“No,” she answered slowly, and unrestrained tears flowed freely down the pale cheeks, “they were alone with Peter the chauffeur, returning from Upper Falls. Peter turned into the railing of the bridge to avoid another machine, which was coming very fast--the railing gave way, Peter jumped and escaped injury, but mother and daddy were caught under the car. Daddy was dead when they found him, but mother lived almost a day.” I had grown callous to suffering and trouble as I approached middle age, but my heart was touched as it never had been before. I slowly patted the white hand in an effort to disclose my feelings, but I’m afraid the child has never known the depth of them to this day. “You see,” she continued bravely, “it was because daddy died first that mother’s will and not his became valid, and in it she left everything, including the home at Pine Grove where Uncle Albert lives, to me. Daddy bought it in just recently, because Uncle Albert had mortgaged it so heavily that it was to be sold and daddy wanted to keep it in the family. “Uncle Albert was furious when he heard mother had made you my guardian. He begged and begged me to marry him. I was raging, and threatened to write you all about it. Then he lured me to the country. He wrote that he was very ill, and I believed him. Watkins told me everything immediately. He said Uncle Albert had sent you a fake telegram, and he had seen him put something in the whiskey, but he, Watkins, had filled it with water, so it would not hurt you. I was frantic--every exit in the wing of the house where I was imprisoned was locked. Dear, dear, I was frantic--about midnight I seemed to feel mother’s presence beside me impelling me to go to your assistance. I heard something that sounded like a pebble hit the glass in my window. At first I was afraid to look out. It was Watkins, and he threw me a rope. I quickly tied one end to the radiator, and made my escape. As I flew through the corridor I felt a hand clutch me. It was Uncle Albert. He told me he would kill me if I let you know we were in the house. Then--in this terrible second of desperation you found me.” “The brute,” I muttered between my teeth. “He wired me to come and help search for you--that you had eloped with a man who wanted your fortune, but that he had a clue and wanted me to help solve it.” “Don’t you see,” she replied, “he had carefully planned to poison you, and then he was going to force me to marry him, for without father he had absolutely no means of support.” “And he was taking the line of least resistance,” I thought--“the line that leads to nowhere.” “Heavens, what do you think he was going to do with me, Don Compie?” I never recall having seen such a look of appeal and terror registered upon the face of any other person in my life.