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                            The Mystery Of

                           The Hidden Room

                           BY MARION HARVEY


    GROSSET & DUNLAP
    PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

    Made in the United States of America

    Copyright, 1922, by
    Edward J. Clode

    PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                               PAGE

        I. THE NOTE                                        1

       II. THE SHOT                                        9

      III. THE POLICE                                     15

       IV. THE INQUEST                                    24

        V. THE SECRETARY                                  36

       VI. CORROBORATIVE EVIDENCE                         44

      VII. THE LAWYER                                     51

     VIII. LEE DARWIN                                     56

       IX. THE VERDICT                                    63

        X. JENKINS' ADVICE                                72

       XI. ARTHUR TRENTON                                 79

      XII. AN EXPLANATION                                 85

     XIII. THE SUICIDE                                    92

      XIV. GRAYDON MCKELVIE                              100

       XV. THE INTERVIEW                                 108

      XVI. THE EXHIBITS                                  115

     XVII. THE LAMP                                      121

    XVIII. THE SECRET ENTRANCE                           133

      XIX. THE LAWYER AGAIN                              141

       XX. DEDUCTIONS                                    146

      XXI. THE STEWARD                                   157

     XXII. ORTON'S ALIBI                                 167

    XXIII. GRAMERCY PARK                                 177

     XXIV. THE SIGNET RING                               192

      XXV. THE DECEPTION                                 200

     XXVI. JAMES GILMORE                                 208

    XXVII. THE STRONG BOX                                216

   XXVIII. GOLD AND BLUE                                 222

     XXIX. THE REWARD                                    229

      XXX. THE CURIO SHOP                                236

     XXXI. THE RESCUE                                    243

    XXXII. LEE'S STORY                                   250

   XXXIII. THE SECOND BULLET                             257

    XXXIV. THE WOMAN IN THE CASE                         265

     XXXV. A STRANGE ACCOUNT                             273

    XXXVI. THE TRAP                                      282

   XXXVII. MCKELVIE'S TRIUMPH                            288

  XXXVIII. THE MOTIVE                                    297

    XXXIX. CONCLUSION                                    309




THE MYSTERY OF

THE HIDDEN ROOM




CHAPTER I

THE NOTE


I had intended spending the evening at the Club; but after my solitary
meal, I found that I was too tired to care to leave my own inviting
fireside. Drawing up a chair before the open grate in my library, for
the October night was chill and the landlord had not sufficiently
relented to order the steam-heat, I settled myself comfortably with my
book and pipe. The story I had chosen was a murder mystery, extremely
clever and well-written, and so engrossed did I become that I was
entirely oblivious to the passage of time.

The entrance of my man, Jenkins, brought me back to my surroundings with
a start to find that the clock on the mantel was chiming eleven. A
little impatient at the interruption for I had not concluded the story,
I grew sarcastic.

"What is it, Jenkins? Have you come to remind me that it is long past my
bed-time?" I inquired.

Jenkins' face grew longer if such a thing were possible in a countenance
already attenuated by nature into the semblance of perpetual gloom, and
shook his head with a grieved air as though he considered my remark an
aspersion upon his knowledge of his duties as a valet.

"A man who claims to be Mrs. Darwin's chauffeur, sir," he replied in a
tone that indicated that he at least would not be responsible for the
veracity of the statement, "has just brought this note. He says that he
will await the answer below in his machine, sir."

He extended an unaddressed white envelope with a funereal air. The note
was from Ruth. The message was brief and to the point.

"Will you return at once with my chauffeur? I need you."

"My hat and coat, Jenkins," I cried, flinging aside my jacket. "You need
not wait up for me. I have my key," I added.

I could have descended the stairs a half dozen times before the elevator
finally arrived, or so it seemed to my impatience. The moment we reached
the lobby I was out of the elevator and down the steps into the waiting
motor before the boy had recovered his wits sufficiently to follow me to
the door.

The chauffeur evidently had his instructions, for I was hardly within
before the machine was speeding toward the Drive. My bachelor apartments
were situated on 72nd Street, just off the Park, and I knew we could not
cover the distance to the Darwin home on the outskirts of Riverside
Drive in less than twenty minutes, even at the rate at which we were
traveling.

I had stuffed Ruth's note into my pocket as I left. Mechanically I drew
it forth and tore it to shreds, flinging the scraps from the window.
Letters are compromising things.

What had possessed Ruth to commit herself to writing after the compact
we had made to have no further communication with each other! It was she
who had suggested that we become as strangers, and I could only read in
this sudden appeal and the haste with which I was being whirled toward
her some dread calamity. Nor was my anxiety lessened by the fact that I
was hopelessly in love with her. Yes, hopelessly, I speak advisedly,
because she was another man's wife, and while that man lived she would
be true to him although he deserved it less than anyone I knew.

To think that a few short months ago Ruth and I had been engaged! If I
had had my way we should have been married at once without any fuss, and
so should have avoided the trouble that befell us, but Ruth wanted a
trousseau and a big wedding, so like many a better man before me I
humored her to the extent of promising to wait another month.

Did I say a month? Six have passed and I am waiting yet, while Ruth has
had her wish, for her wedding was a sort of nine days' wonder, Philip
Darwin having long been voted by his feminine friends as "the type of
man who never marries, my dear."

In letting my bitterness run away with my discretion, I have begun my
story at the wrong end, giving a false impression of the facts of the
case, for I never once dreamed of blaming or censuring Ruth for the
misery that her decision cost me.

Two weeks before the date set for my wedding, Ruth came to me with tears
in her eyes, and laying the ring I had given her upon the table begged
me if I loved her never to see her again. I was decidedly taken aback,
but I retained sufficient presence of mind to laugh at her and to
request her not to be absurd. She was not to be diverted, however, nor
would she say anything beyond a reiteration of the fact that if I loved
her I would be willing to obey her without questioning her motives.

All of which was folly to my way of thinking, and being very much in
love, I refused to be disposed of in any such high-handed fashion,
particularly as I felt that as her affianced husband I was entitled to
some say in the proceedings. Never in the course of my life before had I
been called upon to plead so skillfully, and plead I did; for it was
more than my life I was fighting for, it was our love, our happiness,
our future home. Gradually I wore down her defenses and finally she
sobbed out the whole pitiful story.

Her brother, her adored and darling Dick, whom she had mothered almost
from the time that he was born, had fallen of late under the influence
of Philip Darwin, director of the bank of which her father was president
and Dick assistant cashier. Handsome, spoiled, the boy had been
flattered by the attentions of the older man, who explained his interest
on the ground that Dick reminded him strongly of what he had been ten
years before. Under his tutelage, then, the boy early became a devotee
of the twin gods of gambling and of drink.

Two nights before in a questionable gambling den to which Philip Darwin
had taken him, Dick, his temper inflamed by the strong liquor he had
been drinking, quarreled with his neighbor, accusing him of trying to
cheat. The fellow, a big, powerful chap, made for Dick, who pulled out a
pistol which Darwin had given him, and fired. His opponent went down
like a log, and as the man fell, Darwin extinguished the light. In the
confusion that ensued the older man got the boy away to his home, where
Dick gathered some things together and with the connivance of his father
left for the West.

Of course the affair came out in the papers, I recalled it as Ruth
spoke, and the police were on the hunt for the unknown assailant of the
dead man. Fortunately for Dick, both he and Darwin attended these places
in disguise and a trip West for the scion of a wealthy family was no
unusual event, hence his absence from social circles was easily
accounted for, and Ruth and her father were merely waiting for the
furore to abate before sending for the boy, when Darwin exploded a bomb
in their midst.

He had always admired Ruth, he had always wanted to make her his wife.
She had spurned his love and he had accepted defeat stoically. But now
things were different. Her brother was wanted by the police for murder.
The police, to be sure, didn't know it was her brother that they wanted
but he, Philip Darwin, was quite willing to supply them with the
information unless Ruth agreed to become his bride.

"What was there for me to do, Carlton, but to acquiesce?" she had ended
with a sob. "Philip Darwin is an implacable man. And even if Dick eluded
the police, think of the disgrace for Daddy and for me. It's terrible
enough that he should have killed a man, but that he should become a
hunted thing, my little brother--! No, no! I'd rather sacrifice my love
than have that happen!"

I remained silent, for I could think of no argument that would suffice
to meet the situation, and taking my apparent immobility for acceptance,
she continued: "It's a big sacrifice, dear, I know, but you will bear
it bravely for my sake, because--because there is more in life than
love alone and it's the honor of my name that is at stake."

In the face of her sublime unselfishness I felt that I could do no less
than prove myself as noble as she deemed me. I agreed, therefore, to
give her up and when she said we had better not meet again I consented
dumbly, comprehending the wisdom of her decision even while my heart
rebelled against its enforcement.

When she had gone my resentment flared full and strong, but curiously
enough not against the one who had been the chief cause of the ruin of
my happiness. I felt only pity, a profound and sincere pity, for the
misguided boy who had committed the crime. My anger blazed toward that
man who by his foolish adoration of his only son had spoiled and
indulged the boy to his own undoing. What right had any man to bring up
a son in that fashion? How dared his father let him loose upon the world
without teaching him the first principles of self-restraint?

It was not Dick but Mr. Trenton who was to blame for the boy's act.
Almost from the moment that he could make his wants known the boy had
been given to understand that what he wanted was his for the asking.
Everyone in the home had to give way before him. He was never crossed
and never denied. Small wonder that when he grew to manhood he should
expect the world to give as much and more than his father had done, that
when he ran across temptation he had no moral strength to resist, and
that he became an easy prey to a man of Philip Darwin's type.

Here my thoughts veered abruptly to the man who would soon become Ruth's
husband and for a moment I saw red. Ruth, pure, sweet Ruth, married to
that vile wretch! I could not endure it.

I had actually grasped my hat and was on the point of hastening to her
home to plead with her not to sacrifice herself in so dreadful a manner,
even if she never married me, when I paused, for the horrible
alternative flashed across my mind. With a groan I returned to my
library where the remainder of the night I wrestled with what to me
seemed the only solution to the problem, the instant and speedy death of
Philip Darwin.

By morning I was saner. There was not much use in jumping out of the
frying-pan into the fire, and besides what did I know of Philip Darwin
beyond the fact that he had been the one to lead Dick astray? For ought
I knew to the contrary he might make Ruth a very good and devoted
husband. There were hundreds of cases on record where a man had been
reformed and steadied by marriage.

Though all this philosophizing by no means alleviated the pain in my
heart, still it helped to allay the fever in my tortured brain, and from
that time on I resolutely put Ruth from my mind and plunged into my work
in an effort to forget.

Forget! How much had I forgotten in the six months that had passed? Not
one single detail had escaped my memory and it all came back with
tenfold force for having been thrust out of sight so long. With a groan
I buried my head in my hands.

How long I remained thus oblivious to time and space I do not know. The
chauffeur's voice brought me back to a realization that we had arrived
at our destination. I alighted and as he backed the car down the drive I
paused a moment before ascending the steps to try to distinguish
something of this home whose mistress Ruth had become.

It was very dark, a dull, cloudy night, and all I beheld was a great
black bulk looming before me like some Plutonian monster, harbinger of
evil, and the soughing of the wind in the branches of the nearby trees
gave me such a feeling of superstitious dread that I raced up the steps
and rang the bell as though in fear of my life.




CHAPTER II

THE SHOT


The door was opened for me by Ruth herself, who drew me within, and
locked it behind me. Then with a finger on her lip, she led the way in
silence to the drawing-room, seeming to breathe only when the door of
that room was closed against further intrusion.

"What is it, Ruth?" I asked, more and more alarmed by all this secrecy
coming on top of my own foolish fears.

Instead of answering she drew me down beside her on the divan and
touched with her fingers my graying temples.

"Did I do that to you, Carlton?" she murmured, brokenly. "Oh, my dear, I
wonder you had the courage to forgive me!"

"Ruth!" I cried sharply and at the misery in my voice she slipped to her
knees and buried her face in her arms.

"Forgive me," she sobbed. "I should not have let myself go, but
sometimes I feel I must go mad, alone night after night in this great
silent house with only that horrible secretary of Phil's for company!"

"Hush," I returned, drawing her to me, but she pushed me from her and
raised her head in a startled way.

"Listen!" she whispered, holding up her hand. "I thought I heard someone
prowling around."

More to satisfy Ruth and ease her fears, for I had heard no sound, I
went to the door and flung it open. But the dimly lighted hall was empty
save for the wavering shadows that lost themselves in the gloom of the
stairwell. The utter silence and loneliness of the great house gave me
an eerie feeling, and I was glad to close the door and return to Ruth.

She had regained command of herself and was once more seated on the
divan. As I approached she questioned me with her eyes. With a shake of
the head and a reassuring smile, I resumed my place beside her.

"I thought I could stand it," she said, after what seemed an
interminable interval, "but you don't know what I have had to put up
with. No, Carlton, please!" for I had caught her to me in my desire to
shield her from all harm.

"Forgive me," I returned humbly, rising and pacing the long room, "but I
can't bear to hear you say such things when I love you so!"

"I know, Carlton. I won't grieve you that way again. It was for another
reason that I asked you here."

She was so long, however, in telling me that reason that I had time to
study her more closely, and my heart grew ever more bitter as I saw how
thin she was and how the lines of suffering had gathered on her white
brow and around her sweet, drooping mouth. Verily I cursed the day that
Philip Darwin had crossed Ruth's path, and if he had entered the room at
that moment I honestly believe I should have killed him.

She must have read my thought for she cried out sharply, "No, no,
Carlton, not that!" and when I flushed she added more quietly, "Won't
you come and sit beside me, please?"

When I had complied with her request, she lowered her voice until it was
the merest thread, at the same time looking around her as if she feared
the presence of someone else in the room.

"You know I have a feeling that Mr. Orton, Phil's secretary, is always
hanging around listening and spying upon me. Ugh, he makes me shiver
with his prominent, near-sighted eyes, his eternal humility and mock
grin. He reminds me of Uriah Heep in _David Copperfield_. I suppose I'm
foolish, but I've been alone so much of late."

"But, Ruth, I thought your father lived here with you?"

"Yes, he did, but two weeks ago the doctor told him to take a vacation
and he has been visiting friends out of town. I expect him home
to-morrow or the next day at the latest. Then I shall be all right
again."

She clasped her hands in her lap and strove to keep back the tears.

"Ruth, dear," I said, taking her little trembling hands in both my own,
"why did you send for me? Surely there is something I can do!"

She smiled faintly as she gently withdrew her hands and reclasped them
in her lap. "It was for your sake I sent for you," she said, simply.

"For my sake?" I asked puzzled.

