"Well," said Drake, taking a deep breath, "she won't have to worry
any more about his not coming home nights. I say, this business will
create a fearful sensation, sheriff. The Four Hundred will have a
conniption fit."

"We've got to land that girl, whoever she is," grated the official.
"Now that we know who he is, it shouldn't be hard to pick out the
women he's been trailing with lately. Then we can sift 'em down
until the right one is left. It ought to be easy."

"I'm not so sure of it," said the coroner, shaking his head. "I
have a feeling that she isn't one of the ordinary type. It wouldn't
surprise me if she belongs to--well, you might say, the upper ten.
Somebody's wife, don't you see. That will make it rather difficult,
especially as her tracks have been pretty well covered."

"It beats me, how she got away without leaving a single sign behind
her," acknowledged the sheriff. "She's a wonder, that's all I've
got to say."

At that instant the door opened and Mrs. Wrandall appeared. She
stopped short, confronting the huddled group, dry-eyed but as pallid
as a ghost. Her eyes were wide, apparently unseeing; her colourless
lips were parted in the drawn rigidity that suggested but one
thing to the professional man who looks: the RISIS SARDONICUS of
the strychnae victim. With a low cry, the doctor started forward,
fully convinced that she had swallowed the deadly drug.

"For God's sake, madam," he began. But as he spoke, her expression
changed; she seemed to be aware of their presence for the first