LITMIR.BIZ

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was to have become a bride. And instead—" Glancing around the brilliant room and at the bridal bower, Miss Morton's composure gave way entirely, and she sobbed hysterically. At this Cicely Dupuy came across from the library. Putting her arm around Miss Morton, she led the sobbing woman away, and without a word to Tom Willard gave him a glance which seemed to say that he must look out for himself, for her duty was to attend Miss Morton.

      As the two women left the drawing-room Tom followed them. He walked slowly, and stared about as if uncertain where to go. He paused a moment midway in the room, and, stooping, picked up some small object from the carpet, which he put in his waistcoat pocket.

      A moment more and he had crossed the hall and stood at the library door, gazing at the scene which had already shocked and saddened the others.

      With a groan, as of utter anguish, Tom involuntarily put up one hand before his eyes.

      Then, pulling himself together with an effort, he seemed to dash away a tear, and walked into the room, saying almost harshly, "What does it mean?"

      Doctor Hills rose to meet him, and by way of a brief explanation he put into Tom's hand the paper he had found on the table. Tom read the written message, and looked more stupefied than ever. With a sudden gesture he turned towards Schuyler Carleton and said in a low voice, "but you did love her, didn't you?"

      "I did," replied Carleton simply.

      "Why should she have thought you didn't?" went on Tom, looking at the paper, and seeming to soliloquize rather than to address his question to any one else.

      As this was the first time that the "S." in Madeleine's note had been openly assumed to stand for Schuyler Carleton, there was a stir of excitement all round the room.

      "I don't know," said Carleton, but a dull, red flush spread over his white face and his voice trembled.

      "You don't know!" said Tom, in cutting tones. "Man, you must know."

      But no reply was made, and, dropping into a chair, Tom buried his face in both hands and remained thus for a long time.

      Tom Willard was a large, stout man, and possessed of the genial and merry demeanor which so often accompanies avoirdupois. Save for his occasional, though really rare, bursts of temper, Tom was always in joking and laughing mood.

      To see him thus in an agonized, speechless despair deeply affected Mrs. Markham. Tom had always been a favorite with her, and not even Madeleine had regretted more than she the estrangement between Richard Van Norman and his nephew. And even as Mrs. Markham looked at the bowed head of the great strong man she suddenly bethought herself for the first time that Tom was now heir to the Van Norman fortune.

      She wondered if he had himself yet realized it; and then she scolded herself for letting such thoughts intrude so unfittingly soon. And yet she well knew that it would not be in ordinary human nature long to ignore the fact of such a sudden change of fortunes. As she looked at Tom her glance strayed toward Mr. Carleton, and then the thought struck her that what Tom had gained this man had lost. For had Madeleine lived the Van Norman money would have been, in a way, at the disposal of her husband. The girl's death then would make Tom a rich man, while Schuyler Carleton would remain poor. He had always been poor, or at least far from wealthy, and more than one gossip was of the opinion that he had wooed Miss Van Norman not entirely because of disinterested love for her.

      While Mrs. Markham was busy with these fast-following thoughts a voice in the doorway made her look up.

      A quiet, unimportant-looking man stood there, and was respectfully addressing Doctor Hills.

      "I'm Hunt, sir," he said, "a plain-clothes man from headquarters."

      The three men in the room gave a start of surprise, and each turned an inquiring look at the newcomer.

      "Who sent you? And what for?" asked Doctor Hills.

      "I've been here all night, sir. I'm on guard in the present room upstairs."

      "I engaged him," said Mrs. Markham. "Madeleine's presents are very valuable, and although the jewels are still in the bank, the silver and other things upstairs are worth a large amount, and I thought best to have this man remain here during the night."

      "A very wise precaution, Mrs. Markham," said Doctor Hills; "and why did you leave your post, my man?"

      "The butler told me of what had happened, and I wondered if I might be of any service down here. I left the butler in charge of the room while I came down to inquire."

      "Very thoughtful of you," said Doctor Hills, with a nod of appreciation; "and while I hardly think so, we may have use for you before the night is over. I am expecting Doctor Leonard, the county physician, and until he comes I can do nothing. I am sure the room above is sufficiently guarded for the time being, so suppose you sit down here a few minutes and wait."

      Mr. Hunt chose to take a seat in the hall, just outside the library door, and thus added one more solemn presence to the quietly waiting group.

      And now Doctor Hills had occasion to add another puzzling condition to those that had already confronted him.

      Almost every one in the room was curiously affected by the appearance of this detective, or plain-clothes man, as he was called.

      Schuyler Carleton gave a start, and his pale face became whiter yet.

      Cicely Dupuy looked at him, and then turning her glance toward Mr. Hunt, whom she could see through the doorway, she favored the latter with a stare of such venomous hatred that Doctor Hills with difficulty repressed an exclamation.

      Cicely's big blue eyes roved from Hunt to Carleton and back again, and her little hands clenched as with a firm resolve of some sort in her mind; she seemed to brace herself for action.

      Her hovering glances annoyed Carleton; he grew nervous and at last stared straight at her, when her own eyes dropped, and she blushed rosy red.

      But this side-play was observed by no one but Doctor Hills, for the others were evidently absorbed in serious thoughts of their own concerning the advent of Mr. Hunt.

      Tom Willard stared at him in a sort of perplexity; but Tom's good-natured face had worn that perplexed look ever since he had heard the awful news. He seemed unable to understand, or even to grasp the facts so clearly visible before him.

      But Miss Morton was more disturbed than any one else. She looked at Hunt, and an expression of fear came into her eyes. She fidgeted about, she felt in her pocket, she changed her seat twice, and she repeatedly asked Doctor Hills if he thought Doctor Leonard would arrive soon.

      Doctor Leonard did not live in Mapleton, but motored over from his home in a nearby village. He was a stranger to all those awaiting him in the Van Norman house, with the exception of Doctor Hills. Unlike that pleasant-mannered young man, Doctor Leonard was middle aged, of a crusty disposition and curt speech.

      When he came, Doctor Hills presented him to the ladies, and before he had time to introduce the two men, Doctor Leonard said crossly, "Put the women out. I cannot conduct this affair with petticoats and hysterics around me."

      Though not meant to reach the ears of the ladies, the speech was fairly audible, and with a trace of indignation Miss Morton arose and left the room. Mrs. Markham followed her, and Cicely went also.

      Doctor Leonard closed the library doors, and, turning to Doctor Hills, asked for a concise statement of what had happened.

      In his straightforward manner Doctor Hills gave him a brief outline of the case, including all the necessary details.

      "And yet," he concluded, "even in the face of that written message, I cannot think it a suicide."

      "Of course it's a suicide," declared Doctor Leonard in his blustering way; "there is no question whatever. That written confession which you all declare to be in her handwriting is ample proof that the girl killed herself. Of course you had to send for me—the stupid old laws of New Jersey make it imperative that I shall be dragged out many miles away from my home for every death that isn't in conventional death-bed fashion; but there is no suspicion

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