This early detective novel, featuring a female sleuth, was the last work by Mr. Grant Allen, with a final chapter edited by his friend and neighbour, Dr. Conan Doyle.
ess to stand it."
Hilda Wade smiled her sphinx-like smile. "Not quite that, I fancy," she answered. "It will kill cats, I feel sure; at least, most domesticated ones. But it will NOT kill weasels. Yet both are carnivores."
"That young woman knows too much!" Sebastian muttered to me, looking after her as she glided noiselessly with her gentle tread down the long white corridor. "We shall have to suppress her, Cumberledge. . . . But I'll wager my life she's right, for all that. I wonder, now, how the dickens she guessed it!"
"Intuition," I answered.
He pouted his under lip above the upper one, with a dubious acquiescence. "Inference, I call it," he retorted. "All woman's so-called intuition is, in fact, just rapid and half-unconscious inference."
He was so full of the subject, however, and so utterly carried away by his scientific ardour, that I regret to say he gave a strong dose of lethodyne at once to each of the matron's petted and pampered Persian cats, which lounged abou
Hilda is Quite a Woman. We first meet her at a wedding reception, where she predicts that within a year the groom will muder the bride! (Read and find out.)
She is a nurse and, of course, runs rings around the male physicians she meets. She becamea nurse to take on a very nasty villain.
FYI, this is a novel, partly eposodic, not a short story collection.