“GOOD morning, Uncle Dana.”

The tall, distinguished looking, gray-haired man standing in front of the mantel wheeled around with a visible start of surprise.

“Good Lord! Eleanor, I didn’t hear you enter the room. How silently you move, dear.”

Eleanor’s pretty mouth dimpled into a smile as she kissed her uncle warmly. “I’ll send you an ear-trumpet,” she declared, saucily. “Come and sit by me on this sofa. Did you get my note this morning?”

“How like a woman!” He dropped down on the comfortable rosewood sofa with a sigh of content. “Of course I received it—why otherwise should I be here?”

“Then you will take the case?” she asked eagerly.

“I am not a criminal lawyer.”

Eleanor’s face fell. “Oh, don’t refuse,” she begged earnestly. “Dear Mrs. Winthrop needs some one to watch her interests, and if, later on, occasion requires a criminal lawyer, which pray Heaven may not be, you can then engage one for her. She was so relieved when I suggested sending for you.”

“In what way does Mrs. Winthrop need my services?”

“Why, to take charge of everything”—vaguely. “A man in authority is required here at once.”

“Where is Philip?”

“Philip!” Eleanor’s tone spoke her contempt. “He is sick in bed—a trained nurse in attendance”—then added quickly, answering her uncle’s unspoken question—“too much dissipation has again caused his downfall.”

“Um! I don’t envy Mrs. Winthrop her precious stepson.” Colonel Thornton’s pleasant face hardened, and Eleanor, seeing her advantage, pressed the point.

“Mrs. Winthrop is almost overwhelmed with anxiety and sorrow, which she has practically to face alone. Do, Uncle Dana, if it is possible, take some of this dreadful responsibility off her shoulders.”

“I will do what I can,” announced the Colonel, after a moment’s deliberation.

Eleanor clapped her hands. “Dear Uncle Dana! I knew you would, when you thought it over. Just a moment—I’ll send word to Mrs. Winthrop that you are here; she wants to see you.”

Joshua was in the hall, and to him Eleanor confided her message for Mrs. Winthrop, then returned to the drawing-room and seated herself on the sofa by her uncle.

“Did you ever know anyone in Georgetown named Douglas Hunter?” she inquired.

“Douglas Hunter—Douglas—why, surely, he must be the young son of John Hunter who used to be a neighbor of mine in Georgetown. Cousin Kate Truxton can tell you all about the Hunters. She was an intimate friend of John’s wife. The Hunters belong to the F. F. V.’s. Why do you ask about Douglas?”

“Joshua told me that he spent last night here, and that he is taking a deep interest in the mystery surrounding Senator Carew’s tragic death.”

“You must be mistaken,” exclaimed Thornton, glancing at her in surprise. “To the best of my recollection Douglas Hunter entered the consular service very soon after he left college; then Carew evinced an interest in his career and had him transferred into the Diplomatic Service. He’s not a detective, child.”

“Well, he’s acting as if he were one—prying around”—Eleanor checked her hasty speech and rose as the portiÈres parted, and Mrs. Winthrop advanced into the room. She was a well-known figure in Washington society. Although small of stature, her erect carriage and graceful movements made her seem taller than she really was. She was said to have the longest calling list in Washington, and, although an aristocrat to her fingertips, she had friends and acquaintances in every walk in life, for she possessed the true spirit of democracy which springs from a kind heart and does not ape humility. She had been of inestimable assistance to her brother, Senator Carew, during his political career.

As Colonel Thornton bowed low over her small, blue-veined hand, he noticed the heavy lines and dark shadows which fatigue and sorrow had traced under her eyes, and his hand closed over hers in silent sympathy.

