The Gray Mask. Camp Wadsworth

Mr. Treving?" he asked. "You knew him, too?"

      "Slightly."

      "Did he?"

      "What? Wear a flower? I'm sure I don't know. Never noticed. But I think it likely enough."

      Garth's hands relaxed. He straightened.

      "Thank you, doctor. There'll be no more noise here to-night. I'm sorry about the chair. I'd rather you didn't say anything about those questions."

      The doctor's face, which had shown suffering all through, broke into a derisive smile.

      "About the flowers! I understand. One must appear wise, even if there's nothing to be wise about."

      "Quite so," Garth said gravely.

      The other returned to the bedroom and Garth went downstairs. He paused in the hall long enough to take the latch-key from the table and slip it in his pocket. Then he walked to the back of the house where the servants were collected in an uneasy group. There was a chauffeur, he found, a butler, a cook, and a maid. Another maid, they told him, was with Mrs. Randall.

      Garth questioned them about last night's wedding and the hour of their return, but they were an incoherent lot, all talking at once, and saying nothing useful. Therefore he returned to the verandah where he stood, trying to put himself in Randall's place, casting about for his likely course when he had sensibly decided not to use his automobile.