"You'd think that I had caused you enough suffering without adding
needlessly to your sorrow," she continued, as if to herself. "Oh,
Carlton," turning suddenly toward me, "forgive me, but I did a very
foolish thing last night. I was so lonely and dispirited and nervous
with hearing Mr. Orton prowling around and seeing him appear suddenly
from shadowy corners that I locked myself in my room and poured out my
heart to you."

"Ruth, darling!" I murmured.

"It was foolish, Carlton, nay more, it was imprudent, and realizing this
last fact I tore up the letter and threw it in my waste basket. I would
have done better to have kept it, for to-night about ten-thirty, when I
was on the point of retiring, Mr. Orton knocked on my door and said that
Phil desired my presence in his study."

"You obeyed?"

"Yes," she answered wearily. "It is only one of the many indignities I
have had to endure. So I followed him to the study and there on the
table the first thing I laid my eyes on was my letter--all those scraps
pasted together on a larger sheet. Think of it, Carlton!"

But I couldn't think. The petty sordidness of it was beyond me. I could
only stare at her and speak a name below my breath. Orton was what I
said.

"Yes, he had found the letter. He examines my waste basket every day it
seems," she continued, bitterly, "in hopes of finding just what he did
find this morning. An unfaithful husband is always sure to be suspicious
of his wife, and her moral superiority is equally sure to gall him."

"I am not going to tell you what Phil said," she went on presently. "I
couldn't, for most of it passed me by. But when he spoke of revenging
himself upon you, of ruining you and breaking you, then I decided it was
time to act. He told me he was going out, so I sent my maid with the
note and instructions to my chauffeur. I had to warn you, to put you on
your guard that you might be able to fight any rumors which he may
spread. But, Carlton, please promise me that you will keep out of his
way. Please, for my sake!"

She clung to me as I shook my head impatiently. "It would only make it
harder for me, Carlton!" she pleaded.

"Never mind me, Ruth!" I said almost angrily. "Think of yourself for a
few minutes. Why don't you get a divorce or at least a separation? You
have more than enough grounds."

"No, no. He would take it out on Dick. Don't you see he has me in his
power?"

It was useless to try to influence her, especially as I could well
appreciate the justice of her remark. I slightly cursed Philip Darwin
for a blackguard, and then turned the conversation into a side channel.

"Ruth, do you think you could get that letter for me?" I asked.

"Why, Carlton?"

"Because it is a powerful weapon to hold over you if he should ever
decide to cast you aside." Seeing that this had no effect upon her, I
added--would that I had cut my tongue out ere it had uttered those
words! "because he can use it as a weapon against me."

Instantly she was on her feet. "He put it in the drawer of the table in
his study. Stay here, dear, while I see if I can get it."

She opened the door of the drawing-room and crossed the hall to the
study. The drawing-room occupied about one-third of the lower floor of
the main wing and lay to the right of the entrance hall, while the study
was its exact counterpart on the left, so that the door of the study was
directly opposite the door of the drawing-room which was now open
before me.

I saw Ruth try the door of the study and as it yielded to her hand she
advanced timidly into the room, leaving the door barely ajar behind her.
My view being thus effectually cut off I strained forward in an endeavor
to catch the slightest sound, but was only rewarded by the most profound
stillness, through which there presently echoed and re-echoed the voice
of the old clock in the hall proclaiming the midnight hour. Then, as if
that ancient time-piece had been the signal previously agreed upon,
there rang through the house from the direction of the study the sharp
report of a pistol, followed by silence, absolute, profound!

A moment I remained petrified, then with a bound I gained the study
door, my one thought for Ruth. But on the threshold I stood rooted to
the spot by the sight that met my eyes!

In the patch of light cast by a small lamp upon the study table, lying
back in his chair with a sardonic grin on his face and an ever-widening
stain upon his shirt front, was Philip Darwin, while beside him as if
turned to stone, stood Ruth with a pistol in her hand!




CHAPTER III

THE POLICE


"Ruth!"

My cry startled her. Dropping the pistol and flinging out her arms, she
laughed hysterically and stumbled toward me. Something in my face,
perhaps the horror I could not help revealing, arrested her before she
reached me.

"Carlton! Surely you can't think I killed him!" she cried. "It--it would
be too monstrous!" And with a fluttering sigh she sank in a heap on the
floor.

Tenderly I gathered her limp form in my arms and was on the point of
bearing her from the room when suddenly without any warning the study
was flooded with light and Philip Darwin's secretary was standing
obsequiously before me.

"Shall I telephone for a doctor, Mr. Davies? And for the police?" with a
glance at his erstwhile master.

At mention of the police I frowned though I knew of course that their
presence was inevitable. But there was no need to bring them buzzing
about our ears any sooner than was absolutely necessary.

"A doctor, yes. The police can wait," I said abruptly.

"Just as you say, Mr. Davies," he returned with a leering smile. "I'll
call Dr. Haskins."

He stepped to the table and picked up the phone and while he summoned
the doctor I looked at him more attentively. He was just as Ruth had
described him and instinctively distrust of this pale-faced secretary
arose in my mind, distrust of him and his pussy-footing ways. I had not
heard him enter the room behind me. For ought I knew to the contrary he
might have been in the study when the shot was fired, sulking among the
shadows in the corner while awaiting a chance to kill his employer. But
then how in the name of all the gods had Ruth come by the pistol!

Which brought me back to the realization that I was still holding her
unconscious form in my arms. I must carry her upstairs to her room. Yet
I disliked intensely leaving the secretary alone with the dead, fearing
I knew not what perversion of justice, dreading also that he might take
the opportunity to summon the police before I was ready for them.

I glanced around the study and was relieved to find that the room
possessed only one door, that by which I had entered, whose key was
still in the lock, but on the inside. Ordering the secretary to lead the
way to Ruth's apartments, I closed and locked the door of the study
behind me, and pocketing the key followed him up the broad staircase.

Hardly had I laid Ruth upon her bed when a sharp ring startled me, and I
glanced apprehensively at Orton. Could it be that others besides
ourselves had heard the shot?

"No one could hear anything. The grounds are too extensive," he said,
answering my unspoken thought. "That must be the doctor. He lives only a
short distance from here."

Much as I disliked him I could have blessed him for those words, for
already the plan to keep the police from questioning Ruth that night
was simmering in my brain.

"Bring him here at once," I commanded, and Orton slipped noiselessly
from the room.

I heard him opening the front door, heard the sound of voices apparently
in consultation, and then the doctor's step upon the stair. I had
expected an old family physician. The man who stepped briskly across the
threshold was small and slight, almost a boy in years, yet having an air
of knowing his business to perfection. Without ostentation, and also
without asking needless questions, he examined Ruth quietly and
attentively while I explained that she was suffering from the shock of
having discovered her husband's murdered body.

"And, Doctor, could you not give her an opiate to insure a perfect
night's rest," I added in a lower tone.

He gave me a swift appraising glance from his keen eyes, then as if
satisfied, nodded to himself.

"Yes, I think you are right. It is far more important to save her reason
than that the police should have the satisfaction of questioning her."

As he administered the dose to the now conscious girl I mentally decided
that there was not very much that escaped this young doctor's
observation.

"Is there no one to stay with Mrs. Darwin?" he inquired in a
dissatisfied tone. "Where is her maid?"

"She sleeps in the servants' wing, Dr. Haskins," replied Orton.

"Go and get her," ordered the doctor briefly.

When the maid arrived on the scene, only half awake and very much
tousled as if she had flung on her clothes without regard to appearance,
the doctor bade her establish herself in the boudoir. Then satisfied
that there would be someone within call in case of necessity, he asked
to be conducted to the scene of the tragedy.

"You have notified the police?" questioned Dr. Haskins as we descended
the stairs.

"No," I replied. "I waited to hear your verdict first."

"Better send for them at once," was his reply.

"I will do it, Dr. Haskins," put in the secretary eagerly.

As Orton moved to the hall phone I inserted the key in the lock of the
study door and opened it with some trepidation, remembering what lay
within. I had forgotten to turn out the lights and as we entered from
the semi-obscurity of the hall, the chair and its horrible occupant
seemed literally to spring out at us as we approached. To the doctor
death was a familiar sight, but I could not bear to watch him as he
probed the wound with skillful fingers, so I turned away and desirous of
having something other than my thoughts to occupy my mind, I took
cognizance for the first time of this room where the crime had been
committed.

The study, as I remarked before, lay to the left of the hall and like
its counterpart, the drawing-room, it was exceedingly large, a good
forty feet in length at the very least. Again, like its counterpart, the
side opening upon the garden was a series of French windows hung with
velvet draperies of a rich brown that harmonized perfectly with the
luxurious appointments of the room. Whatever one might say for his
morals, one could certainly find no fault with Philip Darwin's taste in
furnishing his study. It was the den of a sybarite, not the conventional
study of the modern business man. The only jarring notes were supplied
by the mahogany table directly in the center of the room, at whose head
stood the chair in which the dead man lay, and by an immense safe let
into the narrower wall, whose highly varnished surface reflected
Darwin's face as clearly as any pier-glass would have done.

For a space I stood gazing at the safe, wondering what any man would
want with such a gigantic contraption when I became conscious of the
reflection of the doctor's occupation. With a feeling of nausea I swung
away toward the windows when, struck by a sudden idea, I hastily
examined them. It had occurred to me that while we were standing idle
the murderer had probably made good his escape through one of them,
since there was no other means of egress which he could have used with
impunity. Imagine then my feelings to find that the windows were not
only locked, but were also supplied with burglar alarms, which precluded
beyond the shadow of a doubt their recent use by anyone intent upon
escaping from the study!

With dwindling hope I tried the safe and finding that locked also, I
returned to the table, where despite my aversion I could not help
glancing at the man who, living, had destroyed my happiness and who,
dead, was about to bereave me of all hope as well.

I had known Philip Darwin very slightly, a mere bowing acquaintance, so
that it was a distinct shock to me to discover that he was so
fine-looking a man. I had always accounted him handsome in a bold,
dashing way, with his dark hair, his gold eyeglasses, and his neatly
trimmed coal black Vandyke; but, death, that dread visitant that plays
such queer tricks upon us mortals, had ennobled his countenance and
rejuvenated him by wiping away all traces of the dissipation which of
late had coarsened his features and left its marks beneath his eyes and
around his mouth. Had it not been for that red stain which seemed to
mock me as I gazed, I would have said that he was merely asleep, so
gracefully did he repose in the big chair, the left hand holding a small
handkerchief upon his knee, the right flung out across the arm of the
chair.

Just then I noticed that the doctor was gravely regarding the pistol as
it lay on the floor beside the chair, and recalling where I had last
seen it, I hesitantly asked the question whose answer I knew before the
words had left my lips.

"Is there any possibility of suicide?"

"None at all," replied Dr. Haskins. "He has been shot through the left
lung and death occurred from internal hemorrhage. The absence of powder
stains and the fact that the bullet entered at an angle preclude the
idea of suicide."

"Then Mr. Darwin was not killed instantly?" I asked.

"No. I should judge that he had lived at least twenty minutes after the
shot was fired."

It could not have been more than twenty minutes, or at most, a half-hour
since I had heard the report that had turned my world so suddenly upside
down! Had he then been alive when I carried Ruth from the room? Had I
locked him in to breathe his last alone, when perhaps I might have saved
his life? The thought was too horrible to contemplate!

"Doctor!" I cried. "You mean he has only just died? That something could
have been done to save him?"

The doctor looked at me in some surprise. "Nothing could have been done
to save him," he answered quietly. "From the condition of the body----"

But we had no time for further discussion for a great pounding had
ensued at the front door and in a few moments Orton returned with the
police. There were five of them, the Sergeant and his two men and a
couple of detectives from the Central Office, and they made an imposing
array as they entered the room.

The Sergeant, a mild-looking man, nodded to us pleasantly enough,
deplored the necessity which had brought him to the house, and ordered
his men to guard the premises and to permit no one to leave the place
under any circumstances, while the detectives made the rounds of the
room, examining everything from the carpet to the ceiling.

"I do not believe I can be of further use," said Dr. Haskins. "Let me
know when the inquest is called and I shall be glad to give my
testimony."

The Sergeant took down his name and address, and, when the doctor was
gone, turned to me and asked me who I was. I mentioned the name of the
brokerage firm with which I was connected and of which I had the honor
of being the junior partner. The name of that firm was a well-known one
throughout the city and its effect upon the Sergeant was instantaneous.
Glancing at me with marked respect he asked me to give him an account of
the affair. It was precious little that I could tell him, however. I had
been in the drawing-room, had heard the shot, and on rushing in had
found Darwin dead.

While the Sergeant was transcribing this information in his notebook the
younger of the two detectives, who had been glancing over the objects
upon the table, spoke up.

"It was an inside job, then, Sergeant. The windows are all locked and
anyone leaving by the door would have encountered this gentleman coming
in," and he looked at me very suspiciously indeed.

The worthy Sergeant scratched his chin and looked perplexed. Then his
eye fell on Orton standing meekly in the doorway.

"Hello, where the devil did you come from?" he asked.

"I--I'm the man who sent for you, who just let you in," he stammered,
whether from fright or awe I don't know. "I'm Mr. Darwin's secretary."

"I see. What do you know about this affair?"

He was opening his mouth to say I know not what when he caught my eye. I
was determined that Ruth should have a night's rest if I had to go to
jail as the consequence.

"I heard the shot and when I entered the room Mr. Davies was looking at
the body," he said with a malicious glance in my direction.

I could have laughed aloud as the Sergeant regarded me from beneath
frowning brows. I was a prominent man and he dared not risk a false
arrest.

"Are you the only two people awake in this house?" he inquired, to gain
time.

"Mrs. Darwin heard the shot but she was prostrated by the news and the
doctor does not wish her disturbed until morning," I said, purposely
giving the wrong impression by my statement.

Again the Sergeant's troubled glance rested upon me. "What are you doing
here at this time of night, Mr. Davies?" he asked abruptly.

"I came here on important business," I answered.

At this juncture the older detective whispered something to the Sergeant
and handed him a paper he had taken from the table drawer.

"Mr. Davies, I am under the painful necessity of keeping you under
surveillance until the arrival of the coroner. You will remain in this
house until that time."

I bowed. "Then you have no objections to my retiring?" I asked.

"None at all, Mr. Davies. Gregory," he called, and when the burly
policeman appeared in the doorway, "You will accompany Mr. Davies to his
room and see that he does not attempt to leave the house."

"Very good, sir," saluted the policeman.

"Good night, Sergeant," I said. "I am sorry to put you to so much
trouble." Then I touched Orton upon the shoulder. "If you will be so
kind I should like to be shown to a vacant room and might I borrow a
suit of pajamas?"

