Now, then, where did he stand? To his own mind, what he had found proved that Miss Carrington had herself gone to her bath-room, opened the powder, thrown the papers carelessly in the basket, and then, mixing the stuff with water, had taken it then and there and rinsed the glass and set it back on the shelf. It was all natural and plausible. But, he well knew, others would say that, remembering her detestation of medicaments, Miss Lucy Carrington never did such a thing. Also, they would say, some one else, some one of whom Miss Lucy felt no fear, had mixed the draught, and had administered it, by means of some yet undiscovered but plausible misrepresentation. And only too well he knew whose name would be associated with the deed! Heavy of heart, he returned to the boudoir and sat in the easy chair, before the mirror. New thoughts came surging. It was sure, now, that Miss Carrington took the aconitine in a glass of water, in her own apartments,--one of them,--and took it, if not knowingly or willingly, at least without any great objection or disturbance. Clinging to his theory that she was alone, Stone visualized her taking the draught by herself. Assume for the moment, an intended headache cure,--but no! If she took the aconitine alone and voluntarily, she knew it was poison, for she said "To-morrow I shall be freed forever from this homely face." Did it all come back, then, to suicide? No, not with that glad face, that happy smile, that joyful look of anticipation. A suffering invalid, longing for death, might thus welcome a happy release, but not life-loving Lucy Carrington. It was too bewildering, too inexplicable. Again and again Stone scanned the powder papers. They told nothing more than that they were the powder papers. That was positive, but what did it prove? To whom did it point? Frowning, Stone studied his own face in the mirror before him. Desperately, he repeated again all the sentences on Anita's list. At one of them he paused, even in the act of repetition. He stared blankly into his own mirrored eyes, a dawning light beginning to flame back at him. Then, a little wildly, he glanced around,--up, down, and back to his almost frenzied, reflected face. "Oh!" he muttered, through his clinched teeth, for Stone was not a man given to strong expletives, "it is! I've got it at last! The powder, the pearls,--the snake! My Heavens! the _snake_! Oh, Pauline, my love, my love--but who? who? Have I discovered this thing only to lead back to her? I _won't_ have it so! I am on the right track at last, and I'll follow it to the end--the end, but it shall _not_ lead, I _know_ it will not--to my heart's idol, my beautiful Pauline!" XXI FLEMING STONE'S THEORY Alone in the library, Fleming Stone and Detective Hardy were in counsel.