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Miss Madelyn Mack, Detective

Jenkins' eyes widened and his hands dropped to his sides. "A tray of ashes?" he stammered.

"I believe that is what I said!"

With a visible effort Jenkins recovered his composure. His twenty years' training had not been in vain. "No, madam!" he answered in a rather dubious tone.

"Are you absolutely sure? I may tell you that a great deal depends upon your answer!"

Jenkins' voice recovered its steadiness. "I am quite sure!"

"Is it possible that you would not know?"

"I am confident that I would know!"

Madelyn sank into the leather rocker by her side, with an expression of the most genuine disappointment that I have ever seen her exhibit. In the silence that followed, the ticking of the colonial clock in the corner sounded with harsh distinctness. Outside in the hall I fancied I heard a repressed cough. Miss Van Sutton's maid evidently was awaiting her turn. Madelyn's slight, black-garbed figure had fallen back in her chair, and her right hand was pressed over her eyes.

"Would you mind leaving the room for a few moments, Nora? No, Jenkins, I wish that you would stay. I find that I have another question for you."

Annette, the maid, was walking back and forth

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