Then I must have thread, and hairs green and small, With mine angling purse - and so you have all.""And," reflected Colonel Ashley, as he dozed off, "I guess I'll need all that and more to solve this mystery."The detective was up betimes the next morning, as he would have said had he been discoursing in the talk of Mr.Walton, and on going to the window to fill his lungs with fresh air, he saw a letter slipped under his door.
"From Viola, I imagine," he mused, as he picked it up."Unless it's from Shag, telling me the fish are biting unusually well.I hope they're not, for I must do considerable to-day, and I don't want to be tempted to stray to the fields.
"It isn't from Shag, though.He never could muster as neat a pen as this.Nor yet is it from Viola.Printed, too! The old device to prevent detection of the handwriting.Well, mysterious missive, what have you to say this fine morning?"He opened the envelope carefully, preserving it and not tearing the address, which, as he had said, was printed, not written.It bore his name, and nothing else.
Within the envelope was a small piece of paper on which was printed this:
"Ask Miss Viola what this means.58 C.H.- 161*."Colonel Ashley read the message through three times without saying a word.Then he held the paper and envelope up to the light to see if they bore a water mark.Neither did, and the paper was of a cheap, common variety which might be come upon in almost any stationery store.The colonel read the message again, looked at the back and front of the envelope, and then, placing both in his pocket, went down to breakfast, the bell for which he heard just as he finished his simple breathing exercises.
The morning papers were at his place, which was the only one at the table.Either Viola and her aunt had already breakfasted, or would do so later.The colonel ate and read.
There was not much new in the papers.Harry Bartlett was still held as a witness, and the prosecutor's detectives were still working on the case.
As yet no one had connected Colonel Ashley officially with the matter.The reporters seemed to have missed noting that a celebrated - not to say successful - detective was the guest of Viola Carwell.It was an hour after the morning meal, and the colonel was in the library, rather idly glancing over the titles of the books, which included a goodly number on yachting and golfing, when Viola entered.
"Oh, I didn't know you were here !" she exclaimed, drawing back."Oh, come in!Come in !" invited the colonel."I am just going out.
I was wondering if there happened to be a book on chemistry here - or one on poisons.""Poisons!" exclaimed the girl, half drawing back.
"Yes.I have one, but I left it in New York.If there happened to be one - Or perhaps you can tell me.Did you ever study chemistry?""As a girl in school, yes.But I'm afraid I've forgotten all I ever knew.""My case, too," said the colonel with a laugh."Then there isn't a book giving the different symbols of chemicals ?""Not that I know of," Viola answered."Still I might help you out if it wasn't too complicated.I remember that water is H two 0 and that sulphuric acid is H two S 0 four.But that's about all.""Would you know what fifty-eight C H one sixty-one, with a period after the C, a dash after the H and a star after the last number was?" the colonel asked casually.
Viola shook her head.
"I'm afraid I wouldn't," she answered."That is too complicated for me.Isn't it a shame we learn so much that we forget?'
"Still it may have its uses," said the colonel."I'll have to get a book on chemistry, I think."He turned to go out.
"Have you learned anything more?" Viola asked timidly."Nothing to speak about," was the answer.
"Oh, I wish you would find out something - and soon," she murmured."This suspense is terrible!" and she shuddered as the detective went out.
It was late that afternoon when Colonel Ashley, having seen MissMary Carwell and Viola walking at the far end of the garden, went softly up the stairs to the room of the girl who had summoned him to The Haven.With a skill of which he was master he looked quickly but carefully through Viola's desk, which was littered with many letters and telegrams of condolence that had been answered.
Colonel Ashley worked quickly and silently, and he was about to give up, a look of disappointment on his face, when he found a slip of paper in one of the pigeon holes.And the slip bore this, written in pencil:
58 C.H.- I6I*
