both. Of course, there was the possibility that the roses were of the
woman's own buying; but women rarely waste their own money on American
Beauties--and Harleston knew it. A minute examination convinced him that
they had been crushed while being worn and then trampled on. The stems,
some of the green leaves, and the edges of one of the blooms were
scarred as by a heel; the rest of the blooms were crushed but not
scarred. Which indicated violence--first gentle, then somewhat drastic.

He put the flowers aside and picked up the envelope, looked it over
carefully, then, with a peculiarly thin and very sharp knife, he cut the
sealing of the flap so neatly that it could be resealed and no one
suspect it had been opened. As he turned back the flap, a small
unmounted photograph fell out and lay face upward on the table.

Harleston gave a low whistle of surprise.

It was Madeline Spencer.




II

THE VOICE ON THE WIRE


"Good morning, madame!" said Harleston, bowing to the photograph. "This
is quite a surprise. You're taken very recently, and you're worth
looking at for divers aesthetic reasons--none of which, however, is the
reason for your being in the envelope."