ion like this.
For whilst there would have been nothing peculiar in this solitary
woman, with the few thousands in the bank, boasting of her power to
separate her nephew from the lady of his choice, there was every thing
that was significant in her using the same language in regard to Miss
Dare and Mr. Orcutt. Nothing but the existence of some unsuspected bond
between herself and the great lawyer could have accounted, first, for
her feeling on the subject of his marriage; and, secondly, for the
threat of interference contained in her very emphatic words,--a bond
which, while evidently not that of love, was still of a nature to give
her control over his destiny, and make her, in spite of her lonely
condition, the selfish and determined arbitrator of his fate.

What was that bond? A secret shared between them? The knowledge on her
part of some fact in Mr. Orcutt's past life, which, if revealed, might
serve as an impediment to his marriage? In consideration that the great
mystery to be solved was what motive Mr. Orcutt could have had for
killing this woman, an answer to this question was manifestly of the
first importance.

But before proceeding to take any measures to insure one, Mr. Gryce sat
down and seriously asked himself whether there was any known fact,
circumstantial or otherwise, which refused to fit into the theory that
Mr. Orcutt actually committed this crime with his own hand, and at the
time he was seen to cross the street and enter Mrs. Clemmens' house.
For, whereas the most complete chain of circumstantial evidence does not
necessarily prove the suspected party to be guilty of a crime, the
least break in it is fatal to his conviction. And Mr. Gryce wished to be
as fair to the memory of Mr. Orcutt as he would have been to the living
man.

Beginning, therefore, with the earliest incidents of the fatal day, he
called up, first, the letter which the widow had commenced but never
lived to finish. It was a suggestive epistle. It was addressed to her
most intimate friend, and showed in the few lines written a certain
foreboding or apprehension of death remarkable under the circumstances.
Mr. Gryce recalled one of its expressions. "There are so many," wrote
she, "to whom my death would be more than welcome." So many! Many is a
strong word; many means more than one, more than two; many means _three_
at least. Now where were the three? Hildreth, of course, was one,
Mansell might very properly be another, but who wa