“It is good of you to come, Colonel,” she began, seating herself in a large armchair next the sofa, “and still kinder to offer to advise me, I feel stunned”—she put her hand to her head with a gesture pathetic in its helplessness, and her sad eyes filled with unbidden tears. Eleanor put out her hand, and it was instantly clasped by the older woman. “Forgive me, Colonel.” She blinked the tears away, and by a visible effort regained her lost composure. “My brother was very dear to me, and——”

“I know no man who had more friends,” replied Thornton gravely, as she paused and bit her trembling lips.

“Exactly, therefore his violent death seems monstrous!” declared Mrs. Winthrop. “Who would commit such a deed? My brother’s greatest fault was his kind heart—he accomplished so much good unobtrusively. Now, Colonel, the first thing I wish to consult you about is offering a reward for the discovery of his murderer. Can you arrange it for me?”

“Certainly. I think it a wise suggestion. How much shall it be?” Thornton drew out his notebook.

“Five thousand dollars;” then, noting Thornton’s expression, asked: “You think it too much?”

“It would perhaps be better to commence with a smaller sum—say one thousand dollars—then you can increase it, if that amount brings no results.”

“That is a capital plan. Well, James, what is it?” to the footman who had entered a second before and approached her chair.

“Mr. Brett wants to know, ma’am, if you will see him an’ Mister Hunter fo’ a few minutes. They want to ax yo’ a few questions.”

Mrs. Winthrop glanced interrogatively at Thornton. “What shall I do?”

“Perhaps it would be just as well to see them,” he replied.

“Very well. James, show the gentlemen in here,” and, as the servant hastened out of the room, she turned to her two guests. “You must be present at this interview, and I depend on you, Colonel Thornton, to check any undue inquisitiveness on the part of the detective.”

“I will, madam,” and Thornton’s grim tone conveyed more than the mere words. He ranked as one of the leaders of the District bar, and few opposing lawyers dared take liberties with him when trying a case.

Eleanor made a motion to rise, but Mrs. Winthrop checked her with a low-toned “Wait, dear,” as Brett, followed by Douglas Hunter, strode into the room.

Mrs. Winthrop acknowledged Brett’s bow with a courteous inclination of her head, but, as he murmured Douglas’ name in introducing him, she rose and shook hands with him.

“I have frequently heard my brother speak of you, Mr. Hunter,” she said, “and have regretted not meeting you before,” and, as Douglas voiced his thanks, she added, “Eleanor, Mr. Hunter”—and Douglas gazed deep into the beautiful eyes which had haunted his memory since their last meeting in Paris. For one second his glance held hers, while a soft blush mantled her cheeks; then Colonel Thornton stepped forward briskly and extended his hand.

“No need of an introduction here, Douglas,” he said heartily. “I should have known you anywhere from your likeness to your father, though I haven’t seen you since you wore knickerbockers.”

“I haven’t forgotten ‘Thornton’s Nest,’ nor you either, Colonel,” exclaimed Douglas, clasping his hand warmly. “I about lived on your grounds before I went to boarding school.”

“Pray be seated, gentlemen,” and, in obedience to Mrs. Winthrop’s gesture, Douglas pulled up a chair near hers, while Brett and Colonel Thornton did likewise. “Now, Mr. Brett, what do you wish to ask me?”

“Have you any idea where Senator Carew dined the night of his death?”

“Not the slightest,” was the positive reply.

“Was it your brother’s custom not to inform you where he was dining?” asked Brett.

“Stop a moment,” Thornton held up a protesting hand. “Mrs. Winthrop, you cannot be compelled to answer questions put to you by Mr. Brett; he has no legal right to examine you now.”

“I am quite aware of that, Colonel Thornton,” put in Brett composedly; “I am asking these questions that I may gain a little more light on this mystery. I only saw Mrs. Winthrop for a short time yesterday, and, while I do not wish to intrude, I feel that I can accomplish better results by a longer talk. This tragedy must be investigated thoroughly.”

“Very true; but you forget, Mr. Brett, that the inquest is the proper place for bringing out testimony. Mrs. Winthrop will have to appear before it, and, until that is held, she must not be pestered with questions or harrowed by intrusions.”

