he was receiving. Leland, we learned, had been very active. By prompt
work at the time of the young doctor's arrest he had managed to
secure the greater part of Dr. Dixon's personal letters, though the
prosecutor secured some, the contents of which had not been disclosed.

Kennedy spent most of the day in tracing out the movements of
Thurston. Nothing that proved important was turned up and even visits
to near-by towns failed to show any sales of cyanide or sublimate
to any one not entitled to buy them. Meanwhile, in turning over the
gossip of the town, one of the newspapermen ran across the fact that
the Boncour bungalow was owned by the Posts, and that Halsey Post, as
the executor of the estate, was a more frequent visitor than the mere
collection of the rent would warrant. Mrs. Boncour maintained a stolid
silence that covered a seething internal fury when the newspaperman
in question hinted that the landlord and tenant were on exceptionally
good terms.

It was after a fruitless day of such search that we were sitting in
the reading-room of the Fairfield Hotel. Leland entered. His face was
positively white. Without a word he took us by the arm and led us
across Main Street and up a flight of stairs to his office. Then he
locked the door.

"What's the matter?" asked Kennedy.

"When I took this case," he said, "I believed down in my heart that
Dixon was innocent. I still believe it, but my faith has been rudely
shaken. I feel that you should know about what I have just found. As I
told you, we secured nearly all of Dr. Dixon's letters. I had not read
them all then. But I have been going through them to-night. Here is a