CHAPTER III

THE ROOM WITH THE SEVEN DOORS

Mrs. Brewster regarded her surroundings with inward satisfaction.
It would have taken a far more captious critic than the pretty
widow to find fault with the large, high-ceilinged room in which
she sat. The handsome carved Venetian furniture, the rich hangings
and valuable paintings on the walls gave evidence of Colonel
McIntyre's artistic taste and appreciation of the beautiful. Mrs.
Brewster had never failed, during her visit to the McIntyre twins,
to examine the rare curios in the carved cabinets and the tapestries
on the walls, but that afternoon, with one eye on the clock and the
other on her embroidery, she sat waiting in growing impatience for
the interruption she anticipated.

The hands of the clock had passed the hour of five before the buzz
of a distant bell brought her to her feet. Hurrying to the window
she peeped between the curtains in time to see a stylish roadster
electric glide down the driveway leading from the McIntyre residence
and stop at the curb. As she turned to go back to her chair Dr.
Stone was ushered into the library by the footman. Mrs. Brewster
welcomed her cousin with frank relief.

"I have waited so impatiently for you," she confessed, making room
for him to sit on the sofa by her side.

"I was detained, Margaret." Stone's voice was not over-cordial;
three imperative telephone calls from her, coming at a moment when
he had been engaged with a serious case in his office, had provoked