"Jimmie, I don't know why I did not scream out. Everything went black
for a moment before my eyes. It was the first suspicion I had had that
my father had met with foul play, and I--"
But now Jimmie Dale swayed up from his chair.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed tensely. "Your father! But--but I remember
perfectly, there was no hint of any such thing at the time, and never
has been since. He died from quite natural causes."
She looked at him strangely.
"He died from--inoculation," she said. "Did--did you not see something
of that laboratory in the Crime Club yourself the night before
last--enough to understand?"
"Good God!" muttered Jimmie Dale, in a startled way then: "Go on! Go on!
What happened then?"
She passed her hand a little wearily across her eyes--and sank down into
her chair again.
"Travers," she continued, picking up the thread of her story, "had
raised his voice, and the third man at the table leaned suddenly,
aggressively toward him.
"'Hold your tongue!' he growled furiously. 'All you're asked to do is
sign the papers--not talk!'
"Travers shook his head.
"'I won't!' he cried out. 'I won't have any hand in another murder--in
hers! My God, I won't--I won't, I tell you! It's horrible!'
"'Look here, you fool!' the man who was posing as my uncle broke in
then. 'You're in this too deep to get out now.
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