I linked my arm through his and forced him to accompany me upstairs. By
dint of hinting that he had no way of proving that he was not in the
study at the fatal moment and that my word had far more weight than his,
should I choose to cast suspicion upon him, I frightened the cowardly
fellow into promising to keep his knowledge to himself for that night at
least. That the police were bound to learn that Ruth was also in the
study was inevitable, but at any rate I should have gained her a few
more hours of freedom, for whichever way I looked at it the case was
black against her.




CHAPTER IV

THE INQUEST


When I awoke the sun was pouring into the room and my watch pointed to
eleven o'clock. After hours of pacing the floor in utter anguish of
spirit while the specter of murder stalked hand-in-hand with innocence
and love, outraged nature had asserted herself and I had found respite
in oblivion. But now the weary round of thoughts must be taken up again
and it was with a sigh of relief that I obeyed the summons to present
myself in the study where the coroner was holding the inquest.

The body had been removed and in the chair where it had so lately rested
reposed the coroner with his papers spread out on the table before him.
I noticed that he had taken the chair from the head of the table and had
placed it around the corner on the right side, facing the direction of
the door instead of the safe.

In the corner opposite the door sat the younger of the two detectives
who had accompanied the Sergeant to the house the night before. Beside
him was Orton, looking pale and dispirited, while huddled in the
adjacent corner like a herd of frightened cattle stood the servants,
their eyes fastened upon the coroner, watching his every movement as if
in terror lest they be accused of having murdered their master. Grouped
around the table but slightly behind the coroner sat the jury, and I was
glad to note that the coroner had had the good sense to pick a fairly
respectable set of men to judge the case, from which I argued hopefully
that the gray-haired, heavy-set gentleman in charge of the case might
possess a modicum of intelligence and a keener brain than the average
coroner.

Back of the jury stood Dr. Haskins, in conference with a rotund
individual whom I assumed rightly to be the coroner's physician. Beyond
the doctors sat the assistant district attorney, surrounded by the very
few newspapermen who had got wind of the affair and had insisted upon
being present.

Passing the jury I seated myself near one of the windows beside a man
whom I recalled having seen, but whom I could not at the moment place,
and looked around in vain for Ruth. Evidently Coroner Graves (I obtained
this information from the man beside me) intended to spare her as much
as possible, for which consideration I thanked him from the bottom of my
heart.

They must have been awaiting my presence since I was no sooner seated
than the coroner called on Doctor Haskins to give his testimony. The
doctor repeated what he had previously told me, that Philip Darwin had
been shot through the left lung, that death had resulted from internal
hemorrhage, and that the victim had lived at least twenty minutes after
the bullet had penetrated his body. Asked if he had examined Mr. Darwin
immediately upon his arrival, the doctor replied that he had first
attended Mrs. Darwin and that it must have been ten or fifteen minutes
later that he had entered the study. He had found Mr. Darwin lying back
in his chair with a smile on his lips, one hand closed over a
handkerchief, the other hanging limply over the arm of the chair. From
the condition of the body he must have been dead from twenty to thirty
minutes. Also there was a small abrasion on the little finger of his
left hand, as if a ring had been violently removed. Questioned as to
whether he was the family's physician, he said no, that he only knew Mr.
Darwin by sight and had probably been summoned because he was the
nearest doctor.

This evidence was partially corroborated by the coroner's physician, who
added that he had made a post-mortem examination and had extracted the
bullet, which had narrowly missed entering the heart. From the nature of
the wound it would have been impossible for him to have shot himself,
and the absence of all powder stains pointed to murder rather than
suicide.

Then he continued, with a slightly commiserating look in Dr. Haskins'
direction: "You have heard Dr. Haskins' testimony, your honor, that the
victim lived twenty minutes after he was shot, and that at the time that
the doctor examined him he had already been dead from twenty to thirty
minutes. This last statement is correct. The post-mortem examination
proves conclusively that Mr. Darwin died at midnight or shortly
thereafter. From questions that I have already put to Mr. Orton I have
learned that the shot was fired as the clock finished striking twelve,
therefore since that was the only shot fired Mr. Darwin must have died
immediately, or at the best, must have lived only five minutes, for Dr.
Haskins was in the study by twelve-thirty."

"But," interrupted Dr. Haskins, "the nature of the wound is such that
instantaneous death could not have possibly occurred."

"Please do not volunteer information unless you are being questioned,"
returned the coroner with some asperity. He turned to his physician,
"You were saying, Doctor?"

Dr. Haskins shrugged his shoulders at the coroner's words, while his
boyish face flushed angrily at the rebuke, and he walked away from the
table, but turned to listen as the physician took up the cudgels again
by answering the query he had propounded.

"Dr. Haskins is young in his profession and this is his first criminal
case, hence his natural inference that because in his medical books such
a wound should produce such results, therefore it must be so in
practice," said the coroner's physician, with pompous superiority. "Now
as a matter of fact where one man will live an hour another will survive
only a few minutes, depending on the life each has led. Now Mr. Darwin,
I have been told, led a very fast life, which probably accounts for his
quick demise. After all, you see, it's a question of fitting your facts
to the circumstances of your case and in this instance no other
conclusion is possible."

I could see that Dr. Haskins was not at all convinced, and I set it down
to professional jealousy and his desire not to be outdone by the
coroner's physician. I can imagine that that "is young in his
profession" rather stuck in his gorge.

When the physician had seated himself the coroner took up the bullet and
called the detective, to whom he handed it along with another object
that had been lying upon the table. Whereupon the detective took a step
forward and held up the object for our inspection. It was a
long-barreled thirty-eight caliber revolver, just the sort of weapon a
man would keep in his house for use against burglars, since it insured a
fair chance of more accurate marksmanship.

"This revolver, gentlemen," said the detective, speaking to the jury,
"was found on the floor beside the chair in which the victim lay. As you
can see for yourselves," here he broke the pistol, "it is fully loaded
with the exception of one chamber, which has recently been discharged.
The bullet extracted from Mr. Darwin's body corresponds in every respect
with the bullets remaining in this pistol. Therefore I have no
hesitation in stating that the deceased was killed with this weapon in
my hand."

He passed the revolver and the bullet to the jury, adding that Mr.
Darwin had been standing when he was shot, and that as he had been
engaged in writing the moment before, the inference was plain that he
had risen to meet the person who killed him.

"What makes you certain he was standing when he was shot?" inquired the
coroner.

"The carpet, if you'll notice," replied the detective, whose name, by
the way, was Jones, "has a very heavy pile. The marks made by that
arm-chair as it was pushed back from the table were apparent to me when
I examined the carpet around it. Now Mr. Darwin had been writing, for we
found a half-finished word on the paper before him, and must therefore
have been seated in the chair. Hence the only person who could have
produced those marks in the carpet was the victim himself, and they
could only have been made if, as I said, he had risen suddenly to meet
his murderer, who was evidently known to him, since Mr. Darwin was
smiling when he was killed."

There was a murmur of admiration for the clever way in which he had
deduced his statement, and the man beside me softly clapped his hands as
he whispered to himself, "admirable, marvelous. Upon my soul I could not
have builded better had I tried."

The thought came to me that my companion might be a detective also, and
that he was delighted with the intelligence displayed by his
professional brother, but I had no time to nurse idle speculations, for
Jones had resumed his seat, and I expected the coroner to make an
attempt to discover the ownership of the pistol. To my surprise he
ignored that point and turned his attention to the servants.

The butler, who was the first servant called upon and who was a vigorous
old man about sixty years of age, gave his name as George Mason and
stated that he had been in his position for thirty years. I saw the
coroner's face clear at this statement, for surely a man who had been
the family retainer for so long a time could be relied on not to pervert
any knowledge he might possess of the events of the previous night. The
coroner should have recalled that though not given to perverting justice
old family servants have a faculty for forgetting what they would rather
not explain.

"I understand that it is your duty to secure the house at night," began
the coroner.

"Yes, sir."

"What time do you usually lock up?"

"When Mr. Darwin left the house for the evening, sir. Or if he was away,
as he sometimes is, for days together, it would remain locked while he
was gone. That is, it was that way before his marriage, sir. Now I lock
up when Mrs. Darwin goes upstairs."

"What time did you close the house last night?"

"At nine-thirty, sir."

"You are sure you locked all the doors and windows securely?"

"Oh, yes, sir, everything except the study, for to my surprise Mr. Orton
was in there and said he'd lock the windows himself, sir."

"Why did Mr. Orton's presence in the study surprise you?"

"Because Mr. Darwin always keeps the study locked, sir. I have a
duplicate key to let the maid in to clean, sir, and it was my custom in
my rounds at night to knock on the door. If I got no answer I went in to
see that everything was all right, sir."

"How long has Mr. Darwin been in the habit of locking his study?"

"A good many years, sir, ten or more."

"For what reason?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Did Mr. Orton explain how he came to be in the study?"

"No, sir. When I found him there I withdrew at once."

"After that, what did you do?"

"I saw to it that all the servants had left the main wing and closed the
door into the servants' wing. When that door is closed it is impossible
to hear what goes on in the main part of the house, sir. We went to bed
and did not know the master was dead until Mr. Orton informed us this
morning, sir."

"I see. This applies to all the servants, you can swear to that?"

"Yes, sir, to all except the valet and Mrs. Darwin's maid. They do not
leave the main wing until dismissed for the night."

"Who opened up the house this morning?"

"The police, sir."

The coroner looked inquiringly at the detective, who answered promptly:
"Nothing had been tampered with. The burglar alarms on the windows were
all intact and the front door was double-locked when the doctor
arrived."

The coroner turned once more to the butler. "When did you last see Mr.
Darwin alive?"

"Yesterday about six o'clock, sir. He was just going out."

"Then he was not home for dinner?"

"No, sir. Mr. Orton and Mrs. Darwin dined alone, sir, for even Mr. Lee
was away."

"Who is Mr. Lee?"

"Mr. Darwin's nephew, sir. He has lived here ever since he was a lad,
sir."

Coroner Graves pondered a moment, then asked abruptly, "Have you ever
noticed any signs of ill-feeling between your master and mistress?"

The answer came without a moment's hesitation, "No, sir, and even if I
did it was not my place, begging your pardon, sir, to pry into the
affairs of my betters."

The jury smiled, but the coroner frowned as he told Mason that he was
through questioning him, for he was evidently a stickler in regard to
upholding the dignity of the law as embodied in his own proper person,
of course.

The examination of the other servants was a mere formality. None of them
knew anything of the tragedy and they were disposed of in a group with
the exception of the valet and Ruth's maid.

The former, being questioned, stated that his master had given him the
evening, that he had left the house at six and had not returned until
eight this morning. Where had he been at midnight, why at the Highfling,
on Fourteenth Street, dancing with his girl.

The coroner summoned a policeman and sent him out to verify this
statement, then called Ruth's maid, who supplied him with the first bit
of tangible evidence against her mistress.

"How long have you been in your present position, Annie?" he asked,
glancing at the sheet he held in his hand.

"Five months, sir," answered Annie, with a grin and curtsey. She was
quite a pretty girl and it was evident that she was bursting to tell all
she knew, so the coroner asked her to relate everything that had
happened the night before, admonishing her to be careful not to forget a
single detail.

She tossed her head. "As if I'm like to forget, sir, with it all ending
in murder, sir." She spoke the word in a thrilling whisper, enjoying to
the full her connection with so sensational an affair.

"Last night, sir, about ten-thirty, as I was getting my mistress ready
for bed, came a knock at the door and who should it be but Mr. Orton,
saying that the master wished to see my mistress in the study. Quick as
a wink she was after him down the stairs, and I hadn't hardly had time
to fix the bed before she was back again----"

"Be more definite," interrupted the coroner. "Was she gone five
minutes?"

"Nearer ten, sir," came the ready answer.

"Were you making the bed that it took you ten minutes to fix it?"
inquired the coroner, sharply.

The girl hung her head. "No, sir. I went out in the hall to see if I
could hear anything, but there was no sound and when I saw my mistress
coming up the stairs I ran back in the room and noticed the clock said
about twenty to eleven, sir."

"Be careful how you give false impressions, my girl. Remember that we
always learn the truth," said the coroner, severely.

The girl was quite abashed and just a little frightened. "It wasn't any
harm, sir," she murmured, "and I didn't hear anything, so I thought it
didn't have to be told."

"Go on with your story," shortly.

"Yes, sir. My mistress came back looking very excited and sat down at
her desk. She wrote something on a paper and put it in a white envelope,
then she told me to give it to her chauffeur and to tell him to go for
Mr. Davies and bring him back as fast as possible. She said I needn't
come back to her, so I did what she told me and then went to bed. I
don't know how long I'd been asleep when Mr. Orton woke me and told me
my mistress was ill. I flung on some clothes and followed him to her
room, where the doctor told me to stay the rest of the night. I didn't
know the master was dead until I went to get my breakfast. The butler
told me, and that is all I know, sir."

"You have no idea what was in the note?"

"No, sir. It was sealed."

The chauffeur was called next and testified that what the maid had
related with regard to him was correct. He had taken the note to my
house and delivered it to my man. When I had entered the machine he had
driven me to the Darwin home and left me at the front steps.

"Did the maid give you Mr. Davies' address?" asked an inquisitive juror.

"No, sir. I was Mrs. Darwin's chauffeur before her marriage and had
often driven Mr. Davies home, sir."

"Then Mr. Davies was acquainted with Mrs. Darwin before her marriage?"
This from another juror.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you not think it odd that your mistress should send for Mr. Davies
at that time of night?" inquired the coroner.

"I didn't think about it one way or 'tother. I'm paid to obey orders,
sir."

There was nothing more to be obtained from him and as by this time it
had grown late a short recess was called for luncheon. I had hoped to
see Ruth, but I was disappointed for she kept her room and so, not
caring to join the others in the dining-room, I had Mason bring me a
bite in the room adjoining the study.

When the inquest was reopened I once more took a chair near a window but
above the table instead of below it, where I could watch more closely
the witnesses as they were called. To my surprise my companion of the
morning again chose a seat beside me.

Then the coroner rapped for order and inquired if Gregory had returned.

"Yes, sir," answered the policeman promptly, coming forward and
saluting. "The valet's alibi is O. K., sir. The music hall attendant
remembers speaking to him at midnight, and his girl corroborated his
testimony."

"Very well. That effectually disposes of the servants," remarked the
coroner. "Now for the more important witnesses."

I was hoping that he would call me first, but the name that fell from
his lips was that of Claude Orton, private secretary and creature of the
murdered man.




