"You say that his horse threw him in the big beech-woods? Was he really very much cut up?"
* * * * *
"Pretty roughly handled, eh! All right. When you communicate with him tell him that Dr. Ogilvy and Mr. Neville, Jr., were greatly interested to know how badly he was injured. Do you understand? Well, don't forget. And you may tell him, Gelett, that as long as the scars remain, he'd better remain, too. Get it straight, Gelett; tell him it's my medical advice to remain away as long as he can—and a little longer. This climate is no good for him. Good-bye."
He turned from the telephone and sauntered toward Neville, who regarded him with a fixed stare.
"You see," he remarked with a shrug; and drew from his pocket a slightly twisted scarf pin—a big horse-shoe set with sapphires and diamonds—the kind of pin some kinds of men use in their riding-stocks.
"I've often seen him wearing it," he said carelessly. "Curious how it could have become twisted and entangled in Miss West's lace waist."
He held out the pin, turning it over reflectively as the facets of the gems caught and flashed back the light from the hall brackets.
"I'll drop it into the poor-box I think," he mused. "Cardemon will remain away so long that this pin will be entirely out of fashion when he returns."
After a few moments Neville drew a long, deep breath, and his clenched hands relaxed.
"Sure," commented the burly doctor. "That's right—feeling better—rush of common sense to the head. Well, I've got to go."