She asked; "What kind of poison?"
He mentioned the drug.
"Not the kind used by photographers?" she asked in affright.
"Precisely. Foster, then, is a photographer?"
"He used to be, but—— Oh, I don't see how he—it's terrible! It's terrible!"
She arose and crossed the room in agitation, then presently returned.
"Your suspicions may be wrong," said Garrison, who divined she had something on her mind. "Why not tell me all about it, and let me assist, if I can? What sort of a looking man is Foster?"
"Rather small, and nearly always smiling. But he may not have done it! He may be innocent! If only you could help me now!" she said. "I don't believe he could have done it!"
"But you half suspect it was he?"
"I've been afraid of it all along," she said, in an outburst of confession. "Before I even knew that Uncle John was—murdered—before you told me, I mean—I felt afraid that something of the kind might have happened, and since that hour I've been nearly distracted by my thoughts!"