the attorney Samuel Titheredge in the hall in earnest consultation with Doctor Adams.
"Nothing to be concerned about," the latter was saying. "She has evidently been crying most of the night, even if she does deny it; that accounts for her swollen eyes and flushed face; and as for the nausea and pain—well, it would be a frightful insult to her dignity if I were to suggest that she was suffering from a plain, old-fashioned stomachache! Anyone who stuffs candy and sweets as Cissie does is bound to be upset once in a while."
He greeted the detective cordially, and with a reference to the autopsy on the following day he took his leave.
"Is Miss Cissie ill?" asked Odell.
"She seems to be a bit out of sorts, and Mr. Lorne insisted that the doctor look her over," Titheredge responded. "After the events of the past month he is naturally alarmed at the slightest trouble in the household; but Adams says she is all right. How is the case coming on, Sergeant?"
"We've made some progress, but I can't talk about it, sir; rules of the Department, you know." Odell repeated the time-worn professional prevarication almost mechanically. A sentence or two which Smith had uttered in his report of the previous night had returned suddenly to his mind.—"Miss Cissie had come down to dinner all flushed up and her eyelids were puffed. … At the table she complained of feeling ill. … I don't believe she ate very much, for I could hear her aunt urging her to try just a little soup."
What if Doctor Adams had made a second mistake, and the human fiend at work in this house had selected another victim? The next instant, however, he put the thought from him with an inward smile at his own apprehension.
