Royce, after a moment.
"Not the slightest," said the doctor emphatically. "Her father and
mother were both sound and well-balanced. I know the history of the
family through three generations, and there's no hint of any taint.
Twenty-five years ago Holladay, who was then just working to the top
in Wall Street, drove himself too hard--it was when the market went
all to pieces over that Central Pacific deal--and had a touch of
apoplexia. It was just a touch, but I made him take a long vacation,
which he spent abroad with his wife. It was then, by the way, that his
daughter was born. Since then he has been careful, and has never been
bothered with a recurrence of the trouble. In fact, that's the only
illness in the least serious I ever knew him to have."
There was nothing more to be said, and we turned to go.
"If there are any further developments," added the doctor, as he
opened the door, "will you let me know? You may count upon me, if I
can be of any assistance."
"Certainly," answered our junior. "You're very kind, sir," and we went
back to our cab.
The week that followed was a perplexing one for me, and a miserable
one for Royce. As I know now, he had written her half a dozen times,
and had received not a single word of answer. For myself, I had
discovered one more development of the mystery.
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