“I am willing to answer all questions within reason,” said Mrs. Winthrop, before the detective could reply. “If you mean, Mr. Brett, that Senator Carew was secretive about his movements, you are mistaken. On the contrary, he was most open and above board in his dealings with me. Occasionally, when hurried, he did not tell me his plans for the day, but, as a general thing, I knew all his social engagements.”

“Ah, his social engagements,” echoed Brett, “how about his official engagements, Mrs. Winthrop?”

“With those I had nothing to do. I never meddled in my brother’s political or official career; that was out of my province,” was the calm reply.

“Then you think it likely that he dined with some of his official colleagues?”

“I am unable to express an opinion on the subject.”

“You had better ask his private secretary what engagements he made for Monday, and with whom he was last seen,” broke in Thornton.

“Mr. Philip Winthrop is in no condition to answer questions now. He will be examined before the coroner’s inquest when able to leave his room.”

“Then I do not see the object of this interview,” objected Thornton. “Young Mr. Winthrop is better able to tell you of Senator Carew’s movements that day than Mrs. Winthrop.”

“I cannot wait so long.” Brett shook his head decidedly. “What clews there are will grow cold, and I cannot afford to risk that. I am deeply interested in clearing up this terrible affair.”

“And do you think I am less so?” demanded Mrs. Winthrop indignantly. “On the contrary, Mr. Brett, I will move Heaven and earth to find the perpetrator of that dastardly deed. I have just told Colonel Thornton that I will offer a reward of one thousand dollars for information leading to the criminal’s arrest.”

“Ah, then you do not think the negro coachman, Hamilton, guilty?” put in Brett quickly.

“I have not said so,” but Mrs. Winthrop looked disconcerted for a second, then regained her usual serenity. “My idea in offering the reward was to assist your investigation, and Colonel Thornton agreed with me that it was an excellent plan.”

“Mrs. Winthrop,” the detective spoke with greater distinctness, “was Senator Carew on good terms with all the members of his family?”

“He was, sir, with members of this household.” Mrs. Winthrop hesitated briefly, then continued, “I think that I had better tell you that, since his return from Panama a short time ago, my brother received a number of threatening letters.”

“Indeed,” Brett’s tone betrayed his satisfaction. “Can I see the letters?”

“Unfortunately my brother destroyed the one he showed me.”

“What was its contents?” inquired Brett.

“To the best of my recollection the message, which was written in an obviously disguised writing, read somewhat like this:

“‘Your movements are watched. If you act, you die’.”

“Did you see the envelope?” asked Brett, as he jotted down the words in his memorandum book.

“No. At the time my brother showed it to me he told me that he had received several others; that he had no idea to what they referred; and that he never paid attention to anonymous communications.”

“I see.” Brett thoughtfully replaced his notebook in his pocket. “Can I talk to your niece, Miss Cynthia Carew?”

Mrs. Winthrop shook her head. “She is still too prostrated to be interviewed.”

“Poor little soul! It was a ghastly experience for her,” ejaculated Colonel Thornton.

“It was indeed,” agreed Mrs. Winthrop. “She was devoted to her uncle, and he to her. Consequently the shock has driven her half out of her mind.”

“Miss Thornton—” Brett turned and faced Eleanor—“do you know to whom Miss Carew referred when she exclaimed on greeting you yesterday afternoon: ‘They quarreled, Eleanor, they quarreled!’”

Mrs. Winthrop caught her breath sharply.

“Why, her words referred to Hamilton, the coachman,” replied Eleanor quietly, and her eyes did not waver before Brett’s stern glance.

The detective broke the short silence which followed. “I won’t detain you longer, Mrs. Winthrop. I am exceedingly obliged to you for the information you have furnished. Mr. Hunter, are you coming down town?”

Douglas nodded an affirmative as he rose. Mrs. Winthrop and Colonel Thornton detained Brett with a question as he was leaving the room. Douglas seized his opportunity, and crossed over to Eleanor’s side.