CHAPTER V

THE SECRETARY


What was Orton going to say? How many of last night's events had come
under his notice? I had no recollection of having seen him until he had
turned on the study lights, yet Ruth had been manifestly uneasy and had
thought that she had heard his step in the hall. Where had he been when
Ruth left the drawing-room and how close was he to the scene of the
tragedy when the shot was fired? But all this was idle conjecture. I
would know soon enough what I had to fear from this man, and as I caught
the ugly gleam in his prominent eyes when he turned them for an instant
my way I realized that he would do his very best to hurt me. My
peremptory manner last night would be paid back in full, measure for
measure, and he was cunning enough to guess that he could wound me most
through Ruth.

"You are Mr. Darwin's secretary?" the coroner was saying when I was once
more cognizant of my surroundings.

"I am his private secretary. I have charge of his business affairs,"
with a trace of condescension beneath his apparent humility.

"Where do you discharge your duties?"

"At his office in Broad Street. I attend to his correspondence."

"Is it not odd that a man of Mr. Darwin's--er--wealth--should introduce
his secretary on an equal footing with his family?"

The secretary squirmed and the man beside me grinned delightedly through
his forest of red whiskers.

"I am a distant connection of the family," answered Orton. "I--er--he
asked me to make my home with him a month ago."

"And how long have you been in his employ?"

"About two months."

"You are then acquainted with his private affairs also?"

"Not at all, only those relating to his business."

"And what is this business you are always talking about?" inquired the
coroner ironically. In his opinion rich men evidently had no need of
occupation.

"He was director of the Darwin Bank," answered Orton, discomfited. "He
also played on the market."

"A speculator, eh? Did he also play fast and loose in his domestic
affairs?" continued the coroner with a shrewdness I should not have
given him credit for.

For a moment Orton was puzzled, then a great light dawned upon him and
he laughed feebly. "Yes, he was not on good terms with his wife, if that
is what you mean. He was not what you would call a model husband."

"What an infernal idiot that fellow is," said the man beside me with a
sneer, but I was too much concerned with what Orton would reveal to take
any interest in side comments.

"You testified last night that you had heard the shot?" remarked the
coroner, changing the subject abruptly. "Where were you at that
particular time?"

"On the stairs. I had been doing some work in the little room beyond the
study and on my way to my room had paused on the lower step to count the
strokes of the hall clock. Just as I finished counting twelve the shot
rang out," answered Orton very humbly, as if anxious to efface his
personality from the minds of his listeners.

"What did you do then?"

"My first impulse was to flee up the stairs. I am a timid man and
dislike the sight of bloodshed. But sometime previously I had heard a
step in the hall and looking out had seen Mrs. Darwin enter the study.
Fearing that it was she who was hurt I followed Mr. Davies into the
study."

He wiped his brow with a trembling hand and I mentally decided that he
had had a bad minute concocting that piece of testimony--for one part of
it at least was a decided fabrication. Ruth had been in the study only a
minute and had not gone in some time before, as he tried to imply.

"Mr. Davies entered ahead of you? Where did he come from?" queried the
coroner.

"He was in the drawing-room, which is nearer the study than the stairs,
and so he reached the room first, but he paused at the door for a minute
and I was right behind him when he spoke to Mrs. Darwin."

"What did he say to Mrs. Darwin?"

"He cried out, 'Ruth!' and she dropped something shiny from her hand and
fainted. While Mr. Davies picked her up I turned on the light and
noticed for the first time that Mr. Darwin was dead."

Another prevarication! He could no more have helped knowing who had been
shot than I if he was right behind me as he said!

"The study was in darkness then?"

"No. There was a small lamp lighted on the table but it did not give
sufficient light to distinguish clearly the rest of the room."

"And when you turned on the light how many persons were in the room?"

"Just Mr. Davies, Mrs. Darwin, and I."

"Might there not have been someone else who left by the windows before
you lighted the room?"

"No, for I locked the windows at Mr. Darwin's request a half-hour
before, and they were still locked when the police arrived."

"Could anyone have escaped by the door then?"

"Impossible, for I should have seen that person. Besides, Mr. Davies was
at the door almost immediately after the shot was fired."

"You said Mrs. Darwin had something shiny in her hand. Were you able to
tell what it was?"

"Yes, it was a pistol," he said, with a triumphant look in my direction.

"That's a lie!" cried a man's voice, and Ruth's chauffeur detached
himself from the group of servants to shake a finger beneath Orton's
nose. "It's a lie, you miserable little worm! Take it back or I'll wring
your neck!"

I think he would have done it, too, had not a policeman thrust him out
into the hall, where he remained to curse Orton roundly before he moved
away. A servant's loyalty to a sweet and gentle mistress, and I
determined it should not go unrewarded, for nowadays such loyalty is
rare.

The murmur of approval that followed this act showing in what odium the
secretary was held by the servants, made the coroner a little doubtful
of his man and more than ever anxious that his statement be properly
substantiated.

"Have you any reason to suspect Mrs. Darwin other than the fact that she
held the pistol in her hand?" he asked after due deliberation.

"She knew that Mr. Darwin kept a pistol in the drawer of this table and
she had quarreled with him an hour and a half before," replied Orton
with a triumphant expression on his pale face.

"She quarreled with him, you say? Tell me all you know about it."

"Mr. Darwin was away for dinner and I believe he returned about
ten-thirty, but of this I cannot be absolutely sure, since he has a key
of his own and I was in the study with the door closed."

"What were you doing in the study?" interrupted the coroner.

"I was answering some letters which Mr. Darwin had left for me," replied
Orton.

"Mason testified that the study was usually kept locked," continued the
coroner. "Have you also a duplicate key?"

"No, I have no key. He told me he would leave the door open for me and
he unlocked it before he left the house," returned Orton, quietly.

"Go on with your story."

"At ten-thirty Mr. Darwin entered the study and told me to call Mrs.
Darwin," resumed Orton. "She, as you know, answered the summons. At
first they talked in low tones, but presently from their raised voices I
knew that they were quarreling and quarreling bitterly, for I heard Mr.
Darwin threaten to do something or other to Mr. Davies. Then Mrs.
Darwin opened the door and rushed upstairs and Mr. Darwin called me to
him. He said that he was expecting a visitor but wished me to watch Mrs.
Darwin's movements and, when he summoned me, to report them to him.
After which he closed and locked the door. It was then that I heard Mrs.
Darwin telling her maid to make haste. I hurried to the back stairs and
followed Annie to the garage where I heard her instructions to the
chauffeur. Coming back to the house I hung around the darkened hall and
while I waited I heard voices in the study, but I was unable to
distinguish whose they were. Then Mrs. Darwin came downstairs and I drew
back into the little room next the study to await developments. She
lighted the drawing-room and about eleven-twenty-five she opened the
front door, admitted Mr. Davies, locked the door, and led him into the
drawing-room. It must have been about five minutes later that Mr. Darwin
called me to the study and asked for my report. He was seated in that
chair leaning back with his pen in his hand and in just the same
position as we found him when he had been shot. I told him what I had
seen and he laughed and clapped his hands softly as if something tickled
his fancy."

"'So we've a broker in the house, eh?' he said. 'He should know how to
play fast and loose, eh? I'll make him useful, this broker lover of our
stainless Ruth!'"

Orton got no further. It was more than flesh and blood could endure to
sit and hear him repeat that odious man's remarks in that softly
insinuating voice. "Stop!" I cried, springing to my feet. "Your honor, I
protest against such things being dragged into this court of inquiry!"

"That will do, Mr. Davies," said the coroner stiffly. But I believe he
feared to antagonize me too far, for he said to Orton, "You need not
repeat Mr. Darwin's conversation."

Orton bowed obsequiously in deference to his superior. Ugh, how I
despised him!

"It was then that he told me to lock the windows and he was laughing
when I left the room," finished Orton.

"Do you know what occasioned the quarrel between the husband and wife?"
suddenly inquired the inquisitive juror.

"It was a love-letter that Mrs. Darwin had written to Mr. Davies," said
Orton.

I think the coroner was afraid he was going to divulge its contents, for
he interposed hurriedly, "Did anyone else know that the pistol was kept
in this table drawer?"

"No, only Mrs. Darwin and myself."

"Is this the pistol in question?" pointing to the revolver.

"Yes. It belongs to Mr. Darwin and has his initials engraved on the
handle."

The coroner nodded in confirmation. "Do you recognize this
handkerchief?" holding up a dainty lace-covered bit of cambric partly
stained with blood.

"I have seen Mrs. Darwin carry one like it."

"Are you and Mrs. Darwin the only members of the household?"

"We were last night. Mrs. Darwin's father has been away for two weeks on
a vacation, and Lee Darwin, Mr. Darwin's nephew, left the house
yesterday morning."

"What do you mean?"

"He had a dispute with his uncle and I overheard Mr. Darwin tell Lee to
get out and stay out, which he promptly did. He went to the Yale Club
and has not been back since."

"That is all, Mr. Orton. Gregory," called the coroner.

"Yes, sir," answered that worthy.

"Go to the Yale Club and inquire for Mr. Lee Darwin. If possible bring
him here."

"Very good, sir."

When the policeman had gone the coroner turned to me. "Now, Mr. Davies,
we will hear what you have to say."




CHAPTER VI

CORROBORATIVE EVIDENCE


How I wished that I had been born blind, or failing that, that I had
been a thousand miles away when that fatal shot was fired! A coward's
attitude? Perhaps, but for the life of me at that moment I could not see
how my testimony could be anything but damaging to the girl I loved.

"Mr. Davies, will you tell the jury what happened last night," said the
coroner.

Very calmly I told them all that had happened, saying that I was a
life-long friend of Ruth, that she had asked me to come to the house,
and that in the course of conversation I had urged her to get me a paper
which was of value to me. She entered the study and almost immediately
the shot rang out. I ran to the door and found her standing beside her
husband. The shock of his death caused her to faint and I carried her
from the room.

When I was through, the coroner stroked his chin reflectively. I was
hoping he would dismiss me without further parley, but instead he began
his cross-examination.

"Mr. Davies, did you not think it strange that she should send for you
so late at night?" he commenced, after a slight pause.

"Under the circumstances, no," I replied.

"Under what circumstances?"

"In the interview between Mr. and Mrs. Darwin, of which you have heard,
Mr. Darwin threatened to ruin me. Mrs. Darwin sent for me because she
desired to warn me against her husband."

I saw several of the jurymen nudging each other and even the coroner's
brows shot up a trifle, but I decided that it was far better to
strengthen the case against her than to have them construing all manner
of scandal from my refusal to answer.

"Could she not have written to warn you, just as well?" pursued the
coroner.

"She believed that I would take no notice of such a warning unless it
were given in person," I replied.

"Would not the next morning have been ample time?" caustically.

"I can't presume to say," I shrugged.

"You were acquainted with Mrs. Darwin before her marriage. Was it merely
in the capacity of her friend?" He spoke diffidently, as if anxious not
to offend my sensibilities.

I debated the point and finally came to the conclusion that there was no
object in airing the family skeleton, more particularly as it might get
Dick into trouble with the authorities and thus set at naught Ruth's
dearly bought sacrifice.

I bowed therefore and replied quietly, "Yes, your honor, I was merely
her friend."

The coroner gave me a swift glance from beneath half-closed lids as he
fingered a sheet of paper thoughtfully.

"You said that Mrs. Darwin entered the study to reclaim a paper which
was of value to you, did you not?" he inquired.

"Yes," I answered, briefly.

"Is this the paper?" he continued in a peculiar tone, holding up the
letter that Ruth had described to me.

"I have no idea," I retorted.

"What do you mean by that?" he continued sharply.

"Mrs. Darwin simply told me that in the study-table drawer was a letter
which her husband could use against me. I urged her to retrieve it.
Never having seen it I cannot possibly say whether the paper in your
hand is the one or not," I returned, quietly.

For a moment he was nonplussed, and then he asked: "You heard Mr. Orton
say it was a love-letter written to you by Mrs. Darwin?"

"Oh, yes, but I didn't hear you ask him how he knew this. No, nor did I
hear him tell you that he fished the torn scraps of Mrs. Darwin's
private correspondence from her basket and pieced it together for her
husband's delectation," I replied, scornfully, glad of the chance to let
the jury know the truth concerning that letter.

I saw the look of disgust with which various of the members of the jury
favored Orton, and even the coroner was impressed to the point of laying
the letter aside and resuming his attack upon a different line.

"When you sent Mrs. Darwin into the study you were both aware, of
course, of Mr. Darwin's presence in that room?"

"No. Mr. Darwin had told his wife he was going out and we had no idea
there was anyone in the study."

"But finding him there unexpectedly might she not have shot him to
secure the letter?" pursued the relentless voice.

I shook my head and replied abruptly (I have learned since that he had
no right to ask that question, but I had no knowledge of legal
technicalities): "Impossible. She was in the study only a minute before
the shot was fired. This I am positive of, Mr. Orton's evidence to the
contrary. She had left the door slightly ajar and I remember listening
for sounds from the study just before the clock struck twelve. I heard
no voices. Besides, the study was in total darkness----"

"You are sure the study was in darkness?" he interrupted with an odd
look.

"Yes, I think I can safely say it was."

"It has been proven that Mr. Darwin was writing just before he was shot.
Do you think he was in the habit of writing in the dark?" he inquired
sarcastically.

I reddened. The detective's statement had slipped my mind, but I refused
to be ridiculed into changing my opinion. I could have staked my life
upon it that the study was dark.

"Of course I was not in the room itself," I returned stiffly, "but by
the hesitating way in which Mrs. Darwin entered and from the fact that
no glow came through the doorway as she opened the door, I judged that
the study was in darkness."

"The lamp on this table could never give sufficient light to be seen
from that doorway, Mr. Davies," remarked the coroner.

I shook my head impatiently. "Nevertheless, I am convinced the study was
in darkness," I reiterated stubbornly.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere he dropped the point, and asked: "Did
you also see the pistol in Mrs. Darwin's hand?"

There was no use in quibbling since the fact was known, and I had no
idea of what Ruth herself would say on this point, so I replied in the
affirmative, adding: "As I stood in the doorway I could see that Mr.
Darwin had been shot as plainly as I could see that Mrs. Darwin was
standing beside his chair."

"I thought you said the study was in darkness?"

"It was, but the lamp was lighted as I sprang for the door."

"Then you think there may have been someone else in the room?"

"Yes."

"Could you see the door of the study from your position in the
drawing-room?"

"Yes." What was he getting at, anyway?

"So that you could see whether anyone came out of the study, or entered
it after Mrs. Darwin?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone come out or go in?"

"No."

"You heard the evidence concerning the windows?"

"Yes."

"Do you still persist in saying there was someone else in the study?"

So that was it. He was trying to trap me into making a contradictory
statement to pay up for my stubbornness concerning the study. But I had
no intention of being trapped by him.

