e train. 'I
promised your father I would.'

'Do, do,' and she held my hand almost feverishly.

CHAPTER XLI

THE NEW HOPE

Nothing more than was absolutely necessary appeared in the newspapers
about Springfield's death. In a letter which he wrote before taking
his life he explained his action in a few characteristic words.

'Life's not worth living, that's why I'm going to die. I do not wish
any question asked of any one why I intend to solve the "great secret,"
very suddenly. I'm tired of the whole show. That's enough explanation
for any one. I am quite sane, and I hope no fool set of jurymen will
bring in a verdict about my taking my life while in an unsound mind. I
am reaping as I've sown, and I dare say if I had been a pattern young
man things might have ended differently. But there it is. The game,
as far as I am concerned, is not worth the candle. Besides, the game's
played out. I am grateful to those of my friends who have been kind to
me. The personal letters I am writing must be regarded as private and
confidential. By that I mean they must not be read to satisfy the
vulgar curiosity of the gaping crowd, and no questions must be asked of
their recipients. Their contents are meant only for those to whom they
are addressed.'

According to the newspaper reports, no awkward questions were asked of
Sir Thomas Bolivick, or any members of the party with whom he had dined
the night before he died, and the twelve jurymen who brought in a
verdict of suicide said nothing about an 'unsound mind.'

Mention was made, however, of a sealed letter, placed by the side of
the one I have copied. This letter bore no address, and nothing was
written on the envelope but the words: 'This package must _not_ be
opened within a week of my burial.'

Comparing this instruction with the 'open letter,' I judged that the
package contained more than one letter, but no further information was
given.

At the beginning of August two letters arrived by the same post. One
was from Lorna Bolivick, and the other was from my friend. The latter
was simply a command to get a few days off, and to come and see him.
He wanted a chat badly, he said, and if I could not get away, he would
come to me, but surely I was not so important that I couldn't be spared
for a week-end, if not more. He also insisted that I must send him a
wire at once.

On opening Lorna's letter, I found practically the same request. The
doctor had f