agraph
leading the "personal" column of the small, amateurish sheet,
announcing the engagement of Miss Anita Natalie Richmond to Mr. Maurice
Rodaine, the wedding to come "probably in the late fall!"

CHAPTER XV

Fairchild did not show the item to Harry. There was little that it
could accomplish, and besides, he felt that his comrade had enough to
think about. The unexpected turn of the coroner's inquest had added to
the heavy weight of Harry's troubles; it meant the probability in the
future of a grand jury investigation and the possible indictment as
accessory after the fact in the murder of "Sissie" Larsen. Not that
Fairchild had been influenced in the slightest by the testimony of
Crazy Laura; the presence of Squint Rodaine and his son had shown too
plainly that they were connected in some way with it, that, in fact,
they were responsible. An opportunity had arisen for them, and they
had seized upon it. More, there came the shrewd opinion of old Mother
Howard, once Fairchild and Harry had reached the boarding house and
gathered in the parlor for their consultation:

"Ain't it what I said right in the beginning?" the gray-haired woman
asked. "She 'll kill for that man, if necessary. It was n't as hard
as you think--all Squint Rodaine had to do was to act nice to her and
promise her a few things that he 'll squirm out of later on, and she
went on the stand and lied her head off."

"But for a crazy woman--"

"Laura's crazy--and she ain't crazy. I 've seen that woman as sensible
and as shrewd as any sane woman who ever drew breath. Then again, I
've seen her when I would n't get within fifty miles of her. Sometimes
she 's pitiful to me; and then again I 've got to remember the fact
that she 's a dangerous woman. Goodness only knows what would happen
to a person who fell into her clutches when she 's got one of those
immortality streaks on."

"One of those what?" Harry looked up in surprise.

"Immortality. That's why you 'll find her sneaking around graveyards
at night, gathering herbs and taking them to that old house on the
Georgeville Road, where she lives, and brewing them into some sort of
concoction that she sprinkles on the graves. She believes that it's a
sure system of bringing immortality to a person. Poison--that's about
what it is."

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Poison 's what she is!" he exclaimed. "Ain't it enough that I 'm
accused of every crime in the calendar without 'e