een jealous of a brother.

"But how could Foster have tampered with your cigars?" he inquired.
"Was he up there at Hickwood when you left them?"

"He was there all the time of uncle's visit, in hiding, and even on the
night of his death," she confessed in a whisper. "Alice doesn't know
of this, but he admitted it all to me."

"This is what you have been trying to conceal from me, all the time,"
Garrison observed. "Do the Robinsons have their suspicions?"

"I can't be certain. Perhaps they have. Theodore has exercised a very
bad influence on Foster's life. He intimated once to me that perhaps
Uncle John had been murdered."

Garrison thought for a moment.

"It is almost impossible for anyone to have had that suspicion who had
no guilty knowledge," he said. "Theodore was, and is, capable of any
crime. If he knew about the will and believed you had not fulfilled
the conditions, by marrying, he would have had all the motive in the
world to commit the crime himself."

"But," said Dorothy, "he knew nothing of the will, as I told you
before."

"And he with an influence over Foster, who _did_ know all about the
will?"

Dorothy changed color once again. She was startled.

"I never thought of that," she admitted. "Foster might have told."

"There's a great deal to clear up in a case like this," said Garrison,
"even when suspicions point your course. I think I can land Mr.
Theodore on the things he attempted on me, but not just yet. He may
reveal himself a little more. Besides, our alleged marriage will
hardly bear a close investigation."

For the moment Dorothy was more concerned by his personal danger than
by anything concerning the case.

"You told me a little of what was attempted in the park," she said.
"I've thought about it ever since--such a terrible attack! If anything
dreadful should happen to you----"

She broke off suddenly, turned crimson to her hair, and dropped her
gaze from his face.

In that moment he resisted the greatest temptation of his life--the
impulse to sink at her feet on his knees, and tell her of his love. He
knew she felt, as he did, the wondrous attraction between them; he knew
that to her, as to himself, the impression was strong that they had
known each other always; but hired as he had been to conduct an affair
in which it had been particularly stipulated there was to be no
sentiment, or even the slightest thought of such a development, he
throttled his passion and