e
sure to find out. We must see Blossom. He is the one who would have
the most complete knowledge of your father's affairs, Viola. Did I hear
something about his going into partnership with your father?"

"Yes, there was some such plan. Father decided that he needed help,
and he spoke of taking in Mr. Blossom. I know no more than that," Viola
answered.

"Then LeGrand Blossom is the person to throw more light on that
subject," said Dr. Lambert.

To himself he added a mental reservation that he did not count much on
what information might come from the head clerk. Blossom, in the mind of
Dr. Lambert, was a person of not much strength of character. There had
been certain episodes in his life, information as to which had come
to the physician in a roundabout way, that did not reflect on him very
well; though, in truth, he felt that the man was weak rather than bad.

"Then is it to be believed that my father was a suicide?" asked Viola,
as though seeking to know the worst, that she might fight to make it
better.

"On the bare facts in the case--yes," answered Dr. Lambert. "But that is
only a starting point. We will make no hard and fast decision."

"Indeed we will not," declared Viola. "There must be a most rigid
investigation."

And when the others had gone, Dr. Lambert to make funeral arrangements
for his old friend, Captain Poland to see the bank officials, Dr. Baird
to his office, taking Minnie Webb home in his car, and Miss Garwell to
her room to lie down, Viola, left alone, gave herself up to grief. She
felt utterly downcast and very much in need of a friend.

And perhaps this feeling made her welcome, more cordially than when
she had last seen him, Harry Bartlett, who was announced soon after the
others left.

"Oh, Harry, have you heard the terrible news?" faltered Viola.

"You mean about your father? Yes," he said gently. "But I do not believe
it. I may as well speak plainly, Viola. Your father, for some reason
best known to himself, did not care for me. But I respected him, and
in spite of a feeling between us I admired him. I feel sure he did not
commit suicide."

"But they say it looks very suspicious, Harry! Oh, tell me what to do!"
and, impulsively, Viola held out her hands to him. Bartlett pressed them
warmly.

"I'll serve you in any way I can," he said, gazing fondly into her eyes.
"But I confess I am puzzled. I don't know what to do. Perhaps it would
be better, as Dr. Lambert says, to look int