e method of operating this death-trap, together with
every detail of evidence that would secure the conviction of the entire
gang.

THE AMETHYST BOX

I

THE FLASK WHICH HELD BUT A DROP

It was the night before the wedding. Though Sinclair, and not myself,
was the happy man, I had my own causes for excitement, and, finding the
heat of the billiard-room insupportable, I sought the veranda for a
solitary smoke in sight of the ocean and a full moon.

I was in a condition of rapturous, if unreasoning, delight. That
afternoon a little hand had lingered in mine for just an instant longer
than the circumstances of the moment strictly required; and small as the
favour may seem to those who do not know Dorothy Camerden, to me, who
realised fully both her delicacy and pride, it was a sign that my long,
if secret, devotion was about to be rewarded, and that at last I was
free to cherish hopes whose alternative had once bid fair to wreck the
happiness of my life.

I was revelling in the felicity of these anticipations, and contrasting
this hour of ardent hope with others of whose dissatisfaction and gloom
I was yet mindful, when a sudden shadow fell across the broad band of
light issuing from the library window, and Sinclair stepped out.

He had the appearance of being disturbed--very much disturbed, I
thought, for a man on the point of marrying the woman for whom he
professed to entertain the one profound passion of his life; but
remembering his frequent causes of annoyance--causes quite apart from
his bride and her personal attributes--I kept on placidly smoking till I
felt his hand on my shoulder, and turned to see that the moment was a
serious one.

"I have something to say to you," he whispered. "Come where we shall run
less risk of being disturbed."

"What's wrong?" I asked, facing him with curiosity, if not with alarm.
"I never saw you look like this before. Has the old lady taken this last
minute to----"

"Hush!" he prayed, emphasising the word with a curt gesture not to be
mistaken. "The little room over the west porch is empty just now. Follow
me there."

With a sigh for the cigar I had so lately lighted, I tossed it into the
bushes and sauntered in after him. I thought I understood his trouble.
The prospective bride was young--a mere slip of a girl indeed--bright,
beautiful, and proud, yet with odd little restraints in her manner and
language, due probably to her peculiar bringing up, and the surpri