The gloomy morning, with leaden skies and intermittent¹ rain, reflected Harry² Kent's state of mind. He could not fix his attention on the business letters which Sylvester placed before him; instead, his thoughts reverted³ to the scene in Rochester's and Turnbull's apartment the night before, the elusive⁴ visitor he had found there on his arrival, his interview with Detective Ferguson, and above all the handkerchief, saturated⁵ with amyl nitrite, and bearing the small embroidered⁶ letter “B”—the initial, insignificant⁷ in size, but fraught⁸ with dire⁹ possibilities if, as Ferguson hinted, Turnbull had been put to death by an over-dose of the drug. “B “—Barbara; Barbara—“B”—his mind rang the changes; pshaw! other names than Barbara began with “B.”  
“Shall I transcribe¹⁰ your notes, Mr. Kent?” asked Sylvester, and Kent awakened¹¹ from his reverie, discovered that he had scrawled¹² the name Barbara and capital “Bs” on the writing pad. He tore off the sheet and crumpled¹³ it into a small ball. “No, my notes are unimportant.” Kent unlocked his desk and took some manuscript from one of the drawers. “Make four copies of this brief, then call up the printer and ask how soon he will complete the work on hand. Has Mr. Clymer telephoned?”
 
“Not this morning.” Sylvester rose, papers in hand. “There has been a Mr. Parker of the Post who telephones regularly once an hour to ask for Mr. Rochester's address and when he is expected at the office.” He paused and looked inquiringly at Kent. “What shall I say the next time he calls?”
 
“Switch him on my phone,” briefly¹⁴. “That is all now, Sylvester. I must be in court by noon, so have the brief copied by eleven.”
 
“Yes, sir,” and Sylvester departed, only to return a second later. “Miss McIntyre to see you,” he announced, and stood aside to allow the girl to enter.
 
It was the first time Kent had seen Helen since the tragedy of Tuesday, and as he advanced to greet her he noted¹⁵ with concern her air of distress¹⁶ and the troubled look in her eyes. Her composed manner was obviously only maintained by the exertion¹⁷ of self-control, for the hand she offered him was unsteady.
 
“You are so kind,” she murmured as he placed a chair for her. “Babs told me you have promised your aid, and so I have come—” she pressed one hand to her side as if she found breathing difficult and Kent, reaching for his pitcher¹⁸ of ice water which stood near at hand, filled a tumbler and gave it to her.
 
“Take a little,” he coaxed¹⁹ as she moved as if to refuse the glass. “Why didn't you telephone and I would have called on you; in fact, I planned to run in and see you this afternoon.
 
“It is wiser to have our talk here,” she replied. Setting down the empty glass she gazed about the office and her face brightened at sight of a safe standing²⁰ in one corner. “Is that yours or Philip's?” she asked, pointing to it.
 
“The safe? Oh, it's for our joint²¹ use, owned by the firm, you know,” explained Kent, somewhat puzzled by her eagerness.
 
“Do you keep your private papers there, as well as the firm's?”
 
“Oh, yes; Philip has retained one section and I the other.” Kent walked over and threw open the massive door which he had unlocked on entering the office and left ajar. “Would you like to see the arrangements of the compartments²³?”
 
Without answering Helen crossed the room and stood by his side.
 
“Which is Philip's section?” she asked.
 
“This,” and Kent touched the side of the safe.
 
Helen turned around and inspected the office; the outer door through which she had entered was closed, as were also the private door leading directly into the outside corridor, and the one opening into the closet. Convinced that they were really alone, she took from her leather hand-bag a white envelope and handed it to Kent.
 
“Please put this in Philip's compartment²²,” she said, and as he hesitated, she added pleadingly, “Please do it, Harry, and ask no questions.”
 
Kent looked at her wonderingly; the girl was obviously laboring²⁴ under intense excitement of some sort, which might at any moment break into hysteria. Bottling up his curiosity, he stooped down in front of the safe.
 
“Certainly I will put the envelope away for you,” he agreed cheerily. “Wait, though, I must find if Philip left the key of the compartment on his bunch.” He took from his pocket the keys he had found so useful the night before, and selected one that resembled the key to his own compartment, and inserted it in the lock. To his surprise he discovered the compartment was already unlocked. Without comment he pulled open the inside drawer and started to lay the white envelope on top of the papers already there, when he hesitated.
 
“The envelope is unaddressed, Helen,” he remarked, extending it toward her. She waved it back.
 
“It is sealed with red wax,” she stated. “That is all that is necessary for identification.”
 
Kent turned over the envelope—the flap was held down securely with a large red seal which bore the one letter “B.” He dropped the envelope inside the drawer, locked the compartment, and closed the door of the safe.
 
“Let us talk,” he suggested and led the way back to their chairs. “Helen,” he began, after she was seated. “There is nothing I will not do for your sister Barbara,” his manner grew earnest. “I—” he flushed; baring his feelings to another, no matter how sympathetic that other was, was foreign to his reserved nature. “I love her beyond words to express. I tell you this to—to—gain your trust.”
 
“You already have it, Harry!” Impulsively²⁵ Helen extended her hand, and he held it in a firm clasp for a second. “Babs and I have come at once to you in our trouble.”
 
“Yes, but you have only hinted what that trouble was,” he reminded her gently. “I cannot really aid you until you give me your full confidence.”
 
Helen looked away from him and out of the window. The relief, which had lighted her face a moment before, had vanished. It was some minutes before she answered.
 
“Babs told you that I suspected Jimmie did not die from angina pectoris—” She spoke²⁶ with an effort.
 
“Yes.”
 
She waited a second before continuing her remarks. “I have asked the coroner to make an investigation²⁷.” She paused again, then added with more animation²⁸, “He is the one to tell us if a crime has been committed.”
 
“He can tell if death has been accelerated by a weapon, or a drug,” responded Kent; he was weighing his words carefully so that she might understand him fully²⁹. “But to constitute a crime, it has to be proved first, that the act has been committed, and second, that a guilty mind or malice³¹ prompted it. Can you furnish a clew to establish either of the last mentioned facts in connection with Jimmie's death?”
 
Kent wondered if she had heard him, she was so long in replying, and he was about to repeat his question when she addressed him.
 
“Have you heard from Coroner Penfield?”
 
“No. I tried several times to get him on the telephone, but without success,” replied Kent; his disappointment at not receiving an answer to his question showed in his manner. “I went to Penfield's house last night, but he had been called away on a case and, although I waited until nearly ten o'clock, he had not returned when I left. Have you had word from him?”
 
“Not—not directly.” She had been nervously³² twisting her handkerchief about in her fingers; suddenly she turned and looked full at Kent, her eyes burning feverishly³³. “I would give all I possess, my hope of future happiness even, if I could prove that Jimmie died from angina pectoris.”
 
Kent looked at her in mingled³⁴ sympathy and doubt.—What did her words imply—further tragedy?
 
“Jimmie might not have died from angina pectoris,” he said, “and still not have been poisoned—”
 
“You mean—”
 
“Suicide.”
 
Slowly Helen took in his meaning, but she volunteered no remark, and Kent after a pause, added, “While I have not seen Coroner Penfield I did hear last night what killed Jimmie.” Helen straightened up, one hand pressed to her heart. “It was a lethal³⁵ dose of amyl nitrite.”
 
“Amyl nitrite,” she repeated. “Yes, I have heard that it is given for heart trouble. How”—she looked at him queerly. “How is it administered?”
 
“By crushing a capsule in a handkerchief and inhaling³⁶ its fumes”—he was watching her closely. “............