fever. The one thing I was sure about just then was that we must break
away from this personal conversation; flesh and blood could stand the
strain no longer.

"Let's not talk of ourselves then," I said, releasing her hands, "but
of what we must face here. We trust each other; that is enough for the
present surely. You will not leave, and let me ferret out the mystery
alone, so we must work together in its solution. I have told you that
Coombs claims to be working under the orders of your husband. Is that
possible?"

"I cannot conceive clearly how it could be, and yet he might have
received notice of his father's death in time to assume control of the
estate by telegraph, or even by letter."

"I hardly think Coombs has been here so short a time."

"He might have been the old overseer, however, and retained."

"True; yet how could Philip Henley know that he had inherited the
property?"

She thought a moment seriously, a little crease in the center of her
forehead.

"Of course, I can only guess," she hazarded at length, "but it would
seem likely he was notified of his father's death by one of the
administrators, and doubtless told at the same time of his inheritance.
He was the only son, and there were no other near relatives. It would
be only natural for him to retain the old servants until he could come