bout the post-mortem."

"Well, what then?" asked Barbara quickly as the butler paused and again
glanced up and down the hall.

"Just this, miss," he spoke almost in a whisper. "The doctors do say
poor Mr. Turnbull was poisoned by acca--aconitine," stumbling over the
word. "It's a curious thing, miss, that I brought some of that very drug
into this house last Sunday."

"You did!" Barbara's fresh young voice rose in astonishment.

"Hush, miss!" The butler raised both hands. "Hush!" He glanced
cautiously around, then continued. "Colonel McIntyre sent me to the
druggist with a prescription from Dr. Stone for Mrs. Brewster when she
had romantic neuralgia."

"Had what?" Barbara looked puzzled, then giggled, but her mirth quickly
altered to seriousness at sight of the butler's expression. "Mrs.
Brewster had a touch of rheumatic neuralgia the first of the month; do
you refer to that?"

"Yes, miss." Grimes spoke more rapidly, but kept his voice lowered.
"The druggist told me what the pills were when I exclaimed at their
size--regular little pellets, no bigger than that," he demonstrated the
size with the tip of his little finger, and would have added more but
the gong over the front door rang out with such suddenness that both he
and Barbara started violently.

"Just a moment, miss," and he hurried to the front bell, to return after
a brief colloquy with a messenger boy, bearing a letter. "It's for Mrs.
Brewster, miss," he explained, as Barbara held out her hand.

"I'll give it to her and this also," Barbara took the envelope and
a small ice pitcher and glass. "Good night, Grimes. Oh," she stopped
midway up the staircase and waited for the butler to overtake her,
"Grimes, to whom did you give the aconitine on Sunday?"

"I didn't give it to nobody, miss." The butler was a trifle short of
breath; his years did not permit him to keep pace with the twins. "I was
in a great hurry as the druggist kept me waiting, and I had to serve tea
at once."

"But what did you do with the aconitine pills?" demanded Barbara.

"I left the box on the hail table, miss--"

"Great heavens!" Barbara stared at the butler, then without a word she
raced up the staircase and disappeared through the open door of Mrs.
Brewster's bedroom.

The light from the hall shone through the transom and doorway in
sufficient volume to clearly indicate the different pieces of furniture,
and Barbara put the pitcher and glass on the bed stand and laid the
le