of the Novella Beauty Parlour, surrounded as in life by mystery
and luxury.

We stood for several moments speechless, stupefied. At last
O'Connor silently drew a letter from his pocket. It was written on
the latest and most delicate of scented stationery.

"It was lying sealed on the dresser when we arrived," explained
O'Connor, holding it so that we could not see the address. "I
thought at first she had really committed suicide and that this
was a note of explanation. But it is not. Listen. It is just a
line or two. It reads: 'Am feeling better now, though that was a
great party last night. Thanks for the newspaper puff which I have
just read. It was very kind of you to get them to print it. Meet
me at the same place and same time to-night. Your Blanche.' The
note was not stamped, and was never sent. Perhaps she rang for a
messenger. At any rate, she must have been dead before she could
send it. But it was addressed to--Burke Collins."

"Burke Collins!" exclaimed Kennedy and I together in amazement.

He was one of the leading corporation lawyers in the country,
director in a score of the largest companies, officer in half a
dozen charities and social or ganisations, patron of art and
opera. It seemed impossible, and I at least did not hesitate to
say so. For answer O'Connor simply laid the letter and envelope
down on the dresser.

It seemed to take some time to convince Kennedy. There it was in
black and white, however, in Blanche Blaisdell's own vertical