“He was the real thing--wasn’t he, McGuire?” Miss Ames appealed to him, at last. “You bet! Why, if the side wire of his beard hadn’t fetched loose and if his walnut juice complexion hadn’t stopped a mite short of his collar, I’d a took him for a sure-fire Oriental!” “Don’t be so impertinent, Terence,” reproved Stone; “Miss Ames knows better than you do.” “It doesn’t matter that he was made up that way,” Aunt Abby said, serenely; “they often do that. But he was genuine, I know, because--why, Eunice, what did Sanford use to call me--for fun--Aunt what?” “Aunt Westminter Abbey,” said Eunice, smiling at the recollection. “Yes!” triumphantly; “and that’s what Sanford called me to-day when speaking to me through the medium. Isn’t that a proof? How could that man know that?” “I can’t explain that,” declared Elliott, a little shortly, “but it’s all rubbish, and I don’t think you ought to be allowed to go to such places! It’s disgraceful--” “You hush up, Mason,” Miss Ames cried; “I’ll go where I like! I’m not a child. And, too, I wasn’t alone--I had an escort--a very nice one.” She looked kindly at Fibsy. “Thank you, ma’am,” he returned, bobbing his funny red head. “I sure enjoyed myself.” “You didn’t look so; you looked half asleep.” “I always enjoy myself when I’m asleep--and half a loaf is better’n no bed,” the boy grinned at her. “Well, it may all be rubbish,” Alvord Hendricks said, musingly; “and it probably is--but there are people, Mason, who don’t think so. Anyway, here’s my idea. If Aunt Abby thinks she poisoned Sanford, under hypnotism--or any other way--for the love of heaven, let it go at that! If you don’t--suspicion will turn back to Eunice again--and that’s what we want to prevent. Now, no jury would ever convict an old lady--” “Nor any woman,” said Elliott. “But that isn’t the whole thing. I say, Alvord, since Mr. Stone is on the job, suppose we give him full swing--and let him find the real murderer. It wasn’t Eunice!” His words rang out so vibrantly that Stone gave him a quick glance. “You’re sure?” he asked, as it seemed, involuntarily. “I am,” responded Elliott, with a satisfied nod of his handsome head. “But your being sure doesn’t help much, Mason,” Eunice said, a despondent look coming into her eyes. “Are you sure, Mr. Stone?” “I can’t quite answer that question yet, Mrs. Embury,” the courteous voice replied. “Remember, I’ve only just begun to look into the matter.” “But you know all about it--from Mr. Shane and Mr. Driscoll.” “I know what they think about it--but that’s a different story.” “You don’t agree with their deductions, then?” asked Hendricks. “I don’t agree with their premises--therefore--” Stone smiled cryptically, and left the sentence unfinished and ambiguous, which was his deliberate intention.