"I cannot be absolutely positive, your honor," I said, "but of this I am
certain. I had no knowledge of Mr. Orton's presence until he lighted the
study. Whether he was already in the room when Mrs. Darwin went in, or
whether he entered behind me, I am not prepared to say."

"That's not so!" cried Orton, his face more pallid than ever. "I was out
in the hall, your honor, I was out in the hall!"

The detective said something to him in an undertone, whereupon he
subsided tremblingly, but it was very plain to be seen that the coroner,
who had not been previously impressed with the man and who had since
come to regard him in the light of a sycophant, began to be suspicious
of the secretary, eyeing him with great disfavor, wondering, no doubt,
whether he were as innocent as he gave out. I began to breathe more
freely for Ruth, but at the coroner's next words my hopes were dashed
once more.

"Knowing that Mrs. Darwin was in the study, why did you give the police
the impression last night that she had heard the shot from upstairs?"

"She was ill. I didn't want her disturbed," I explained.

"In other words, you feared to tell the truth," he commented.

I made no answer. Protestations would only have made a bad matter worse.

"Mr. Davies, you know, of course, that if a man dies intestate, his wife
inherits his property?"

I nodded, but was decidedly puzzled.

"Mr. Darwin died intestate," he continued quietly, watching to note the
effect upon me.

"I don't understand you," I said, and I spoke the truth. I was out of my
depth, for he surely couldn't suppose that I was intimately acquainted
with Philip Darwin's personal affairs! Either that, or else he
possessed information of which I had no knowledge. It proved to be the
latter case.

"In the waste basket we found partially burned scraps of what was
presumably a will, Mr. Davies, and here," holding up a heavy paper, "is
what Mr. Darwin was at work upon when he was shot. It is a will, Mr.
Davies, or rather the beginning of one, and it is not in Mrs. Darwin's
favor."

I made no comment, but I could see what he was driving at. This was
another powerful factor to be added to Ruth's motive in taking her
husband's life.

"This will is in favor of Cora Manning. Did you ever hear of her, Mr.
Davies?" continued the coroner.

"I can't say that I have."

"Do you also identify this handkerchief?"

"No, I have never seen it before to my knowledge."

"It might be Mrs. Darwin's?"

"I don't know."

"That is all at present. Mr. Cunningham, please."




CHAPTER VII

THE LAWYER


At the coroner's words the man beside me arose and walked to the front
of the room. He was about Philip Darwin's build and height, but his face
was fleshier, and he wore a full, square beard of a peculiar mottled
red, the same shade as his hair, as though both had been liberally
sprinkled with gray. He was very fastidiously dressed, I might say
almost foppishly so, even to the point of wearing spats and an eyeglass,
which he was continually screwing into his eye as he spoke.

"You are Mr. Darwin's lawyer?" asked the coroner.

"Yes. You will pardon me if I reply rather briefly. I have a bad throat
to-day and find it trying to speak at length," he apologized in a husky
voice.

"Certainly, certainly. This is a mere formality," responded the coroner
affably, whereat the lawyer smiled, rather sardonically, I thought.

"Mr. Cunningham, do you know whether the will that was destroyed was in
Mrs. Darwin's favor?"

"It was."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes. I made it out when Mr. Darwin was married."

"Do you know whether Mr. Darwin keeps any of his valuable papers in that
safe?"

"I am sure he keeps nothing of value in it. His papers are in his vault
at the bank."

"Have you none, then?"

The lawyer shook his head and replaced his eyeglass with great
deliberation. "Two nights ago Mr. Darwin removed the last of his
securities from my office," he said with evident difficulty.

"The last of his securities? Do you mean that he had been gradually
removing them from your care?"

This time the lawyer nodded.

"For what purpose?" asked the coroner.

"I do not know," was the candid answer. "He was rather secretive. I
surmised he needed them in his dealings in Wall Street."

"He did not actually say so?"

"No. He told me nothing."

"Since he was so secretive, might he not have put some of his securities
in that safe?"

"No, I don't think so. However, you might have it opened--to satisfy
yourself," with a slight, rather mocking accent on the last word.

"I think it just as well," responded the coroner, briskly. "Mr.
Cunningham, you don't by any chance happen to know the combination?"

"No, I do not."

"Jones, can you open that safe?" inquired the coroner.

"I think so." The detective rose and advanced down the long room to the
safe, where he knelt down, the better to hear the fall of the tumblers.
While he twirled the knob of the dial now this way and now that, Mr.
Cunningham, as if in no way interested, moved to the window, where he
stood looking out with his back to the room. Now it happened that I was
sitting so that I could see his reflection in the window-pane, and I was
surprised to note the look of diabolical joy that overspread his
countenance as he rubbed his hands together in unholy glee, for it
seemed to me that such levity was decidedly out of place at this
particular time.

But now my attention was diverted, for the detective straightened to his
full height and opened the safe door, which swung back on noiseless
hinges. As the detective darted within the cavernous depths, the lawyer
turned toward the room once more with a remnant of his smile on his lips
as he stroked his beard with a well-kept white hand. And then it flashed
across me where I had seen him before. It was on the Knickerbocker Roof,
late one evening in September, where I was supping with my partner after
the show. Cunningham had come in with a couple of chorus girls and my
partner had mentioned that he was a gay old boy, to which I had agreed
after watching him as he stroked his beard and made love to the girls. I
had not seen him since that night, roof gardens not being much in my
line, and so, of course, I had failed to remember him until that gesture
which seemed habitual with him recalled him to my mind.

"Nothing, your honor," reported the detective, emerging with a
crestfallen face. "Nothing but a few receipted tailor's bills, an empty
cash box and a stoneless ring."

"A what?" The coroner screwed himself around in his chair and the jury
strained backward as Jones spoke.

Mr. Cunningham involuntarily put out his hand for the bauble as the
detective passed him, but Jones shook his head with a smile, as he
returned to the front of the room and placed the objects on the table
before the coroner.

Coroner Graves examined with meticulous care the sheaf of bills, the
empty box. Then he put them aside and turned his attention to the
stoneless ring.

"Odd, very odd," he said. "Why should a man like Mr. Darwin preserve a
stoneless ring?"

"I think I can explain that," said the lawyer, coming forward very
leisurely. "May I look at it?" He held out his hand and the coroner
placed the ring within it. "Ah, yes, it is the same." He handed it back
with a courteous air, but I could not help feeling that somehow he was
merely amused by the attempts of the coroner to solve the problem. But
it must have been my own overwrought fancy, for his voice was sinister
enough through its throatiness, as he said:

"My client, as perhaps you know, was very fond of the ladies. Before his
marriage he met a very beautiful young lady--her name does not matter,
it was not her own, for she was an actress, I believe--of whom he became
very fond. In fact, he told me he was going to engage himself to her,
and showed me that ring which he had bought her. It held within that now
broken setting a magnificent blue-white diamond. If you will look within
you will see the inscription which Mr. Darwin had engraved upon it."

He paused, as much to rest his voice as to give the coroner the
opportunity of reading aloud for the benefit of the jury the sentiment
which graced the ring: "To my one love--D."

"I remonstrated with him, told him she would take the ring and leave him
high and dry, but he would not listen and bestowed it upon her," resumed
the lawyer. "A week later he received a letter from her enclosing that."
He waved his hand toward the golden circlet contemptuously. "She had
kept the diamond and returned him his ring. She left the country and he
never heard from her again. Why he kept that empty shell I don't know.
Perhaps he put it in the safe and forgot it was there."

"Where did you find it, Jones?" asked the coroner.

"In one corner of the top shelf. I only discovered it because as I
passed my hand over the shelf the broken prong scratched me," replied
Jones.

The coroner nodded. "A thin bit of gold not worth considering," he said,
adding as the lawyer was about to return to his seat: "Mr. Cunningham,
do you know Mr. Darwin's nephew?"

"Yes, I have met him several times," responded the lawyer.

"Was there not a will in his favor before the wedding?"

"Yes, but it was destroyed when the new will was made."

"Did Mr. Darwin mention to you recently that he intended changing his
will?"

"No."

"Have you ever heard of Cora Manning?"

"No."

"Yet Mr. Darwin had written her name on the will he was making at the
time he was shot, Mr. Cunningham."

"Indeed? This is all news to me, sir. My client, as perhaps you have
heard, was exceedingly peculiar. He did not confide all his affairs to
me. In fact, he often employed more than one lawyer."

The coroner raised his brows. "Well, he certainly was peculiar if he did
that. One lawyer ought to be enough for any sane man."

"Quite right," responded Mr. Cunningham with an odd smile. "But perhaps
my client wasn't quite sane."




CHAPTER VIII

LEE DARWIN


The coroner's retort, if he made one, was lost to me, for at this moment
loud voices were heard in the hall and a burly policeman came hurriedly
into the room.

"What is it, Riley?" asked the coroner in an annoyed tone.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sorr, but there's a young man out here and a divil
of a strong young man he is, yer honor," said the policeman.

"What does he want?"

"Shure an' he says he's Lee Darwin, but Oi'm on to their little tricks.
An' shure by the looks of him I'd say he was one of thim fresh cub
reporters that worries the life out of us huntin' for noos."

"Reporter be hanged!" exclaimed a wrathful voice, as a young man strode
into the room.

Here the details of the scene before him, the frowning coroner, the
amazed jury, the dignified lawyer, sank into his consciousness and he
stopped abruptly a few feet from the table.

"What is the meaning of all this?" he inquired, but in a more subdued
tone. "Mr. Cunningham, what are all these people doing here?"

Before the lawyer could answer him, he cried out suddenly, "My uncle!
What has happened to him!"

"Mr. Darwin was shot last night," answered the coroner.

"Shot? You--you mean murdered?" in a horrified whisper.

The coroner nodded, then said briskly: "I am glad you are here. There
are several questions I should like to ask you."

"I am at your service."

The defiant lift of the head as he spoke, and the fiery look he cast
around the room as if challenging us to contradict him, were so like the
actions of a creature at bay that I examined him more attentively. He
was a tall, broad-shouldered, dark, young man, with a pair of snapping
black eyes that roamed restlessly about the room during his entire
examination. It was evident that he was laboring under some strong
emotion, for much as he controlled his voice and strove to appear calm
the muscles of his face betrayed him by their involuntary twitching, and
his hands were clenched convulsively at his sides.

"You had a misunderstanding with your uncle yesterday morning. Is my
information correct?"

No answer, only a savage look in Orton's direction, as though he divined
the source of the coroner's knowledge of his affairs.

"I should like an answer, if you please," with some asperity.

The young man laughed harshly. "I'd call it a quarrel," he said.

"A quarrel, eh? What was the subject of this quarrel?"

A slight pause while he mentally debated the wisdom of replying, then
with a sudden abandonment of his former brief manner, he said quickly:
"I objected to the way my uncle treated his wife. He took umbrage at
what he called my impertinence and told me to clear out. I did. It was
none too congenial here."

"What do you mean by that last statement?"

"My uncle was always at dagger's points with his father-in-law."

"For what reason?"

"I do not know. I fancy, though, that it was something pretty strong
that my uncle held over Mr. Trenton. I have heard him say things that
had I been Mr. Trenton, instead of listening meekly, I'd have jumped up
and knocked him down."

"What was Mr. Trenton's attitude toward your uncle?"

"He was always very pleasant to him, and never seemed to take offense at
what my uncle said."

The coroner made a note on one of his many papers and then resumed his
questions. "What brought you back this morning if you had left the house
for good?"

"I came to get the rest of my belongings. I left rather suddenly
yesterday."

"When did you last see your uncle?"

"In this study when I quarreled with him yesterday morning."

"Did you notice whether he was wearing a ring on the little finger of
his left hand?"

Was it my fancy, or did he pale?

"My uncle never wore any rings," Lee Darwin answered.

"Yet the physician testified that a ring had been pulled off his
finger."

"He wore none when I saw him last." How proudly, and it seemed to me how
sadly, that was said.

"Mr. Darwin, did you ever see that handkerchief before?"

As the coroner held up the dainty trifle the young man started and with
a quick indrawn breath he leaned closer to examine it. Then with a look
of relief he straightened to his full height.

"No, I do not recognize it," he said.

"Whose did you think it was when I first held it up?" Again Coroner
Graves surprised me by his astuteness.

"Why--why, Ruth's--Mrs. Darwin's," stammered the young man, somewhat
taken aback.

"And it isn't hers?" persisted the coroner.

"No, I'm positive it isn't."

Certainly he was a young man after my own heart.

"Would you swear to that fact?" went on the coroner inexorably.

"Look here, do you think I'm lying to you?" demanded Lee Darwin,
angrily.

"Would you swear to that fact?" repeated the coroner monotonously,
taking no notice of the outbreak.

A dull red suffused the young man's dark face and his eyes smoldered as
he glanced at the coroner. "I refuse to answer," he said, sullenly.

The coroner shrugged, having won the battle by creating just the
impression that he desired, namely that the handkerchief was Ruth's and
that for some reason Lee was trying to protect her. I swore softly below
my breath at the blunder young Darwin had committed in becoming angered,
for though I knew he could possibly have no motive for shielding Ruth,
having heard none of the previous evidence, he had yet managed to
strengthen the case against her by his strange attitude.

"Mr. Darwin, did you ever hear of Cora Manning?" suddenly inquired the
coroner.

Lee Darwin had himself better in hand this time, for his face did not
change from its sullen aspect, but he could not help clenching his
closed hand tighter until the knuckles showed white through the flesh.
That action alone told me that he knew the woman whose name was on
Philip Darwin's unfinished will. It also told me that he would deny it.
So I was not surprised when he said, a little stiffly, as though he
found it hard to speak at all:

"No, I do not know her."

"When you first recognized my official capacity what made you think
something had happened to your uncle?"

For a moment he seemed nonplussed, then he answered readily enough, "I
suppose it was because I was entering his house and the thought of its
master and our last meeting was uppermost in my mind."

"You are sure that it wasn't because you knew beforehand that he was
dead?"

I thought he was going to faint, so pale did he become, but he rallied
instantly and said, haughtily, "Do you presume to intimate that I killed
my uncle?"

"Not at all, since you could not possibly have been in the room at the
time," responded the coroner. "I merely wished to learn, whether when
you were standing outside the house late last night, you saw what
occurred in the study."

This statement created an immense sensation. Everyone looked at everyone
else and then at Lee Darwin, who stood before the coroner with blazing
eyes and head flung high.

"I came here to get my belongings and not to be questioned about an
affair of which I know nothing!" he exclaimed angrily. "I refuse to
answer further."

The coroner shrugged. "Of course it is not really important. You can
tell your story in court when you have been arrested as an accessory
after the fact."

"I know nothing about it, I tell you!" cried Darwin in exasperation.

"Your footprints were found in the flower-bed, outside the study window.
What were you doing there at that time of night?"

