It is believed that Pinder, being in urgent need of money, was seized with the sudden temptation and, dropping cyanide in the woman’s tea, afterwards ransacked her secretaire. The case presents no unusual features, except the refusal of the prisoner to plead. Twice Lois read the account and shook her head. “I can’t believe it! It is incredible--impossible!” she said. “She was imprisoned for life--but surely she should be out by now? Isn’t there a remission of sentence for good conduct?” The governor shook his head. “Unfortunately she made two attempts to escape, and lost all her marks. It is a great pity, because she’s a fairly rich woman. An uncle of hers, who only learnt of her conviction after she had been five years in gaol, left her a very considerable fortune. She never told us who she was--he visited her here a few weeks before his death--and we’re just as wise as ever we were, except that we know that he was a relation of her mother.” Lois took up the book again and stared at the printed page. “A murderess--that wonderful woman!” He nodded. “Yes. Remarkable. Yet the most innocent-looking people commit bad offences. I have been here twenty years and lost most of my illusions.” “If they thought she was a murderess, why didn’t they----” She could not bring herself to say “hang her.” The governor looked at her curiously. “Ha--h’m--well, there was a reason, a very excellent reason.” Lois was puzzled for a moment, and then suddenly the explanation came to her. “Yes, the baby was born in this very prison--the prettiest little baby girl I’ve ever seen--a perfect child. I hated the time when she had to be taken away. Poor little soul!” “She didn’t know, perhaps doesn’t know now,” said Lois, her eyes filling with tears. “No, I suppose not. She was adopted by a woman who was a neighbour and always believed in Mrs. Pinder’s innocence. No, when I said ‘poor little soul,’ I was thinking of the fool of a nurse who let the child burn its arm against the top of a hot water bottle. A pretty bad burn. I remember it because it left a scar on the baby’s forearm--the stopper of the water bottle had a star.” Lois Reddle clutched the edge of the table and her face went suddenly white. The doctor was putting away the book and his back was towards her. With an effort she gained control of her voice. “Do--do you remember the name by which the baby was christened?” she asked in a low voice. “Yes,” he said instantly, “an unusual name, and I always remember it. Lois Margeritta!” Chapter Four Lois Margeritta! Her own name! And the star-shaped burn on her arm! Her head was in a whirl; the room seemed to be spinning round drunkenly and it needed all her strength of mind to keep her from crying out. But it was true. That dignified, stately woman who had marched so calmly in the circle of pain was her mother! Incredible, impossible though it seemed, she knew this was the truth. Her mother!