red a new dignity as he uttered it.

I paused a moment to consider. This, certainly, seemed to discredit
the theory that Holladay had ever had a liaison with any other woman,
and yet what other theory was tenable?

"There was nothing to mar their happiness that you know of? Of
course," I added, "you understand, Thompson, that I'm not asking these
questions from idle curiosity, but to get to the bottom of this
mystery, if possible."

"I understand, sir," he nodded. "No, there was nothing to mar their
happiness--except one thing."

"And what was that?"

"Why, they had no children, sir, for fifteen years and more. After
Miss Frances came, of course, that was all changed."

"She was born abroad?"

"Yes, sir; in France. I don't just know the town."

"But you know the date of her birth?"

"Oh, yes, sir--the tenth of June, eighteen seventy-six--we always
celebrated it."

"Mr. Holladay was with his wife at the time?"

"Yes, sir; he and his wife had been abroad nearly a year. His health
had broken down, and the doctor made him take a long vacation. He came
home a few months later, but Mrs. Holladay stayed on. She didn't get
strong again, some way. She stayed nearly four years, and he went over
every few months to spend a week with her; and at last she came home
to die, bringing her child with her. That was the first time any of us
ever saw Miss Frances."

"Mr. Holladay thought a great deal of her?"

"You may well say so, sir; she took his wife's place," said the old
man simply.

"And she thought a great deal of him?"

"More than that, sir; she fairly worshiped him. She was always at the
door to meet him; always dined with him; they almost always spent
their evenings together. She didn't care much for society--I've often
heard her tell him that she'd much rather just stay at home with him.
It was he who rather insisted on her going out; for he was proud of
her, as he'd a right to be."

"Yes," I said: for all this fitted in exactly with what I had always
heard about the family. "There were no other relatives, were there?"

"None at all, sir; both Mr. Holladay and his wife were only children;
their parents, of course, have been dead for years."

"Nor any intimate friends?"

"None I'd call intimate, sir; Miss Frances had some school friends,
but she was always--well--reserved, sir."

"Yes." I nodded again. "And now," I added, "tell me, as fully as you
can, what has happened within the last three weeks."