something was, they differed. Was Miss Augusta Semaphore living or dead? If living, what was the nature of the mysterious disease with which she was afflicted that necessitated such prompt and secret action on the part of her easy-going sister?
Mrs. Whitley, as one who had visited her room, was terrified at this view of the case, and went into strong hysterics at the idea of having perhaps contracted some terrible malady during her investigations. She was not to be calmed until both she and the medical woman, by the advice of the latter, went through a course of thorough fumigation and disinfection.
Where was Augusta now? That was another interesting theme for speculation. Somewhere near, apparently, since Major Jones had seen Prudence by herself in Tate Street shortly after dinner. Nothing else was talked of all day, but as Prudence came down calmly to meals, seemingly happier and more composed than she had been for some days, excitement began to die down. Perhaps there was nothing in it after all. Augusta was queer; she might have insisted in going off in the night like that. Anyhow, nothing much could be wrong, or Prudence would
