Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. A detective will be here in a few moments to make inquiries into this affair. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptible now. He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. ” “You don’t. I'll think no more about her. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart.
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