He muses silently awhile now, puts down the doctor's letter, and takes up the other.
"This," he murmurs, "is tantalising." And then he read from a letter, signed "Hilda G."
"Mrs. Jamieson begins to complain of the dullness of this place, in spite of the fact that she has had a visit from her husband's brother, a Mr. Carl Jamieson. He did not make a long visit, and I saw but little of him. He is something of a cripple, a sufferer from rheumatism, and just back from the hot springs. I met him but once. He looks and talks like an Englishman, and has a dark eye that betokens, if I am a judge of eyes, a bad temper. I give you these details knowing that all concerning the little blonde lady is of interest to you."
"Of interest!" he muttered "I should think so! Doubly so, now that there's so little else of interest, or" He stopped short, and wheeled about in his chair. His office-boy had swung open his door, and was saying:
"A lady to see you, sir." And Ferrars arose to confront a visitor, a brunette so tall and lissom, so glowing with the rich hues of health and beauty, so clear of eye, and direct of gaze, that Ferrars could not at
