And with unfeigned amazement: "In the
name of high heaven, what is Jelnik's son doing _here_?"
"Mr. Jelnik's mother was a Miss Hynds. She met and married your
doctor abroad."
That sixth sense possessed by him to an unusual degree, warned him
that he was on the trail of Copy.
"May I ask questions?" he demanded.
"Of course."
"You inherited this property from an old aunt, I believe?"
"She wasn't my aunt, really. She married my mother's uncle, Johnny
Scarlett."
"I see. And Jelnik's mother was a Miss Hynds. How long has he been
here?"
"For some time before we came."
"Near neighbor of yours?"
"Yes," Alicia put in; "and Doctor Richard Geddes is our neighbor on
the other side. His grandmother was a Miss Hynds."
"Pardon a writer-man's curiosity," begged The Author, smiling. "But
this house is unusual, very unusual. While I am here I shall look up
its history. It should make good copy."
Having a pretty shrewd idea of The Author's powers of finding out
what he wanted to find out, we thought it better that he should hear
that history, as we knew it. If the mystery had ever been solved,
the tragedy of Hynds House would have had but passing interest for
The Author.
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