his teeth. “I dare say you had a good laugh together over it!”
“Jack,” said Godfrey calmly, “I protest you are becoming more and more asinine! Haven’t you sense enough to see that that note—by the way, how was it delivered to you?”
“I found it on my dressing table when I came back from New York Monday evening. What are you driving at, Godfrey? If you’ve discovered anything, for God’s sake, tell me straight out!”
“I’ve discovered an unusually large consignment of humble pie awaiting your consumption. You don’t deserve a magnificent girl like that, Jack; I swear you don’t. Do you remember your last words to her?”
“Yes,” answered Drysdale, with a sudden flushing of the cheeks. “And she deserved them. She got me out of the house and spent the evening with Tremaine. It was an indirect way of telling me that she was tired of me. I’d suspected it before!”
Godfrey looked at him pityingly.
“Really, Jack,” he said, “I’m half inclined to think the coroner’s right in his theory, after all.”
“What is his theory?”
“He thinks you’re crazy.”
Drysdale laughed a little mirthless laugh.
“Perhaps he’s right,” he said.
“You’ll be sure of it in a few minutes. It’s inconceivable that any man in his right mind should suspect a girl like Miss Croydon of such a thing.”
Drysdale turned to him with eyes bright with emotion.
“See here, Jim,” he said; “you’ve had your fun;
