A slight flush reddened the wrinkled yellow cheek of Mrs. Ilam. It seemed as though she tried to speak and could not. Her fingers worked convulsively. “You, too?” he murmured, with apparent difficulty. “Why do you say ‘you, too’?” Carpentaria demanded. She paused again. “It was the milk?” she seemed to stammer. “Yes, the second attempt; it was the milk,” admitted Carpentaria. She hid her face. “The same attempt has been made against Josephus,” she said. “And he was so frightened it has made him ill. That is why he is not feeling very well this morning.” “But does Mr. Ilam take milk for breakfast? I thought he always had ham and eggs?” “Never!” said Mrs. Ilam. “Hot bread-and-milk. Nothing else.” “And how did he find out that the milk was poisoned?” Carpentaria pursued. “I--I don’t know,” said Mrs. Ilam. “But he did. He’s very particular about his food, is Jos. And he suspected something. So he tried it on Neptune, the Newfoundland. And Neptune is dead. He says he thinks it must be prussic acid. Oh, Mr. Carpentaria, what is this plot against us all? What are we to do?” Carpentaria was reduced to muteness. The old lady had changed the trend of his thoughts. He had been secretly accusing Ilam, but if Ilam’s life also had been attempted, the case was very much altered. It was perhaps even more perilous. Still, Mrs. Ilam had done nothing to explain the extraordinary events of the night. He decided to be cautious. “I happened to see lights in your house very late last night, or rather, early this morning,” he said. “I was afraid that either you or Mr. Ilam might be ill.” His eyes sought hers and met them fully and squarely. “Oh!” she exclaimed sadly. “Jos had a dreadful night. He does have them sometimes, you know. Bad dreams. In many ways he is just like a child. There are nights when I think his dreams are more real to him than his real life. Now, last night he dreamed there was a corpse lying on a bier in the avenue, and nothing would satisfy him but that I should come out with him to see. Fancy it! at my age! However, there was nothing--of course.” Carpentaria said to himself that the old lady evidently was unaware of her son’s midnight escapade, and that he could get no further with her. The hope sprang up within him that Polly had been after all mistaken. Juliette might have gone out merely for a stroll and have returned ere then. He rose to take leave of Mrs. Ilam. “What are you going to do?” she asked him. “What about?” “Well, my dear man, about this attempted poisoning.” “I suppose we must inform the police,” he replied. “Yes, I suppose so,” she agreed. “But perhaps it would be well to wait until you had had a talk with Jos. He’ll be getting up during the day.” “We’ll see,” said Carpentaria. “It’s a good thing it’s Sunday and we’re free, isn’t it?” she remarked.