"Now," concluded Kennedy solemnly as if to force the last secret from the wildly beating heart of some one in the room, "it is my belief that the person who had access to the operating-room of the Novella was a person whose nerves were run down, and in addition to any other treatment that person was familiar with the ether phosphoré. This person knew Miss Blaisdell well, saw her there, knew she was there for the purpose of frustrating that person's own dearest hopes. That person wrote her the note, and knowing that she would ask for paper and an envelope in order to answer it, poisoned the flap of the envelope. Phosphorus is a remedy for hysteria, vexatious emotions, want of sympathy, disappointed and concealed affections—but not in the quantities that this person lavished on that flap. Whoever it was, not life, but death, and a ghastly death, was uppermost in that person's thoughts."
Agnes screamed. "I saw him take something and rub it on her lips, and the brightness went away. I—I didn't mean to tell, but, God help me, I must."
"Saw whom?" demanded Kennedy, fixing her eye as he had when he had called her back from aphasia.
"Him—Millefleur—Miller," she sobbed, shrinking back as if the very confession appalled her.
"Yes," added Kennedy coolly, "Miller did try to remove the traces of the poison after he discovered it, in order to protect himself and the reputation of the Novella."
The telephone bell tinkled. Craig seized the receiver.
"Yes, Barren, this is Kennedy. You received the
