“An accomplished scoundrel,” growled Brett. He stopped speaking as Eleanor reëntered the room, followed by Fred Lane. The young officer showed the ordeal he had gone through that morning and afternoon by the deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth. He bowed curtly to Douglas and Brett.
“You wish to see me?” he asked.
“Sit down, please.” Brett pushed forward a chair for Eleanor, and the others grouped themselves about the center table. By common consent they all avoided Colonel Thornton’s favorite armchair. “I am anxious to have a talk with you because there are several loose threads to this mystery which must be straightened out.”
“What are they?” questioned Lane impatiently; he longed to be back with Cynthia.
“On my return from the River Road to headquarters I found an answer from the Paris police to my cable. They tell me, Miss Thornton, that your maid, Annette, was an international spy.”
“Great heavens!” ejaculated Eleanor, in round-eyed astonishment.
“She was also in the habit of impersonating you.” Eleanor’s face was a study. “She had clothes made exactly like yours, even her kimono was a duplicate. From what I hear, Mr. Hunter, I judge Annette, who you recollect was in the hall when we were discussing the mysterious letter written by Senator Carew, decided to try and find it, and that’s why she paid you a visit in the library last Tuesday night. She did not know that I had asked you to sleep there.”
“I was grossly deceived in her,” declared Eleanor bitterly. “I presume her splendid recommendations were all——”
“Forgeries,” supplemented Brett. “Quite right, they must have been. I have just talked with one of the nurses from Providence Hospital who attended Philip Winthrop, and he declares that he caught Annette trying to give Philip a sleeping powder. Probably she wished to reap all the reward that she could, through blackmail and otherwise, and was afraid if Philip saw me that he would spoil her ‘scoop.’ With her usual habit of involving you, Miss Thornton, she made that crazy fool believe you were drugging him.”
“Will you please explain to me,” broke in Fred Lane, “why Mrs. Winthrop swore out a warrant for my arrest? What led her to believe me guilty?”