“About five weeks ago,” went on Mark Gifford quietly, “Miss Pigchalke got into touch with the head of our Criminal Investigation Department.  She put before him certain—­one can hardly call them facts—­but certain discoveries she had made, which led to the body of the first Mrs. Varick being exhumed.”  Blanche Farrow uttered a stifled exclamation of surprise, and Gifford went on:  “I may add that Miss Pigchalke behaved with remarkable cunning and intelligence.  She found out that the doctor at Redsands—­the place where her poor friend died—­was a firm friend of Varick’s.  She thinks him an accomplice, but of course we regard that as nonsense, for we’ve found out all about the man, and he is coming to see our toxological expert to-morrow.”

(Then that was Dr. Panton’s urgent appointment in town.)

“And now, Blanche, comes the curious part of the story!  The doctor who had attended the first Mrs. Varick years and years ago had suspected foul play.  He’s a very old man now, and he retired many years ago, but he happened to come across an advertisement which Miss Pigchalke put into one of the Sunday papers asking for information concerning Lionel Varick’s past life. He answered the advertisement, with the result that his one-time patient was exhumed.  It was then found beyond doubt that the woman had been poisoned; and a few days ago the second Mrs. Varick’s body was exhumed.”

Blanche looked up, and in answer to her haggard look, he said:  “Though perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you so, there isn’t a shadow of doubt that she also was foully done to death, and rather more intelligently than the other poor soul, for in her case the process was allowed to take longer, and the doctor attending her was quite taken in.”

“How horrible!” muttered Blanche.  “How very, very horrible!”

“Yes, horrible indeed!  But why I’ve come here to-day, Blanche, is to tell you that to-morrow Lionel Varick will be arrested on the charge of murder.  I have come to say that you and Bubbles must leave Wyndfell Hall this afternoon.”

Blanche hardly heard what he was saying.  She was absorbed in the horror and in the amazement of the story he had just told her, and in what was going to happen to-morrow to the man who had been for so long her familiar friend.

“It is an immense relief to me to hear that you never even saw the late Mrs. Varick.”  Mark Gifford went on:  “I was afraid that you might have been mixed up with this dreadful business; that he might have used you in some way.”

Blanche shook her head, and he went on, musingly:  “There were two ladies living next door to the house at Redsands where the poor woman was done to death.  They, I expect, will have to give evidence, at least I know that one of them will, a certain Miss—­Miss—?”

“Brabazon?” supplied Blanche quickly.

“Yes, that’s the name!  A certain Miss Brabazon was a great deal with Mrs. Varick.  She seems to have been an intimate friend of both the husband and wife.  She used to go out with Varick for motor drives.  Has he ever spoken to you of her?”