"Now, Ada," he said, "you must brace yourself for more bad news. . . . Your mother died during the night."
The girl sat motionless for a moment, and then turned to him eyes of a despairing clearness.
"Died?" she repeated. "How did she die?"
"She was poisoned—she took an overdose of strychnine."
"You mean . . . she committed suicide?"
This query startled us all. It expressed a possibility that had not occurred to us. After a momentary hesitation, however, Vance slowly shook his head.
"No, I hardly think so. I'm afraid the person who poisoned you also poisoned your mother."
Vance's reply seemed to stun her. Her face grew pale, and her eyes were set in a glassy stare of terror. Then presently she sighed deeply, as if from a kind of mental depletion.
"Oh, what's going to happen next? . . . I'm—afraid!"
"Nothing more is going to happen," said Vance with emphasis. "Nothing more can happen. You are going to be guarded every minute. And Sibella is going this afternoon to Atlantic City for a long visit."
"I wish I could go away," she breathed pathetically.
"There will be no need of that," put in Markham. "You'll be safer in New York. We are going to keep the nurse here to look after you, and also put a man in the house day and night until every-
