"Then whom do you suspect?" asked Etwald, fixing his dark eyes on the major.
"Dido--the negress, of Mrs. Dallas!"
Etwald shook his head and smiled.
"But that is ridiculous," said he. "The commission of a crime presupposes a motive. Now what motive had Dido to kill your friend?"
"She hated Maurice, and she did not want him to marry Miss Dallas."
"Neither did I, if I remember rightly," said Etwald, dryly, "Besides, Dido--as you proved--did not steal the devil-stick. However, if you are suspicious of her, go over to-morrow and see Mrs. Dallas. It will be as well to be sure of your ground before making a public affair of it. By the way, I suppose you will have a detective down from London, to sift the affair to the bottom?"
"I don't know; I'm not sure."
"I should if I were you. Mr. Sarby is in London. Why not wire up to him to bring down a clever man from Scotland Yard?"
"If I thought that--. But," added Jen, breaking off, "how did you know that David was in London?"
"Oh!" rejoined Etwald, quietly, "Mr. Alymer told me so to-night."