So working to the point by devious ways She said at last: "You must give me the key, The sealed instruction: I'll go to the box, And get the letters, do with them as Elenor Directed in the letter; for I think, Cannot believe it different, that my niece Has left these letters with me, so directs In that sealed letter." "Then if that be true, Why give the key to me, the letter?--no This is a trust, a lawyer would betray, A sacred trust to do what you request." I saw her growing angry. Then I added: "I have no proof your niece is dead:" "My word Is good enough," she answered, "we are friends, You are my lover, as I thought; my word Should be sufficient." And she kept at me Until I said: "I can't give you the key, And if I did they would not let you in, You are not registered as a deputy To use the key." She did not understand, Did not believe me, but she tacked about, And said: "You can do this, take me along When you go to the vault and open the box, And break the letter open which she gave." I only answered: "If I find your niece Has given these letters to you, you shall have The letters, but I think the letters go Back to the writer, and if that's the case, I'll send them to the writer." Here at last She lost control, took off her mask and stormed: "We'll see about it. You will scarcely care To have the matter aired in court. I'll see A lawyer, bring a suit and try it out, And see if I, the aunt, am not entitled To have my niece's letters and effects, Whatever's in the package. I am tired And cannot see you longer. Take five days To think the matter over. If you come And do what I request, no suit, but if You still refuse, the courts can settle it." And so I left her. In a day or two I read of Elenor Murray's death. It seems The coroner investigates her death. She died mysteriously. Well, then I break The sealed instruction, look! I am to send The package to Jane Fisher, in Chicago. We know, of course, Jane Fisher did not write The letters, that the letters are a man's. What is the inference? Why, that Elenor Murray Pretended to comply, obey her aunt, Yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish The aunt or me to know who wrote the letters. Feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt, Yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt Beyond her finding out, if I observe The trust imposed, keep hands of Margery Camp From getting at the letters.