"Even so. Why should she have perfumed the handkerchief?"
"I can't say, major. You had better ask her."
"Egad, I shall," cried Jen, starting from his chair. "And also I'll find out why she needed to prepare the poison at all. In my opinion, David, that black Jezebel is at the bottom of the whole affair. She thieved the devil-stick, she prepared the poison, murdered Maurice, and stole his body."
"You accused Mrs. Dallas of all these things five minutes ago," said David, ironically, "and now you think--"
"I don't know what to think," cried Jen, in desperation. "Dido or Mrs. Dallas, I don't know which, but one of them, must be guilty. I'll go over to The Wigwam at once."
"To accuse them upon insufficient evidence?"
"No. I'll see Isabella, and hear what she has to say. She loved Maurice, and will aid me to avenge his death."
"That is improbable, if to do so she has to betray her mother or her nurse. I don't think you'll learn much in that quarter, major."
"I'll learn what I can, at all events," retorted Jen; and in this unsatisfactory manner the conversation concluded. David retired to his room, and Jen went off to interview Isabella at The Wigwam.
He walked meditatively down to the gates, and here, on the high-road, his thoughts led him to a sudden conclusion respecting the coming conversation with Miss Dallas. Without much consideration he retraced his steps rapidly, and sought out David in his room. Then and there he asked him a question which was of vital importance.