"I don't know anything about the devil-stick. I never saw it; but with regard to the perfume I can explain. I was ill on that night, as you know, and Dido applied some of her negro remedies; among them the perfume with which that handkerchief of my mother's was saturated. It was bound across my forehead to soothe the nerves. During my journey to your house I snatched it off, and--"
"I can understand all that," interrupted Jen, "but the similarity of the perfumes? I must have that point cleared up."
"I daresay it can be," said Isabella, quietly. "Come up to the house, major, and speak to Dido. I feel sure she can explain."
"Very good," said Jen, as they turned their steps toward the house. "If her explanation is only as clear as your own, I shall have nothing to say. By the way, Miss Dallas, how did you escape from your room that night?"
"So far as I can remember, I left by my bedroom window. I had only to step out through it like a door, as it is a French window and opens onto the lawn."
"H'm!" said Jen. "But seeing that you were so ill, was no one watching beside you?"
"Yes, my mother was. So you see, major, she could not have dropped the handkerchief in the bedroom of poor dear Maurice."
"No; I understand. You have explained the affair of the handkerchief clearly. All the points have been elucidated save that dealing with the perfume."
"You will now be satisfied on that point," said Miss Dallas, rather dryly, "for here is Dido. She prepared the drug and perfumed the handkerchief, and for all I know," added the girl, ironically, "she may have taken the hint from your wand of sleep."