situation, and the protagonists have always exhibited sentiments similar to yours. Your most famous prototype, of course, was Odysseus on the citron-scented isle of Ogygia with the fascinatin' Calypso. The soft arms of sirens have gone snaking round men's necks ever since the red-haired Lilith worked her devastatin' wiles on the impressionable Adam. We're all sons of that racy old boy."
Spotswoode smiled.
"You at least give me an historic background," he said. Then he turned to Markham. "What will become of Miss Odell's possessions—her furniture and so forth?"
"Sergeant Heath heard from an aunt of hers in Seattle," Markham told him. "She's on her way to New York, I believe, to take over what there is of the estate."
"And everything will be kept intact until then?"
"Probably longer, unless something unexpected happens. Anyway, until then."
"There are one or two little trinkets I'd like to keep," Spotswoode confessed, a bit shamefacedly, I thought.
After a few more minutes of desultory talk he rose, and, pleading an engagement, bade us good afternoon.
"I hope I can keep his name clear of the case," said Markham, when he had gone.
"Yes; his situation is not an enviable one," concurred Vance. "It's always sad to be found out. The moralist would set it down to retribution."
"In this instance chance was certainly on the side of righteousness. If he hadn't chosen Monday night