Lee Darwin laughed outright, whether with relief or hysteria I don't
know, though I incline to the former.

"Your honor, your minions are not as clever as they seem to think. I
made those footprints yesterday morning when I left the house through
the study window. I turned around and stood there a moment to shake my
fist at my uncle," he said, sarcastically.

"Just a moment, Mr. Darwin. Mason," called the coroner.

The old butler came forward timidly. "Did you see Mr. Lee Darwin leave
the house yesterday morning?" inquired the coroner.

"No, sir. I knew he was in the study after breakfast but I did not
notice whether he came out," he answered, peering anxiously at the young
man.

"That will do. Mr. Orton, please."

The secretary rose and took the butler's place, and as though he had
anticipated the question he said eagerly, "Mr. Lee Darwin left the house
by the window yesterday morning."

It struck me he was trying to curry favor with young Darwin by the way
he spoke and fawned upon him.

"You are positive of this?" said the coroner.

"Yes, Mr. Lee was just leaving the house when his uncle said something
to him and he followed him into the study. I was waiting for Mr. Darwin
in the hall, and after the quarrel, I entered the study at Mr. Darwin's
summons in time to see Mr. Lee leave by the window and then turn back
again, as he said."

"Now that the word of a gentleman has been vouched for by that of a
miserable spy, I trust you will permit me to go to my apartments." The
sneer that accompanied the words made Orton wince, but the coroner
remained imperturbed. He granted the permission with a wave of the hand.

"Would it be asking too much to allow me to see my uncle's body?"
inquired the young man, pausing in the doorway.

"Unfortunately your uncle has been removed to the undertaker's,"
responded the coroner affably. "If you care to call on them----"

With a gesture of disgust the young man left the room and the coroner
was human enough to enjoy his advantage after his own discomfiture at
young Darwin's hands.

And now only Ruth remained to be questioned. Would he tell me or Orton
to summon her? To my surprise he called Cunningham to him and after a
whispered consultation the lawyer left the room and I heard him
ascending the stairs.

This unexpected move the coroner explained in a few curt words. "Under
the circumstances Mrs. Darwin is entitled to counsel," he said. "Mr.
Cunningham has kindly consented to act in that capacity this afternoon."

Had the case against her progressed to the point where she needed legal
advice? Then, indeed I had nothing to hope for from the interview which
was now about to take place.




CHAPTER IX

THE VERDICT


A few moments later Cunningham returned alone, and presently I heard
Ruth's step upon the stair. I arose and as she entered the room I
hastened to her and led her to a chair, giving her a reassuring smile as
I did so. She looked so little, and so tired, so in need of comfort that
it seemed a sacrilege to question her. As for believing her guilty of
murder, that was too preposterous!

But then the coroner was not in love with her, and he had his duty to
perform. I will give him credit for this, that as he looked into her
sweet, gentle face his duty became none too pleasant for him and he
conversed with a stranger who had entered the room before he again took
up his burden of office. When he did it was to say:

"Mr. Ames, the finger-print expert, has a word to say before we can pass
verdict on this case."

Before Ames could speak, Cunningham held up his hand.

"I would like you to hear what Mrs. Darwin has to say first before you
attempt to actually incriminate her," he said.

At his words Ruth turned and glanced at him sharply, with a puzzled
expression on her face which I could not account for, as she stared at
him uncomprehendingly, but as the full meaning of his words dawned upon
her, she turned her terrified eyes in my direction.

"Carlton," she said, and she raised her right hand solemnly, as though I
were the judge before whom she was taking an oath, "I am innocent of any
crime. In God's name, tell me you do not believe me guilty!"

She caught my hand and drew me down so that she could see my face.

"Ruth," I replied--it cost me an effort but for her sake I strove to
speak quietly--"when I found you in the study I was startled, but never
once have I believed you guilty, and now I know that you are innocent."

She released my hand and settled back in her chair with a sigh of
relief. As long as I knew her innocent what mattered what anyone
thought, was her attitude. But, alas, it was not I but the jury she
would have to convince.

"Mrs. Darwin, I should like very much to have your version of the events
of last night," said the coroner, and his voice was very gentle as he
addressed her.

"Ruth," I interposed quickly, "be careful what you say." I was in mortal
dread lest she incriminate herself beyond redemption, and yet I knew her
to be innocent! Explain the paradox as best you may. I could not.

"Well meant, but ill-advised," said Mr. Cunningham. "Your best plan,
Mrs. Darwin, is complete frankness."

Again that strange puzzled look on Ruth's face as she turned toward him,
then as if his words found an echo in her own heart, she looked once
more toward me and said simply, "Yes, Carlton, why shouldn't I tell him
all since I am innocent?"

I groaned and mentally anathematized the coroner for his choice of
counsel. I was powerless to help her in the face of her guileless
attitude and evident inability to realize the danger of her position.

Very quietly and very candidly she told the coroner all that had
occurred that fateful night, most of which was already known to those
present in the room, the only new evidence being her account of what
took place after she entered the study.

"The study was dark and as I left the door only barely ajar and the hall
was dim, it was impossible to see any objects in the room. I knew
however about where the table was located and I groped my way to it, and
found the drawer. It was closed and I had to pull quite hard to open it.
As I did so I thought I heard someone breathe quite close to me. I was
paralyzed with fright, but as moment after moment passed and I heard no
further sound, I decided I was mistaken and slowly put my hand in the
drawer and felt around for the letter that I had come to get. Just as my
hand closed around it I heard again that sound. Oh, it was horrible!
Like someone trying to breathe who couldn't!"

She broke off and hid her face in her trembling little hands, and at my
suggestion Mason brought her a glass of water. When she had sipped it
she thanked him with a sweet smile and I saw the old man hastily wipe
away a tear as he departed. I am not sure but that I did the same
myself, as Ruth resumed her narrative in a voice not quite so steady as
before.

"I snatched my hand from the drawer and had taken but two swift steps
away from the table, as I thought, when there was a sudden deafening
roar. I stood stock-still, unable to move, and when I did finally take
a step I trod on something hard. Mechanically, I stooped and picked it
up. It was then that the lamp lighted and I saw Phil lying
there--dead--almost beside me. I was stunned and stood like one stricken
until I heard Carlton's voice. I had no idea what I had picked up until
that moment, but when I saw what it was and what Carlton was thinking, I
cried out in horror--and fainted. That's all I know," she ended,
faintly.

I don't think they really believed her. The skeptical smile on the
coroner's face was reflected on the countenances of the jury. It was an
ingenious account but there was entirely too much that was still
obscure.

"Why did you not light the study instead of groping in the dark?" asked
the coroner.

"Because I knew that Mr. Orton was spying upon me, because I saw him in
the hall as I entered, and did not wish him to follow and see what I was
doing," she answered quietly, thereby drawing the noose tighter about
her own neck by providing with a perfectly good alibi the only other
person who could possibly have been in the room at the time!

But she was ignorant of their suspicions and failed to see the look of
relief that crossed the secretary's pallid face.

"Mrs. Darwin, do you recognize this pistol?"

"Yes. It is Phil's. It's the one I picked up."

The coroner scratched his head in perplexity. Either she was innocent or
she was a magnificent actress, for only in those two instances could she
answer these questions with so much directness and sincerity. I could
see that he inclined toward the latter assumption for his tone grew
harsher as he said abruptly: "You were not on good terms with your
husband. Did you know that he was making a new will when he was shot?"

Ruth opened her eyes wide in astonishment. "Why, how could I know what
he was doing when I did not know he was at home?" she asked naïvely.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Cora Manning?" pursued the coroner.

"Cora--Manning? No." Her voice trembled slightly as she pronounced the
name.

"You are sure?"

"I do not know her," repeated Ruth firmly.

"She is the lady whose name is on the unfinished will. Evidently your
husband must have thought a good deal of her for he had torn up his old
will and was apparently going to leave everything to her."

Ruth drew herself up proudly. "Excuse me, sir, but my husband's affairs
were his own. I take no interest in them whatsoever."

"Not even to the extent of losing several millions?" spoke up the juror
who seemed always to have so much to say.

But Ruth did not deign to answer him. Instead she addressed the coroner.
"By a legal agreement entered into at the time of our marriage my
husband was free to dispose of his wealth as he saw fit."

If her voice held a tinge of bitterness who can blame her?

"As you saw fit, since his murder gives it all to you," continued the
irrepressible juror.

"Your honor, I protest against such insinuations," I cried, for
Cunningham seemed to have fallen asleep.

"I don't understand you," faltered Ruth, her eyes growing dark as they
traveled over the stern, set faces of the jury. Then her hand fluttered
involuntarily to her throat. "I don't understand you," she said again.

As the juror opened his mouth to reply, the coroner silenced him with a
gesture. "Kindly permit me to conduct this investigation," he said
curtly, then to Ruth, "Mrs. Darwin, was your husband in the habit of
wearing rings?"

"I never saw him wear any," she answered. It was plain she was puzzled
by his question.

"Yet he might have done so last night?"

"I suppose so."

"You didn't happen to remove it, did you?"

"Most certainly not," she said, highly insulted by the implication.

"Your honor, may I make a suggestion?" Cunningham awoke suddenly to the
exigencies of the situation.

"Certainly, Mr. Cunningham," responded the coroner graciously.

"It has occurred to me that perhaps Mr. Darwin had in a moment of
sentiment slipped that stoneless ring on his finger, and then had
trouble in removing it. Of course it is only a suggestion,"
apologetically.

"No doubt it was just as you say," answered the coroner. "After all, the
ring has nothing to do with the actual murder. Thank you, Mr.
Cunningham."

As the lawyer resumed his seat with that sardonic smile upon his lips,
the coroner picked up the handkerchief. "Is this yours, Mrs. Darwin?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"May I see that handkerchief that you are holding so tightly in your
hand?"

Without a word she passed the bit of cambric to him and he held it up
beside the blood-stained handkerchief. They were exactly the same,
texture, pattern, and design!

"Well?" The coroner laid the two articles upon the table and bent a
flashing look upon her.

"I don't understand how it can be just like mine when it doesn't belong
to me," she said in a frightened voice. "Phil bought it for me at the
church bazaar--just after we were married. He--he only bought me one."

"Wasn't it strange--his buying only one?"

"No--no. I wouldn't let him get me any more. I--I didn't want him to buy
me anything at all."

"Then since it is quite evident that you did not love Philip Darwin,
will you explain why you married him at all?"

"Ruth," I said, warningly, and this time she heeded my advice.

"I can't discuss my private affairs, sir. They have nothing to do
with--with Phil's death, and they are my own," she said with troubled
dignity.

"Do you realize that your silence will militate against you?"

"I can't help it, sir," she answered with tears in her eyes.

"Just one thing more. What is your father's present address?"

"Daddy's address? Surely you can't think--but he wasn't here last
night!" she cried in terror.

"I know. It is merely a formality," replied the coroner, in a soothing
voice.

"Shall I tell him, Carlton?" she asked me, ignoring her counsel.

"Yes, I suppose you had better," I returned.

"He is staying with Mrs. Bailey at Tarrytown."

"Thank you, Mrs. Darwin. If you will remain where you are, please, we
will now hear from Mr. Ames," said the coroner.

The finger-print expert stepped forward. "My evidence is of the
briefest," he said. "I have examined the pistol and have taken an
impression of the finger-prints upon the handle. I have the enlargements
with me and I should like to compare them with a set made by Mrs.
Darwin. If you please."

He extended an inked pad toward Ruth and showed her how to make the
impressions that he desired. Then followed silence while he compared
them with the enlargements. Then with a brisk nod he passed the plates
to the jury.

"Well, Mr. Ames?" asked the coroner.

"Finger-prints, as you know, are infallible evidence," said the expert.
"The finger-prints on the handle of the pistol are the same as those
made by Mrs. Darwin here in your presence and there are no other prints
of any kind upon the pistol. Therefore I do not hesitate to say that the
only person who handled that revolver last night was Mrs. Darwin."

The expert sat down, and satisfied that the chain of evidence was
complete the coroner ordered the jury to leave the room and arrive at a
decision. We had not long to wait. No sooner had they filed out than
they were back again, nor do I think that anyone was surprised when
they found that the deceased had come to his death by a pistol shot
fired at the hands of his wife, Ruth Darwin.

"Carlton, do you still believe in me?" she asked dully.

"With all my heart and soul, Ruth, dear. I shall always believe in you
even against all the world," I answered simply.

She gave me a look of love unutterable, then for the second time in
twenty-four hours crumpled in a heap on the floor beside me.




CHAPTER X

JENKINS' ADVICE


Philip Darwin was a man of so great wealth and social prominence that
the news of his murder and the subsequent arrest of his wife aroused the
public to such a pitch of sensational excitement and furor that the
district attorney, an exceedingly clever man by the name of Grenville,
was forced to set the trial for the end of November, within two months
from the date of the murder.

Whereupon I hastened to lay the case before my lawyers, who were also
the Trenton solicitors, since I took no great stock in Cunningham for
the reason that he had been Darwin's attorney. Therefore, as I remarked
before, I went to the firm of Vaughn and Chase, where I found the senior
partner in his office. I would rather have spoken to Chase, who was
younger and more enthusiastic, but he was out of town, so I had to
content myself with Richard Vaughn.

The senior partner was the old-fashioned type of lawyer, cautious and
unimaginative, and he listened to my rather disconnected statements with
patient tolerance. When I had finished he shook his head and eyed me
rather pityingly.

"You know of course that we do not make it a practice to take up
criminal cases?" he said with indulgent kindliness.

"I didn't know," I said, rising and walking toward the door. "I came to
you because you have handled her father's business for years, but I
certainly won't trouble you to defend her since it might break a rule of
your firm," and I flung open the door.

"Tut, my dear boy, don't fly off the handle at my first remark. Close
the door and sit down, please. Of course we'll take the case," he
continued as I resumed my seat, "or rather we shall see to it that she
has proper counsel at the time. But you must realize for yourself that
we haven't much evidence to go on."

"You have a good knowledge of her character, you know she is incapable
of murder, and you have her account of what happened in the study," I
returned.

Again he bent upon me that tolerant, pitying look. "My dear boy," he
said, laying a hand on my knee, "you are young and in love and as is
only natural you are letting your heart run away with your head. Besides
you know nothing of courts and their proceedings. Mrs. Darwin's account
of that minute or two in the study is, to say the least, extremely
fanciful."

"But true," I interrupted with conviction.

"Yes, yes, of course," he replied soothingly. "But remember that a jury
of twelve honest, but more or less stolid, citizens is convinced by
facts and not by fancies."

"What do you advise then?" I asked dully.

"I shall call on the little lady myself and have a talk with her and
arrange for her defense. I shall also try to make her more comfortable.
My advice to you is, get more evidence, good, substantial, unshakable
evidence."

