"No--we never quarrelled. Oh, Price--why did you? How could you?"

Her feelings were apparently rapidly getting the better of her.
Kennedy bowed, and we withdrew silently. He had learned one thing.
She believed or wanted others to believe in the note.

At a public telephone, a few minutes later, Kennedy was running
over the names in the telephone book. "Let me see--here's an
Arnold Masterson," he considered. Then turning the pages he went
on, "Now we must find this Dr. Ross. There--Dr. Sheldon Ross--
specialist in nerve diseases--that must be the one. He lives only
a few blocks further uptown."

Handsome, well built, tall, dignified, in fact distinguished, Dr.
Ross proved to be a man whose very face and manner were magnetic,
as should be those of one who had chosen his branch of the
profession.

"You have heard, I suppose, of the strange death of Price
Maitland?" began Kennedy when we were seated in the doctor's
office.

"Yes, about an hour ago." It was evident that he was studying us.

"Mrs. Maitland, I believe, is a patient of yours?"

"Yes, Mrs. Maitland is one of my patients," he admitted
interrogatively. Then, as if considering that Kennedy's manner was
not to be mollified by anything short of a show of confidence, he