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"What I contended all along the house-boys are not to be trusted." "It does look serious," Harriwell admitted, "but we'll come through it all right. What the sanguinary niggers need is a shaking up. Will you gentlemen please bring your rifles to dinner, and will you, Mr. Brown, kindly prepare forty or fifty sticks of dynamite. Make the fuses good and short. We'll give them a lesson.
"Neat, man, neat," he warned Bertie, who gulped down a tumbler two-thirds full of the raw spirits, and coughed and choked from the angry bite of it till the tears ran down his cheeks. Harriwell took his pulse and temperature, made a show of looking out for him, and doubted that the omelet had been poisoned. Brown and McTavish also doubted; but Bertie discerned an insincere ring in their voices.
Her friend was very sick, and her folks were all away." Tavia looked her gratitude into Nat's manly face. The boys and the doctor had reached the tent. "Wait here," ordered the doctor as he stepped within. And it was Dorothy Dale who took up her place by the physician's side, as he did all that he could to unfold the case of Mary Harriwell.
And the girl's mother is a widow, with all kinds of money." Dorothy could scarcely keep still. Only the pressure of Cologne's hands kept her from telling what she knew of the story. Then the fear of again being mistaken for Mary Harriwell that was too great a risk. "Is there absolutely no clew?" asked Nat, almost in despair, for he was always fond of Tavia. "Yes.
Bertie quavered. "Poison," was the answer. "That cook will be hanged yet." "That's the way the bookkeeper went out at Cape Marsh," Brown spoke up. "Died horribly. They said on the Jessie that they heard him screaming three miles away." "I'll put the cook in irons," sputtered Harriwell. "Fortunately we discovered it in time." Bertie sat paralysed. There was no color in his face.
"We have to wait for the dear professional, all-powerful doctors to do that. This is my first day here, and I think I am going to be almost as lonely as you are." "I am sorry for you, but you may leave if you wish. It is quite different in my case!" "My dear, if you can only be content to-night, I promise you some one will come to-morrow. They have sent for your mother Mrs. Harriwell."
"It seems to me a perfectly plain case of mistaken identity, and as you knew neither me nor the girl wanted, I do not see how you could have done otherwise than to take me. I am sure I must have looked and acted demented." "I am perfectly positive that you are not now," declared Miss Bell. "And no time should be lost in searching for Mary Harriwell." "Then I could send a message to camp?
Harriwell, manager of Reminge Plantation. Both suggestions were similar in tenor, namely, to give Mr. Bertram Arkwright an insight into the rawness and redness of life in the Solomons. Also, it is whispered that Captain Malu mentioned that a case of Scotch would be coincidental with any particularly gorgeous insight Mr. Arkwright might receive. "Yes, Svartz always was too pig-headed.
And now, gentlemen, dinner is served." One thing that Bertie detested was rice and curry, so it happened that he alone partook of an inviting omelet. He had quite finished his plate, when Harriwell helped himself to the omelet. One mouthful, he tasted, then spat out vociferously. "That's the second time," McTavish announced ominously. Harriwell was still hawking and spitting. "Second time, what?"
Reaching the sanitarium, Dorothy shuddered as she asked the guards at the gate if she might see the superintendent, but when the man doffed his cap to the distinguished looking major, Dorothy again gained her composure. Mrs. Harriwell sat in the hall, and was evidently much distressed. Dorothy stepped up to her, and the woman started. "Molly!" she gasped. Then she saw her mistake.
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