Initials Only

impulsively, and not even the presence of murder could change his ways.“I want to feel sure of myself,” he explained. “Can you bear the strain of waiting around a lit

d reaching the heart. No one saw the attack, or even the approach or departure of the person inflicting this wound. If she was killed by a pistol-shot, it was at a distance, and almost over the heads of the persons sitting at the table we saw there. But the doctors shake their heads at the word pistol-shot, though they refuse to explain themselves or to express any opinion till the wound has been probed. This they are going to do at once, and when that question is decided, I may feel it my duty to speak and may ask you to support my story.”“I will tell what I saw,” said I.“Very good. That is all that will be required. We are strangers to the parties concerned, and only speak from a sense of justice. It may be that our story will make no impression, and that we shall be dismissed with but few thanks. But that is nothing to us. If the woman has been murdered, he is the murderer. With such a conviction in my mind, there can be no doubt as to my duty.”“We can never make them understand how he looked.”“No. I don’t expect to.”“Or his manner as he fled.”“Nor that either.”“We can only describe what we saw him do.”That’s all.”“Oh, what an adventure for quiet people like us! George, I don’t believe he shot her.”“He must have.”“But they would have seen — have heard — the people around, I mean.”“So they say; but I have a theory — but no matter about that now. I’m going down again to see how things have progressed. I’ll be back for you later. Only be ready.”Be ready! I almost laughed,— a hysterical laugh, of course, when I recalled the injunction. Be ready! This lonely sitting by myself, with nothing to do but think was a fine preparation for a sudden appearance before those men — some of them police-officers, no doubt.But that’s enough about myself; I’m not the heroine of this story. In a half hour or an hour — I never knew which — George reappeared only to tell me that no conclusions had as yet been reached; an element of great mystery involved the whole affair, and the most astute detectives on the force had been sent for. Her father, who had been her constant companion all winter, had not the least suggestion to offer in way of its solution. So far as he knew — and he believed himself to have been in perfect accord with his daughter — she had injured no one. She had just lived the even, happy and useful life of a young woman of means, who sees duties beyond those of her own household and immediate surroundings. If, in the fulfillment of those duties, she had encountered any obstacle to content, he did not know it; nor could he mention a friend of hers — he would even say lovers, since that was what he meant — who to his knowledge could be accused of harbouring any such passion of revenge as was manifested in this secret and diabolical attack. They were all gentlemen and respected her as heartily as they appeared to admire her. To no living being, man or woman, could he point as possessing any motive for such a deed. S