that if I die without children my million also goes to this
school--location unnamed. I can't help wondering about it all."

"Why should you wonder--at least what other reasons have you for
wondering?"

"Oh, I can't express them. Maybe after all it's only a woman's
silly intuition. But often I have thought in the past few days
about this illness of my guardian. It was so queer. He was always
so careful. And you know the rich don't often have typhoid."

"You have no reason to suppose that it was not typhoid fever of
which he died?"

She hesitated. "No," she replied, "but if you had known Mr.
Bisbee you would think it strange, too. He had a horror of
infectious and contagious diseases. His apartment and his country
home were models. No sanitarium could have been more punctilious.
He lived what one of his friends called an antiseptic life. Maybe
I am foolish, but it keeps getting closer and closer to me now,
and--well, I wish you'd look into the case. Please set my mind at
rest and assure me that nothing is wrong, that it is all
natural."

"I will help you, Miss Bisbee. To-morrow night I want to take a
trip quietly to Bisbee Hall. You will see that it is all right,
that I have the proper letters so I can investigate thoroughly."

I shall never forget the mute and eloquent thanks with which she
said good night after Kennedy's promise.