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was written in ink, in what Doyle assured us was Mrs. Wilford's own handwriting, the notation, "One of the greatest sonnets of pure emotion." We all read it and I am forced to admit that, whatever our opinion might have been of Honora Wilford before, we were convinced that her literary judgment was not at fault. I add the sonnet: I must not think of thee; and tired, yet strong, I shun the love that lurks in all delight— The love of thee—and in the blue heaven's height And in the dearest passage of a song. Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng This breast, the thought of thee wai



ts hidden, yet bright; But must it never, never come in sight; I must stop short of thee the whole day long. But when sleep comes to close each difficult day, When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, Must doff my will as raiment laid away— With the first dream that comes, with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart. Kennedy folded up the sonnet and its notation, and, without a word, turned from Doyle and [9] looked about the room in which we were, a little reception-room. On the table before Doyle there were two glasse

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s, as well as some other objects which Doyle had either collected or brought with him from the office. "I suppose those are the glasses you found at the office," ventured Kennedy. "In one of them I understand that traces of atropin were found." Doyle nodded. "What's that?" asked Craig, pointing to a cut-glass-stoppered bottle which was standing by the glasses, empty. "That? It was found with a vanity-case and some other things on her dressing-table. It once contained belladonna—atropin, you know. I've had her maid, Celeste, cross-examined. Mrs. Wilford used belladonna to brighten her eyes sometimes, as many society women do." I shot a glance of inquiry at Doyle, who nodded. "So far, we haven't been able to connect Mrs. Wilford directly with the mystery, but we're keeping the evidence," he confirmed. I must admit that both Doyle's information and his general attitude after what we had heard from Leslie came as a shock. Yet, try as I might, I had to admit that even if that were the purpose for which Honora Wilford had the belladonna, it need not have been the only use to which she put it. Doyle was raising a very serious presumption, at least. A poison like belladonna [10] was a dangerous weapon, I reasoned, in the hands of a jealous woman. The mere possession of it and the traces of atropin in the glass did, I confessed, look badly. A moment later, with the physician and the detective, we entered the room where the body lay. Wilford had been a large and rather forceful figure in life. I knew him as a man of unusual ability, though I despised the direction in which his legal talents had been diverted. Perhaps, I thought, unusual talents had brought unusual temptations. For, whatever we may have thought of people in life, our judgments are necessarily softened by death. As I looked at him now, I could not escape

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the feeling that his peculiar kind of success somehow would afford the basic reason which would prove to be the solution of the mystery before us. At length Kennedy straightened up and turned to us, a peculiar look on his face. "What is it?" I queried, impatiently. "Have you discovered something already?" Without replying for the moment, Kennedy glanced down significantly at the eye of Wilford as he held the lid with his finger. "Atropin, you know, would dilate the pupil," he remarked, simply. We took a step closer and looked. The pupils of both eyes were contracted. "I know," remarked Doyle, wisely, "but there may have been something else. You remember the Buchanan case?" [11] Before any one could answer, he went on: "Remember when the Carlyle Harris case was going on, the testimony showed that Helen Potts's eyes had been contracted to a pin-point? Well, at that time Doctor Buchanan, a dentist down on Staten Isl

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