That dinner was going like an airship on a high wind, when something happened to tangle its tail feathers, and I can hardly write it for trembling yet. It was a simple little telegram, but it might have been nitro-glycerine on a tear for the way it acted. It was for me, but the nephew handed it to Tom, and he opened it and, looking at me, he solemnly read it out loud. It said—,
"Have you any idea as to the guilty person?" he asked, in a hurried tone.,
"True, doctor," remarked Jen, keeping his eyes fixed upon the swart face of the other, "and is that all you have to say?".
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