"That Senator Carew was perfectly well physically, and that his death was caused by a stab from the sharp-pointed letter file." Cynthia suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, and lay for some minutes without speaking. "Is Hamilton still in jail?" she questioned finally. "Yes, he is being held for the inquest." "Inquest?" Cynthia glanced up, startled. "I thought the inquest was over." "No, it hasn't been held yet." "But Uncle James was buried to-day." "The funeral could not be postponed, Cynthia. The doctors who performed the autopsy will testify at the inquest." "But I thought it was always necessary to hold the inquest after a violent death." "It is usually, but in this case the inquest was postponed because you and Philip, two of the most important witnesses, were too ill to attend it." Cynthia closed and unclosed her tapering fingers over her handkerchief spasmodically. "Are the detectives still hanging around the house?" she inquired. "Yes." "It's shameful!" announced Cynthia, sitting upright, "to allow those men to intrude on our grief and privacy. They have arrested Hamilton for the crime, and should leave us alone." "They do not think Hamilton guilty." "Whom--whom--do they suspect?" The question seemed forced from her. "Mr. Brett hasn't confided in me." "Mr. Brett?" "He's the detective in charge of the case." "Oh, is he the tall, fine-looking man I saw talking to Joshua in the hall yesterday morning?" "No, that was probably Douglas Hunter." "Douglas Hunter? Not the Douglas Hunter of the Diplomatic Corps, whom Uncle James was forever talking about?" "The same. Do you know him?" "No, he has always been absent from Washington when I've been in the city. What is he doing here now?" "Trying to help Mr. Brett solve the mystery of Senator Carew's death." "Good Heavens! What earthly business is it of his?" "Don't ask me," Eleanor's usually tranquil voice was a trifle sharp. "I suppose he is hoping to win the reward offered by Mrs. Winthrop." "Reward?" Cynthia's voice rose, and drowned the sound of a faint knock at the hall door. "Yes. Your aunt announced that she would give five thousand dollars to anyone who could solve the mystery." Cynthia was listening with absorbed attention to Eleanor, and neither noticed that the hall door was pushed open a few inches, then softly closed. "Uncle Dana told her that was too much to offer, and she reduced the sum to one thousand dollars, with the proviso that it should be increased if the first offer brought no result." Cynthia sighed deeply. "Why, why did she do it?" she cried passionately. "She must be mad!" Eleanor glanced at her companion in astonishment. "Cynthia, you must not excite yourself," she remonstrated firmly. "Otherwise, I shall leave you." Cynthia reached out and clutched her arm. "Don't go," she entreated. "I must----" her words were interrupted by a sharp rap on the hall door. "Come in."