“There is no longer any doubt about the dead-letter referring to the murder. You see the instrument is broken,” I remarked.
“No doubt, indeed,” and Mr. Burton went to a drawer of a secretary standing in the room, and took out the little piece of steel which had been found in Henry Moreland’s body.
“You see it is the very fragment. I obtained this important bit of evidence, and laid it away, after others had given up all efforts to make it available. How fortunate that I preserved it! So, the wedding is to take place within three months, is it? Richard, we must not rest now. A great deal can be done in three months, and I would give all the gold I have in bank to clear this matter up before that marriage takes place. Should that once be consummated before we are satisfied with our investigations, I shall drop them for ever. A doctor—a doctor”—he continued, musingly—“I knew the fellow had half-studied some profession—he was a surgeon—yes! By George!” he exclaimed, presently, leaping from his chair as if he had been shot, and walking rapidly across the room and back.
I knew he was very much excited, for it was the first time I had heard him use any expression like the above. I waited for him to tell me what had flashed into his mind so suddenly.
“The fellow who married Leesy’s cousin, and ran away from her, was a doctor—Miss Sullivan has told me that. Richard, I begin to see light!—day is breaking!”
I hardly knew whether his speech was figurative or literal, as day was really breaking upon us two men, plotting there in the night, as if we were the criminals instead of their relentless pursuers.
“Three months! There will be time, Richard!” and Mr. Burton actually flung his arms about me, in a burst of exultation.
CHAPTER III.
THE CONFESSION.
In the afternoon we paid Miss Sullivan a visit. It was the first time I had met her since that strange night of watching at Moreland villa; and I confess that I could not meet her without an inward shudder of abhorrence. Unbounded as was my respect and confidence for Mr. Burton, I did think that he had erred in his conclusions as to the character of this woman; or else that he concealed from me his real opinions, for some purpose to be explained at the proper time. If he still had suspicions, it was evident that he had kept them from their object as skillfully as from me, for I saw, by her manner of receiving him, that she regarded him as a friend.
Notwithstanding I had been informed of her rapidly-failing health, I was shocked at the change in Miss Sullivan since I had seen her. It was with an effort that she rose from her easy-chair at our approach; the fullness had all wasted from her naturally queenly figure; her cheeks were hollow, and aflame with the fire of fever; while those black eyes, which had ever seemed to smolder above unfathomable depths of volcanic passion, now almost blazed with light. Something like a smile flitted across her face when she saw my companion, but smiles were too strange there to feel at home, and it vanished as soon as seen. I do not think she liked me any better than I did her; each recoiled from the other instinctively; she would not have spoken to me had I come alone; but out of concession to the presence of her friend, she bowed to me and asked me to be seated. A little child in the room ran to Mr. Burton, as if expecting the package of bon-bons which he took from his pocket; but, as he became engaged in conversation with Leesy, I coaxed her over to me, where she was soon sitting on my knee. She was a pretty little girl, about three years old, in whose chubby little features I could no longer trace any resemblance to her “aunt.” She prattled after the fashion of children, and in listening to her, I lost a remark or two of Mr. Barton’s; but soon had my attention aroused by hearing Miss Sullivan exclaim,