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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 265 pages of information about Agatha Webb.

As the coroner paused before him he spoke.  “Dr. Talbot,” said he, dropping his eyes, which were apt to betray his thoughts too plainly, “you have often promised that you would give me a job if any matter came up where any nice detective work was wanted.  Don’t you think the time has come to remember me?”

“You, Sweetwater?  I’m afraid the affair is too deep for an inexperienced man’s first effort.  I shall have to send to Boston for an expert.  Another time, Sweetwater, when the complications are less serious.”

The young fellow, with a face white as milk, was turning away.

“But you’ll let me stay around here?” he pleaded, pausing and giving the other an imploring look.

“O yes,” answered the good-natured coroner.  “Fenton will have work enough for you and half a dozen others.  Go and tell him I sent you.”

“Thank you,” returned the other, his face suddenly losing its aspect of acute disappointment.  “Now I shall see where that flower fell,” he murmured.

VI

Breakfast is served, gentlemen!”

Mr. Sutherland returned home.  As he entered the broad hall he met his son, Frederick.  There was a look on the young man’s face such as he had not seen there in years.

“Father,” faltered the youth, “may I have a few words with you?”

The father nodded kindly, though it is likely he would have much preferred his breakfast; and the young man led him into a little sitting-room littered with the faded garlands and other tokens of the preceding night’s festivities.

“I have an apology to make,” Frederick began, “or rather, I have your forgiveness to ask.  For years” he went on, stumbling over his words, though he gave no evidence of a wish to restrain them—­“for years I have gone contrariwise to your wishes and caused my mother’s heart to ache and you to wish I had never been born to be a curse to you and her.”

He had emphasised the word mother, and spoke altogether with force and deep intensity.  Mr. Sutherland stood petrified; he had long ago given up this lad as lost.

“I—­I wish to change.  I wish to be as great a pride to you as I have been a shame and a dishonour.  I may not succeed at once; but I am in earnest, and if you will give me your hand—­”

The old man’s arms were round the young man’s shoulders at once.

“Frederick!” he cried, “my Frederick!”

“Do not make me too much ashamed,” murmured the youth, very pale and strangely discomposed.  “With no excuse for my past, I suffer intolerable apprehension in regard to my future, lest my good intentions should fail or my self-control not hold out.  But the knowledge that you are acquainted with my resolve, and regard it with an undeserved sympathy, may suffice to sustain me, and I should certainly be a base poltroon if I should disappoint you or her twice.”

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