It was all very well for Mr. Vaughn to talk of getting further evidence,
I muttered savagely to myself as I dined that night. But where in
Kingdom Come was I going to find it? Over and over I reviewed the
coroner's inquest and the more I studied the facts the blacker things
grew for Ruth.

In utter weariness of mind I finally flung myself into my chair, from
which I had been called so abruptly two nights before, and waived aside
the newspapers that Jenkins was offering me. I had caught a glimpse of
the headlines. Philip Darwin's life history, his penchant for chorus
girls, his wealth, and his prominence, were blazoned forth for all to
read. Even his wedding was raked from the files, and old pictures of the
wedding party were on display. I had no desire to go over the sickening
business again.

And then as Jenkins laid the papers on the table, the name, Cora
Manning, caught my eye and I picked up the discarded sheet and avidly
devoured the column devoted to this woman whose name had appeared on
Philip Darwin's will. An enterprising reporter had discovered where Cora
Manning lodged and had forthwith set out to interview her. But the only
person he saw was the girl's good-natured landlady who declared that
Cora Manning had left the house at eleven the night of the murder,
carrying her suitcase and that she had told her landlady that she was
going on a journey of great importance and not to worry in the least
about her. When the reporter asked where the girl had gone the landlady
returned that she had no idea, but that since she had taken artists,
writers, and actors as lodgers, she had ceased to worry herself about
their comings and goings so long as they paid their board, for according
to her they were all erratic and far from responsible.

All of which, contended the reporter who had made the scoop, only
corroborated the statement which he had made the previous evening as to
what actually took place in the study between the husband and wife. Mrs.
Darwin had entered the study and had quarreled with her husband about
the letter. Mr. Darwin in anger had torn up his will and had defiantly
begun a new one, writing down the first name that occurred to him to
annoy his wife, whereupon she snatched the pistol from the drawer and
killed him.

"Fool!" I muttered, flinging the paper into the fire in my indignation.
"Of all the idiotic trash that has been printed that's about the worst.
Does the young idiot think all that could happen in two minutes? Ye
gods, has the whole world gone mad that they can believe her guilty!"

"It's a dreadful thing, sir," said Jenkins respectfully, as he
replenished the fire that I had so signally extinguished.

"It's a miserable business and blacker than Egypt," I answered dismally.
Then recalling Mr. Vaughn's words I said abruptly, "Jenkins, if you were
the jury, knowing what you have read in the papers, would you say that
Mrs. Darwin was guilty?"

"If I were twelve easy-going men not given to much reasoning, I'd say
she was, sir," he replied deferentially, adding before I could speak,
"But knowing Mrs. Darwin--as it were--personally--sir, I'd say she was
innocent."

I buried my face in my hands with a groan of utter despair. If Jenkins,
a servant, albeit an ultra-intelligent one, was as persuaded as Mr.
Vaughn that the jury would find Ruth guilty, I might as well give up at
once.

"If I were you, sir, if you will pardon the liberty of my giving advice,
I'd ask Mr. McKelvie to help me, sir."

I raised my head. "Who is Mr. McKelvie, Jenkins?"

"He is a gentleman, sir, who is interested in solving problems of crime.
It's a sort of hobby with him, sir," said Jenkins, his usually somber
eyes beginning to sparkle as he spoke.

"You mean that he is a private detective?" I asked, not overly pleased,
for Jones of Headquarters had struck me as being up to snuff and yet
every clue that he found had only drawn the net more tightly about Ruth.
It was no wonder therefore that I was chary of detectives, for except in
books, I deemed them all cut out of the same mold and after the same
pattern.

"Oh, no, sir," returned Jenkins, horrified. "He's not a detective in the
ordinary sense of the word. He is what you call an investigator of crime
and he only takes cases that he thinks are worth-while solving. He does
it mostly to amuse himself, sir."

"Oh, I see. A second Sherlock Holmes, eh?" I said ironically.

Jenkins looked hurt. "He says, sir, that there is no one who can equal
Sherlock Holmes. He says, sir, that beside Holmes he's only an amateur
burglar, though begging his pardon, I don't agree with him, sir."

"How does it happen that you know so much about him, Jenkins?" I asked
suspiciously.

"He once saved my life in the Great War, and in return I help him with
his cases when he needs me, sir."

"Humph. I thought I employed you, Jenkins."

"Well, yes, sir. But I have my free hours, sir." The poor fellow's face
grew so very mournful at my insinuation that I could not help smiling
even in the midst of my despondency.

"I'm not blaming you, Jenkins. I was merely wondering why he didn't hire
you altogether," I said.

"He's rather eccentric, sir. He does not want to be bothered with
servants."

"And do you think this very strange gentleman will condescend to help
me, Jenkins?" I inquired dubiously.

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir, if I ask him."

"Do you really believe that he can find a ray of light amidst the
Stygian darkness of this horrible business?" I asked, interested in
spite of myself.

"I'm sure of it, sir."

"Very well, then. Get me my hat and give me his address. Anything is
better than this deadening inaction."

When he returned with my overcoat and hat, Jenkins handed me a folded
note. "If you don't mind, sir," he said apologetically. "Mr. McKelvie
doesn't always receive strangers, sir."

Queer customer, I reflected as I departed on my errand and I had my
doubts of his ability to aid me, grave doubts which were only increased
by the faded gentility of the old house on Stuyvesant Square, and far
from quieted by the sight of the darky who popped her head out of the
front window at my ring. It was a head calculated to frighten away any
but the boldest intruder, a head bristling with wooly gray spikes set
like a picket fence around a face the whites of whose eyes gleamed
brighter and whose thick lips flamed redder against the shiny blackness
of her skin.

"Courageous man to employ such an apparition," was my thought as I
proferred my request.

"Mistuh McKelvie?" she repeated after me, parrot-like. "No, suh, he
ain't home, no, suh."

"Are you sure?" I persisted, holding out the note; for I recalled
Jenkins' remarks.

"Ah ain't 'customed to tellin' no lies, young man," she responded with a
haughty toss of the head.

"Will you please tell me then when I can find him at home?" I continued,
too weary to be amused by the incongruity of unkemptness trying to look
haughty and dignified.

"About a week, suh. He's away, yessuh," and she pulled in her head and
slammed the window in my face.




CHAPTER XI

ARTHUR TRENTON


Discouraged I returned to my car and as I drove across the Square it
suddenly occurred to me that it was somewhere in this vicinity that the
evening paper had stated that Cora Manning lodged. Her name carried me
back to the inquest and the coroner's attempts to learn the girl's
identity. It seemed strange now that I thought of it dispassionately,
that of all the persons present in the study not one had any idea who
she was. I did not for a moment credit the statement of the reporter who
claimed that Darwin had put down the first name that had occurred to him
merely to annoy Ruth. Men as a rule do not leave their fortunes on
impulse to the first person they happen to think of, and I was pretty
certain that Philip Darwin was no exception to this rule. If therefore
the uncle deemed her worthy to become his chief legatee, was it not more
than likely that the nephew was also acquainted with the girl? I
recalled the fact that Lee himself, in view of Ruth's statement, was
Darwin's real heir, yet he had not seemed to take it amiss that his
uncle intended to disinherit him, and I also recollected his peculiar
actions as he denied all knowledge of Cora Manning, and my own belief at
the time that he knew the girl well.

Now I was convinced of the fact and acting on the impulse I headed the
car in the direction of the Yale Club, determined to see Lee Darwin and
learn the truth from him. When I arrived at my destination, I eagerly
ascended the steps and entered the club; for though not a member myself
I foresaw no difficulty in the way of securing an interview. To my
chagrin the steward to whom I confided my errand told me that Lee Darwin
had gone South the afternoon of the eighth, ostensibly on business, nor
as far as I could discover had he left any address behind.

That he should leave the city the day after the murder without waiting
to attend his uncle's funeral, which was scheduled for the morrow,
seemed to me the height of disrespect. I began to wonder if Lee Darwin
had had a very urgent reason for leaving town as soon as possible. He
had sensed that his uncle was dead when he saw the coroner. Was it
because he was the murderer? If so, why had he been foolhardy enough to
return to the house, and how in the name of goodness had he vanished
from the study after killing his man in the dark!

Whereupon I gave it up in disgust and went home. Jenkins had waited up
for me and had evidently been listening for my return, for hardly had I
inserted the key in the lock when he opened the door.

"There's a gentleman waiting to see you, sir. He is in the library," he
said in a low tone, as he helped me off with my overcoat. "He refused to
give his name, sir."

"Very well, Jenkins." I started down the hall when I heard him again at
my elbow.

"Pardon my curiosity, sir," he whispered eagerly, "but did you see Mr.
McKelvie, sir?"

"No. He is unfortunately away and won't be home for a week," I said
bitterly, realizing for the first time how much I had unconsciously
counted upon this man's aid.

"Never mind, sir. The trial is two months away and in seven weeks Mr.
McKelvie can solve anything, sir."

"Thank you for your encouragement at any rate," I answered, touched by
his desire to console me.

"It's the truth, sir," he replied simply.

"I wish I could think so," was my comment, but I did not speak it aloud.
Not for anything would I have hurt his feelings by displaying the doubts
which had descended upon me again as to the ability of this man he so
evidently worshipped. Instead I nodded agreement and stepped into the
library.

"Mr. Trenton!"

Ruth's father was the last person I had expected to see, for I still
held him responsible for all my misfortunes and I believe he was aware
of the state of my feelings in the matter, since he had refused to give
Jenkins his name, fearing that I might beg to be excused from seeing
him. But he had taken me unawares and there was no retreat after my
first exclamation.

"Carlton, have they really dared to commit Ruth to jail?" he asked in a
voice that trembled with anger and emotion.

I nodded dumbly, and abruptly he sat down and hid his face in his hands,
then as abruptly he rose and fell to pacing the room in an agitated
manner. Apathetically I watched him. I too had had my siege of walking
the floor. It was only fair that he should have his turn.

That he was suffering as I had suffered I divined, but it had no effect
upon me beyond rousing a dull wonder and perhaps anger, that he should
look no older than when I saw him last, six months ago. But, no, I was
wrong. He was still the same spare man with a magnificent head of
snow-white hair above a massive brow and a pair of gray eyes, deep-set
and penetrating, but sorrow and pain had left their trace, for so I read
the meaning of the deep lines that had graven themselves around his
mobile mouth and sensitive nostrils.

"Has counsel been appointed to defend her?" Mr. Trenton spoke so low and
his voice was so charged with emotion as he sank wearily into my big
chair, that his words made no impression on my brain and he was forced
to repeat them before I could comprehend sufficiently to answer in the
affirmative.

"Mr. Vaughn will arrange for her defense," I added.

"You will be permitted to testify in her behalf?" he inquired.

"No, I'm the chief witness against her," I answered sadly.

"What!" He was absolutely dumbfounded.

"Haven't you read the papers?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "I have been ill for days. To-day the doctor told me
I could go out. I overheard my hostess asking her husband if he thought
it would hurt me to tell me about Ruth. I at once demanded an
explanation and when I had been told that Ruth was in jail charged with
the murder of her husband, I waited to hear no more but took the train
and came straight to you. I naturally supposed--that is, of
course--knowing your love for her I assumed you would do your best to
free her by--by taking her side," he said brokenly.

I sighed. Once more the miserable details had to be recounted and then I
laughed harshly. Mr. Trenton looked at me as though he thought that I
must have taken leave of my senses. For the moment I verily think I had,
for the thought came all unbidden that I was another Ancient Mariner
relating my tale to all who crossed my path, only I could not remember
what crime I had committed that I should be punished in so terrible a
manner.

"Do you suppose it could have been in a former reincarnation?" I asked
him in all seriousness.

"For heaven's sake, man, brace up!" cried Mr. Trenton alarmed. "You
can't afford to go to pieces now!"

I passed my hand wearily across my brow. "I--I guess I'm pretty nearly
all in," I mumbled, sinking into a chair.

Ruth's father looked across at me compassionately. "Poor boy," he said
gently. "I won't worry you for your story to-night."

"Have you any objections to my remaining here with you?" he continued
presently, as I preserved an unbroken silence. "I--I can't bear to
return--to that crime-haunted house," he added with a shudder.

"Certainly. Glad to have you. I'll ring for Jenkins," I murmured
vaguely, trying to rise. But my legs refused to support me and my head
fell back heavily against the cushions.

When next I opened my eyes I was in my bed and Jenkins was moving softly
about the room.

"What time is it, Jenkins?" I asked, sitting up.

"Twelve-thirty, sir," responded Jenkins, pulling aside the curtains to
let in the light of day.

"Have I been asleep all that time?" I inquired aghast.

"You were very tired, sir. You hardly slept the night before," he
apologized for me.

"Mr. Trenton is waiting luncheon for you, sir. He wants to know how you
are feeling, sir," he continued presently.

The events of the previous evening flocked into my mind, and I felt the
blood surge into my cheeks. What a chicken-hearted fellow her father
must have thought me!

"Tell Mr. Trenton I'll join him in the library in half an hour," I said
decisively.

"Very well, sir."

It was more than thirty minutes before I made my appearance, but I had
myself well in hand now and after luncheon, at which we spoke only of
common-places, I told him that I was ready to give him the details of
the case. Immovably he sat with his head bowed upon his hands while I
related the facts, nor did he interrupt by word or gesture at any time
during the recital.

When I had finished he raised his head, and I was startled by the old
and haggard look upon his face. He had aged ten years in as many
minutes.

"The sins of the father," he said, hoarsely. "Carlton, it's all my fault
that Ruth has killed that wretch!"




CHAPTER XII

AN EXPLANATION


When a human being has run the gamut of horror and suffering in a short
space of time his mind ceases to be affected by further sensations. At
any other time I should have been appalled that Mr. Trenton could even
for a moment believe his daughter guilty. As it was, I merely accepted
his words as one more link in the chain of evidence against her.

"My boy," he said humbly, "I know that you have held me responsible for
your misfortunes. And you are perfectly right to feel so. I, and I
alone, am to blame for all that has happened."

He paused to wipe the moisture that had gathered on his forehead,
showing what an effort he was making to control his emotion.

"But if I am to blame in spoiling the boy, I have been punished beyond
my due. You do not know, I hope you may never know the anguish, the
torture, the awful horror, of learning that the being you have
worshipped and adored is worthless clay, a--a common murderer! I was
frantic, crazy, and to save my boy I sacrificed my girl. And now, and
now--" He broke off with a sob and buried his head in his hands.

"Mr. Trenton, don't. I'll stake my life that Ruth is innocent." I held
out my hand, touched as I had thought I no longer possessed the power to
be touched by his sorrow. Certainly if I had suffered, he had been in
hell.

