"It's very sad for her husband. Such a fine young fellow, and only married since May! He has been driven almost crazy by her flight. Of course, it's difficult to pity a murderess, and yet, when I think of that poor young thing forced to fly from her home in the middle of the night, I can't help feeling sorry for her. Luckily, she has heart disease, so that the agitation of being hunted from one place to another will probably soon kill her. That would be the happiest solution for all concerned." The sunshades having been brought, Mrs. Derwent, after glancing several times impatiently at her daughter, at last moved towards her, but the latter motioned her back. "Excuse me, Mamma, but I must say a few more words to this gentleman. I should like to know some more about Mrs. Atkins," she continued, turning again to the detective. "What made her think she was suspected?" "Well, you see, the dead man was a friend of hers, and had been calling on her the very evening he was murdered. The fellow's name was Allan Brown, and we have discovered that a good many years ago he was credited with being one of her admirers. I guess that's true, too; but he was a worthless chap, and she no doubt turned him down. At all events, he disappeared from Chicago, and we doubt if she has seen him since. Our theory is, that when he found out that she was rich, and married, he tried to blackmail her. We know that he was drunk at the time of his death, and so we think that, in a fit of desperation, she killed him. It was a dreadful thing to do. I don't say it wasn't, but if you had seen her--so small, so ill, so worn by anxiety and remorse--I don't think you could help wishing she might escape paying the full penalty of her crime." "I do hope so. What is her name, did you say?" "Mrs. Lawrence P. Atkins." "Mrs. Lawrence P. Atkins," she repeated. "And you cannot find her?" "We have not yet been able to do so." "This is too dreadful; how I pity the poor husband." And her eyes sought her mother, and rested on her with an expression I could not fathom. The detective stood watching the girl for a moment, then, with a low bow, finally took himself off. My parting nod was very curt. Could any one have been more awkward, more tactless, more indiscreet, than he had been during his conversation with Miss Derwent? Was the man drunk? And what did he mean by talking about the Atkins's affairs in this way? As the girl turned to say good-bye I was struck by a subtle change that had come over her; a great calm seemed to have settled upon her and a strange, steady light burnt in her eyes. As I was anxious to have a private talk with the Doctor, I jumped into an automobile with him, for he had only just enough time to catch his train. "Well, Doctor Storrs, what do you think of the young lady's case?"