"I've got it."

"Your justification for coming back?" she asked.

"Exactly. Have you heard anything of some trouble in which judge Ackroyd
was involved last week?"

"Uncle has a very violent temper," admitted the girl evasively. "But I
don't see what--"

"Pardon me. You will see. That row was with a drug clerk."

"In an obscure drug store several blocks from here."

"Yes."

"The drug clerk insisted--as the law requires--on judge Ackroyd
registering for a certain purchase."

"Perhaps he was impertinent about it."

"Possibly. The point is that the prospective purchase was cyanide of
potassium, a deadly and instantaneous poison."

"Are you sure?" asked the girl, in a low voice.

"I've just come from the store. How long have you been here at your
uncle's?"

"A week."

"Then just about the time of your coming with the dog, your uncle
undertook to obtain a swift and sure poison. Have I gone far enough?"

"I--I don't know."

"Well, am I still ordered out of the house?"

"N-n-no."

"Thank you for your enthusiastic hospitality," said Average Jones
so dryly that a smile relaxed the girl's troubled face. "With that
encouragement we'll go on. What is your uncle's attitude toward the
dog?"

"Almost what you might call ingratiating. But Peter Paul--that's my
dog's name, you know--doesn't take to uncle. He's a crotchety old
doggie."

"He's a wise old doggie," amended the other, with emphasis. "Has your
uncle taken him out, at all?"

"Once he tried to. I met them at the corner. All four of Peter Paul's
poor old fat legs were braced, and he was hauling back as hard as he
could against the leash."

"And the occurrence didn't strike you as peculiar?"

"Well, not then."

"When does your uncle give up this house?"

"At the end of the week. Uncle and aunt leave for Europe."

"Then let me suggest again that you and Peter Paul go at once."

Miss Graham pondered. "That would mean explanations and a quarrel, and
more strain for auntie, who is nervous enough, anyway. No, I can't do
that."

"Do you realize that every day Peter Paul remains here is an added
opportunity for judge Ackroyd to make a million dollars, or a big share
of it, by some very simple stratagem?"

"I haven't admitted yet that I believe my uncle to be a--a murderer,"
Miss Graham quietly reminded him.

"A strong word," said Average Jones smiling. "The law would hardly
support your view. Now, Miss Graham, would it grieve you very much if