“How have you been since I saw you last, Miss Thornton?” he inquired.

“Very well, thanks. And you?”—Eleanor inspected him with good-natured raillery: “You look—as serious as ever.”

Douglas reddened. “It has been my lot in life to have to take things seriously. I’m not such a Puritan as you evidently think me.”

“Come and see me, and perhaps on better acquaintance”—she paused.

“What?”

“You will improve.” Her charming, roguish smile robbed the words of their sting.

“You think then that I am an acquired taste?”

“I have not seen enough of you to know.”

“When may I call on you?”

She parried the question with another.

“Why did you leave Paris without saying good-bye to me?”

The simple question sobered Douglas. It brought back an unpleasant recollection best forgotten. Eleanor’s bewitching personality had always exerted an extraordinary influence over him. He found himself watching her every movement, instinct with grace, and eagerly waiting to catch her smile. In Paris he had often cursed himself for a fool, even when attending a reception just to catch a glimpse of her. She was a born coquette, and could no more help enjoying an innocent flirtation than a kitten could help frolicking. It was her intense femininity which had first attracted him. Frightened at the influence she unconsciously exerted over him, he had deliberately avoided her—and Fate had thrown them together again. It was Kismet! Therefore, why not enjoy the goods the gods provided and be thankful?

“‘Time and tide wait for no man,’” he quoted. “I had to catch a steamer at a moment’s notice, hence the ‘P. P. C.’ card. Please show your forgiveness, and let me call.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Why, I’ll come anyway.”

Eleanor’s eyes twinkled. “Bravo. I like the spirit of young Lochinvar.”

“He came out of the West, whereas I come out of the East.”

“Oh, well, extremes meet.”

“Then don’t be surprised if I carry you off.” The words were spoken in jest, but the look in Douglas’ eyes caused Eleanor to blush hotly.

“Marse Brett am awaitin’ fo’ yo’, suh,” said Joshua from the doorway, breaking in on the tÊte-À-tÊte.

“Oh,—ah,—yes.” Douglas was suddenly conscious of the absence of the others. “Miss Thornton, I had no idea I was detaining you. Please say good-by to Mrs. Winthrop and your uncle. I never realized in Paris that you belonged to the Thorntons in Georgetown.”

“You never took the trouble to make inquiries about me?” She surprised a look in Douglas’ face—why did he appear as if caught? The expression was fleeting, but Eleanor’s eyes hardened. “Good-bye,” she turned abruptly away, without seeing his half-extended hand.

Douglas looked anything but pleasant when he joined Brett, who stood waiting for him in the vestibule. They strolled down Massachusetts Avenue for over a block in absolute silence.

Brett was the first to speak. “When you were eating breakfast I saw Annette, Miss Thornton’s French maid, and questioned her in regard to the dressing gowns worn by the Carew household.”

“What luck did you meet with?” inquired Douglas, rousing from a deep study.

“She says Mrs. Winthrop, Miss Carew, and Miss Thornton all wear dressing gowns made of oriental silk.”

“Upon my word!” ejaculated Douglas, much astonished. “Still, they can’t be the same pattern.”

“It won’t be so easy to identify your midnight caller by means of that silk,” taking out the slip which Douglas had torn from the dressing gown the night before. “Annette says the gowns were given to Mrs. Winthrop and Miss Carew by Miss Thornton, who purchased them, with hers, at a Japanese store in H Street. The French girl isn’t above accepting a bribe, so when I suggested her showing me the gowns, she got them and brought them into the library, while Mrs. Winthrop and Miss Thornton were breakfasting in Miss Carew’s boudoir.”

“Did you see all three of them?”

“Yes, and they are as alike as two peas in a pod. And, Mr. Hunter,” his voice deepened impressively, “I examined them with the greatest care, and not one kimono was torn—nor had any one of them ever been mended.”