"I know," returned Brencherly; "there's got to be a victim for justice
first, or else prove that nothing, not even the ends of justice, can be
gained before you can get the wires pulled. But that's what I'm setting
out to do. I don't believe, Mr. Gard, that Mrs. Marteen committed that
murder--not that there may not have been plenty of reason for it, but
the way of it--no! I've got an idea. I don't want to say too much or
raise any hopes that I can't make good; but there's just this: when I
leave the house it will be to start on another trail. In the meantime,
everything is being done that is humanly possible to find Mrs. Marteen.
There's only one other way, and that, for the present, won't do--it's
newspaper publicity, photographic reproductions and a reward. I think
she is somewhere under an assumed name. But there are two lodestones
that will draw her if she is able to move. One is the house of Victor
Mahr, and the other her own home. There is love and hate to count on,
and sooner or later one will draw her within reach. I'll have the
closest watch put about that I can devise. There's nothing you can do,
sir--now. If you'll rest to-night, you'll be better able to stand
to-morrow, and if I can verify my idea in the least I'll tell you. Let
your secretary watch here; and good night, Mr. Gard."

* * * * *




XII


The woman in the narrow bed tossed in a heavy, unnatural sleep. Her lips