That night a strange occurrence took place. Chancing to pass his mother’s door at a late hour, Leonard saw something which nearly drove the life-blood from his heart and deprived him of his senses.
The door of his mother’s chamber stood partly open, and Mrs. Yorke lay quietly resting, but over her stooped old Betty Harwood, and as Leonard involuntarily hesitated he saw her drop some drops from a small vial in her hand, swiftly and deftly, as though accustomed to the task, between Mrs. Yorke’s pale lips.
The invalid stirred uneasily.
“No, no, Betty!” she moaned. “Take it away. It makes me feel faint. It is killing me!”
With a stifled cry, Betty Harwood’s claw-like fingers closed upon the sick woman’s throat. But Leonard darted into the room, and caught the would-be murderess in a vise-like grip.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AT LAST.
Dunbar led Violet out of the room and the house, out through the tall iron gate, which closed with a loud clang behind them, and into the waiting carriage which stood there.
Violet had no hat, but the thoughtful detective had provided a cloak which he had left in the carriage, and this he now proceeded to wrap around the trembling form of the girl, drawing the hood over her head.