntie, who is nervous enough, anyway. No, I can’t do that.” “Do you realize that every day Peter Paul remains here is an added opportunity for judge Ackroyd to make a million dollars, or a big share of it, by some very simple stratagem?” “I haven’t admitted yet that I believe my uncle to be a—a murderer,” Miss Graham quietly reminded him. “A strong word,” said Average Jones smiling. “The law would hardly support your view. Now, Miss Graham, would it grieve you very much if Peter Paul were to die?” “I won’t have him put to death,” said she quickly. “That would be, cheating my grandmother’s intentions.” “I supposed you wouldn’t. Yet it would be the simplest way. Once dead, and buried in accordance with the terms of the will, the dog would be out of his troubles, and you would be out of yours.” “It would really be a relief. Peter Paul suffers so from asthma, poor old beastie. The vet says he can live only a month or two longer, anyway. But I’ve got to do as Grandmother wished, and keep Peter Paul alive as long as possible.” “Admitted.” Average Jones fell into a baffled silence, studying the pattern of the rug with restless eyes. When he looked up into Miss Graham’s face again it was with a changed expression. “Miss Graham,” he said slowly, “won’t you try to forget, for the moment, the circumstances of our meeting, and think of me only as a friend of your friends who is very honestly eager to be a friend to you, when you most need one?”