"Where's my flask?" demanded Potter, considerably shaken out of his habitual calm. "Oh, thank you, my dear," as Nina snatched it out of one of his desk drawers. "Now, Kitty," unscrewing the stopper and pouring some cognac into an empty tumbler, which, with a water carafe, stood on his desk. "Drink this; no, I insist--" as she put up her hand in protest. "You will need all your strength--drink every drop." Kitty's eyes sought Rodgers and his quick "Please do" did more to make her drink the cognac than all Potter's urging. The fiery strength of the old brandy made her catch her breath, but she did not put the tumbler down until she had swallowed its contents. As the stimulant crept through her veins, her head cleared, and the feeling of deadly faintness which had threatened to overcome her several times on her way to her cousin's apartment, disappeared. "I will tell you what I know," she began. "Aunt Susan was found by the police dead in our library. The coroner claims that she had taken poison." "Well?" prompted Potter. "Go on." "Aunt Susan never swallowed poison--of her own free will." Kitty turned and gazed at Ted Rodgers. Intently she studied his face, noting his clear-cut features and shapely head. Standing six feet four, he seemed to dwarf Ben Potter. Although the latter was nearly his equal in height, the stoop in his shoulders, which betrayed the hours spent in poring over books, made Potter appear much shorter. Something of his quiet, determined character showed in Rodgers' firm mouth and handsome eyes, eyes which redeemed the severe lines of his face. He had fallen madly in love with Kitty and had courted her with the persistency of his faithful nature. Heartsick, craving sympathy, which had brought her to her cousin only to be rebuffed by his reception of the news of her aunt's death, Kitty turned instinctively to Rodgers. "Won't you help me prove that Aunt Susan did not commit suicide?" she asked. As he studied the upturned face, the deep blue eyes, made more brilliant by the tears she had shed that morning, and noted the forlorn droop of her shoulders, Rodgers' decision was taken. "I will do anything for you--anything," he promised, his deep voice vibrating with feeling. "Then find the murderer of Aunt Susan," she cried. "How--what?" Potter looked at her aghast. "What makes _you_ think Cousin Susan was murdered?" "My intuition," promptly. "Oh, you may jeer, but it was no case of suicide. Aunt Susan did not court death--she feared it." CHAPTER V AT THE MORGUE