"I hope," said the Colonel gently, "that she didn't imagine that I wasn't
doing all possible, under the circumstances."

"Oh, no, it wasn't anything like that. She just wanted to be at home.
And I think, too," and Miss Carwell lowered her voice, after a glance at
the door, "that she wanted to see him."

"You mean - ?"

"Mr. Bartlett! There's no use disguising the fact that his family and
ours aren't on friendly terms. I think he did a grave injustice to my
brother in a business way, and I'll never forgive him for it. I don't
want to see Viola marry him - that is I didn't. I hardly believe, now,
after he has been arrested, that she will. But there is no doubt she
cares for him, and would do anything to prove that this charge was
groundless."

"Well, yes, I suppose that's natural," assented the detective. "I'd be
glad, myself, to believe that Harry Bartlett had nothing to do with the
death of Mr. Carwell."

"But you believe he did have, don't you?"

"I haven't yet made up my mind," was the cautious answer. "The golf
course mystery, I don't mind admitting, is one of the most puzzling I've
ever run across. It won't do to make up one's mind at once."

"But my brother either committed suicide, or else he was deliberately
poisoned !" insisted Miss Carwell. "And those of us who knew him feel
sure he would never take his own life. He must have been killed, and