"My boy, you give me new life," he said, raising his head and taking my
hand. "I do not deserve your forgiveness."

"It's all behind us, Mr. Trenton, and can't be undone. The task before
us is to free Ruth. We will work together toward that end," I answered.

He was silent a moment, evidently pondering mentally some question, then
he said with the air of one who has arrived at a decision by which he
will abide whatever comes, "And the first step is to show you something
that I had hoped not to reveal. The very day of the murder I received a
letter from Dick stating--but you had better read it yourself."

He took from his wallet a single sheet of notepaper which he handed me.
It was dated from Chicago two days before the murder and written in
Dick's unmistakable flowing hand.

     "Dear Dad," it began.

     "Philip Darwin has persecuted the Trenton family for the last time.
     I have a weapon to use against him which will free Ruth and myself
     from the bondage we are in to that cur. I am leaving for the East
     to-morrow and when my task is completed, I shall call upon you at
     Tarrytown.

     "Your repentant son,

     "DICK."

When I finished reading I looked across at Mr. Trenton, wondering if to
him too had occurred the thought which possessed me. Could the weapon be
murder and the answer to the problem the fact that Ruth was shielding
her brother again? Then I shook my head.

"If Dick was in the study how did he get away without my seeing him?" I
said aloud. "He couldn't vanish into thin air."

"Carlton!" The word was a cry. "No, no, he would not dare again!"

"What did he mean by weapon then?" I inquired bluntly.

"Not--not murder! I could not bear that! No. I am sure he meant that he
had learned that Philip Darwin was his uncle," he said low.

"His uncle!" I gasped, horrified.

"Yes, his uncle. But not Ruth's, Carlton! No, no, she was no relation to
him," he reassured me quickly.

My head began to whirl. Affairs were growing too complicated for me. "I
don't understand what you are talking about," I returned wearily.

"I'll explain. It all happened so very long ago that I never mention it,
but the fact is that two years after Ruth's mother died I married Philip
Darwin's sister."

"Darwin knew then that Dick was his nephew?" I asked when he paused.

"No. No one knows it except myself. Philip Darwin could not have been
more than ten or so at the time, and I doubt if he remembers that he
ever had a sister. You see when I met her I had no idea who she was, for
she was acting under an assumed name. She had been on the stage six
months and was heartily sick of it when I was introduced to her. We fell
in love with each other and before the wedding she confided her story to
me.

"Her father, Frank Darwin, was a stern, unyielding, puritanical man, who
had no use for what he called the lure of the world. On the other hand,
Leila was just eighteen, beautiful, proud, wilful. She had read of the
wonders of the stage and when her father opposed her desire to become an
actress she ran away from home. When he learned that she had actually
joined a theatrical company, he disinherited her and refused to have
anything further to do with her, forbidding his two sons, Robert, who
became Lee's father, and Philip, from ever mentioning her name or seeing
her again. She died when Dick was born, poor little girl, more than
twenty-five years ago, and I think I had almost forgotten the
relationship. A quarter century is more than ample time to erase a
memory," he ended with a sigh.

I was silent for a while and then asked him why he had not told Philip
Darwin that Dick was his nephew, thus avoiding all the dire consequences
which had followed Darwin's threat of exposure.

"Because it would have made no difference to him at all," answered Mr.
Trenton. "He wanted Ruth and if she had refused him he would have
revenged himself by exposing Dick, knowing that we would suffer far more
than he. Besides, he would have demanded proofs. I had none which I
could give him."

"What about family resemblance?"

Mr. Trenton shook his head. "They are both dark and about the same
build. That is as far as the resemblance goes, and that's no proof, for
Ruth is dark, too."

"And you really think that Dick--"

"Yes, I do. I believe that in some way the boy learned that he was
Darwin's nephew and hoped to use the knowledge to force Darwin to
divorce Ruth," he interrupted.

This time it was I that disagreed. "But you said yourself that the
knowledge would cut no ice with Darwin," I said, impatiently.

"But Dick wouldn't know that. He is young and to him it would seem only
natural that an uncle should desire to shield his nephew. The husband
bound to secrecy to preserve his good name would be unable to fight
proceedings if Ruth brought suit for divorce against him. At any rate,
that is how I read it."

I did not like to say so, and thus shatter his fool's paradise, for he
was entitled to any consolation which he could draw from his deductions.
To me, however, there were two flaws in his reasoning. In the first
place, if Mr. Trenton was the only one who knew his wife's identity and
he had almost forgotten it, how in the name of all the gods had Dick
learned it? And in the second place, I was firmly convinced that Mr.
Richard Trenton stood in no ignorance of Mr. Philip Darwin's true
character and would be under no delusions as to the exact reception such
knowledge would receive.

No, Dick had some other weapon in mind, and the only one which would
free both himself and Ruth at one stroke was the death of Philip Darwin.
Dick had killed a man once under less provocation. What was to prevent
his repeating the act when he realized the injustice that had been done
Ruth in forcing her to marry such a man? But in that event why had he
not come forward to free Ruth from jail? Surely he had not sunk so low
that he would permit her to pay the extreme penalty for his act. It's
true that she was allowed to shield him once, but I very much doubt
whether Dick knew anything of it until after the wedding when his
coming forward would certainly have created a terrible scandal without
in the least bettering conditions for Ruth.

Besides, the whole thing was illogical. If Dick killed Darwin to free
Ruth, it was ridiculous to suppose that he would then run away and leave
her to face the consequences. I was more inclined to believe that the
boy had discovered some counter-knowledge which would buy his freedom
from exposure. He had been in New York the day of the murder, or should
have been, according to his letter. Why then did he remain in hiding, or
had he returned to Chicago without making use of his "weapon" when he
learned that Darwin was dead? On the other hand, that would also be a
senseless proceeding, for Darwin dead, he, Dick, had nothing further to
fear.

The whole affair was a muddle and growing more complicated at every
turn, and I heartily wished that Dick would show up to settle all doubts
on his score at least.

As if in answer to my thought, the phone in the hall rang sharply and
Jenkins appeared to announce that Headquarters would like to speak with
me. I sighed. What new evidence had they discovered now, I thought
savagely, and my "hello" must have sounded like a roar in the
Inspector's ear.

When he was through explaining I leaned limply against the wall and
wiped my forehead with a trembling hand.

"Jenkins!" I said hoarsely. "Ask him if--if--it's really true!"

Jenkins took the receiver from my nerveless hand and spoke into the
phone. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him, yes, sir." He rang off and turned to
me, his long face graver than ever.

"He says there is no mistake, sir. And he'd be obliged if you and Mr.
Trenton would receive Detective Jones and give him all necessary
information, sir."

"Would you tell him--now?" I asked dully.

"It would be far kinder, sir," answered Jenkins. "I'm very sorry, sir."

I went slowly back into the library wondering how best to break the news
to Mr. Trenton. My face must have told him much, for he sprang toward me
with a sharp exclamation.

"Dick!" he cried. "You have news of Dick?"

I nodded, for I was unable to speak.

"Don't keep me in suspense, Carlton! What is it? Have they--" Then he
turned away and sought a chair. "You need not tell me," he said very
quietly. "I know that he is dead."

"Yes." I found my voice, but I hardly knew it for my own. "Yes, he--he
drowned himself in the East River early this morning!"




CHAPTER XIII

THE SUICIDE


I had anticipated trouble when I gave Mr. Trenton the Inspector's
message, but shock seemed to have rendered his sensibilities numb for
the time being and he made no demur about receiving the emissary from
Headquarters.

It was just two-thirty, the hour set for Philip Darwin's funeral, when
the Inspector called me and while I awaited the arrival of Detective
Jones my thoughts reverted to the funeral. I pictured to myself the
solitary coffin being lowered into its grave unmourned and unattended by
any save the faithful Mason, for I do not count the idle and the curious
who merely come to gape and stare and be amused.

He had been rich and popular, with a host of friends, yet I was willing
to wager that not one had taken the trouble to escort the body to its
final resting-place, and though I had never had any use for the man
while living, still my heart was strangely stirred by the spectacle of
desolation which I had evoked. Death is after all dread enough without
the added knowledge that no single human being will shed a tear at our
passage from this earth. Even his own flesh and blood had turned from
him, and for a minute I was sorry I had not attended. If I have one
regret in all this terrible business it is that one omission to
accompany the dead on its journey to the grave.

"Mr. Davies, how do you do, sir," said Jones, entering and breaking in
abruptly on my thought, for I had not heard his ring. "And this
gentleman is Mr. Trenton, I take it?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones. I have told him the sad news. You--you wish him to
identify the body?" I asked, returning to earth with a decided jolt,
mental if not physical.

"Unfortunately," answered Jones, with a commiserating look at Mr.
Trenton, who sat staring vacantly into space, "the body has not yet been
recovered. I really don't need it, but thought I might as well have an
identification of his belongings."

He placed the package he had brought with him upon the table and opened
it, exposing to view a gray suit of good material, a rather shabby cap,
a watch, and a pocket notebook.

"These articles," he said, speaking rather loudly to attract Mr.
Trenton's attention, "were found in a lodging-house on Water Street.
Yesterday about noon, a dark young man, not any too well-dressed, and
looking dishevelled and unkempt, applied for lodgings, and was taken in
by the landlady, Mrs. Blake, herself. He spent the afternoon and early
evening wandering about among the wharves and spoke to several loungers
to whom he made no secret of where he was staying. This morning, before
it was light, this strange lodger arose and went out. Mrs. Blake saw him
go, but thought he was going to work. Fifteen minutes later someone
banged on her door to tell her that her lodger had thrown himself into
the river and had drowned. She was frightened and called the police. On
the wharf was found the cap he had worn and in his room those other
articles in a suitcase."

The detective paused in his narrative to pick up the watch. "The
clothes are new and give no clue except that they evidently belonged to
a gentleman. This watch is more helpful. Do you recognize it, Mr.
Trenton?"

Mr. Trenton, still somewhat dazed by the rapid sequence of the other's
story, received the watch with tender reverence, looked at it, nodded,
and passed it to me. How well I remembered that gold time-piece of
biscuit thinness, with its plain R. T. engraved upon the back, which Mr.
Trenton had given Dick on his twenty-first birthday! And in further
proof, if such were needed, the inside of the case held a round kodak
picture of Ruth and Dick, taken on the same day!

No, there could be no mistake as to the identity of Mrs. Blake's lodger!

"The watch is really superfluous evidence," continued Jones. "In that
notebook we found your name, Mr. Trenton, written along with his on the
sheet reserved for identification."

He opened the book and showed us the page which had a place for name,
address, parentage, age, height, etc. Dick had filled in only his own
name and his father's.

"You identify the handwriting?" asked Jones.

"Yes, it's my son's," returned Mr. Trenton in that same monotonous tone
in which he had first spoken of Dick's death.

"Knowing that these articles belonged to Mr. Richard Trenton, and
knowing also that he was Mrs. Darwin's brother, we had these things
brought to Headquarters for investigation, because we thought there
might be some connection between this suicide and the murder of Philip
Darwin."

"I don't believe that Dick had anything to do with the murder," I said
slowly. "Surely you are not of the opinion that he killed Darwin?"

"Well, hardly, since he wasn't in the study when the crime was
committed. What I meant was that he might have been the instigator; and
she, the tool, as it were."

I stiffened. "What do you mean?" I asked coldly.

"This." Jones spoke sharply. "I have been delving into Richard Trenton's
past history. One of the things I learned from a former servant was the
fact that six months ago Richard Trenton came home hurriedly one night
in company with Philip Darwin and that after a consultation with Mr.
Trenton, the boy was packed out West. The next night, according to the
same servant, Philip Darwin came to the house and was closeted with Mr.
Trenton and his daughter for several hours. When Darwin finally left,
Mr. Trenton looked ten years older and Miss Trenton was in tears. Two
weeks later, to the servant's astonishment, she married not you, but
Philip Darwin."

He looked at me shrewdly and I nodded in confirmation of his story.
"Having satisfied myself that there was decided connection between the
flight of the brother and the marriage of the sister, I proceeded to
trace Richard Trenton's movements on the night of the murder. He came to
New York on the seventh of October and arrived at Grand Central at 10.10
p. m. From there he took a taxi to the Corinth Hotel. He registered,
went to his room, and in a few minutes came down again and went out on
foot. He returned to the hotel about one o'clock. According to the night
clerk he looked haggard and weary. The next morning he paid his bill
and again left on foot. To-day, the tenth, he commits suicide. Mrs.
Darwin declares she has not seen her brother since he left for Chicago,
but admits corresponding with him and refuses to say about what. Now,
the question is, What was he doing between the time he left the hotel
and one o'clock on the night of the murder? Where did he go between the
morning of the eighth and the afternoon of the ninth? Did he instigate
the murder and then in remorse commit suicide?"

"No, I don't believe it," I said stoutly. "You have learned so much that
I think the best course which I can follow is complete frankness.
However, there is no need to rake dead ashes, so I will merely say that
Dick was forced to leave New York and that Philip Darwin had the boy in
his power because he knew the reason for Dick's flight. And basely
Darwin used his knowledge to force Mrs. Darwin to marry him to save her
brother from exposure."

"I see, and of course it strengthens my point. Driven to desperation
young Trenton may have returned with intentions to kill Darwin," put in
Jones.

"Yes," I interjected eagerly, "and very probably he went so far as the
Darwin home that night. Then he may have thought better of it and
tramped about as one will when fighting a mental battle. In the morning
he left with intentions of returning to Chicago. Then he read of the
murder in the papers and decided to lie low and see what happened. When
he learned that his sister was arrested, he probably considered himself
the primal cause of all the trouble and in a fit of despondency drowned
himself."

I was quite proud of the theory I had evolved and doubtless it was the
right one. Jones weighed it in his mind and then he said, "You're right,
Mr. Davies, that's probably just what did take place."

"Besides, if he had instigated the murder, since he was putting himself
beyond the power of the law, he would have left behind a written
confession to that effect," I added.

"Yes, that's so. Well, I guess we can say he had nothing to do with it
after all. Probably thought he was morally responsible. 'In pace
requiescat.'"

"Amen to that," I answered so surprised to hear him quote Latin that for
a space I could find nothing to say.

"There is no hope of finding the body?" I asked when I had recovered my
mental balance.

"I'm afraid not. It has probably been carried out to sea."

"You are certain that he drowned himself," I persisted, for I recalled
that Dick could swim.

"Yes, he was seen and recognized by the men to whom he had spoken the
previous evening. They saw him throw himself into the river. Before they
could reach him he had gone down beyond recall."

"I should like to interview Mrs. Blake and the others," I said, not with
any hope of discovering a flaw in the evidence, but because I could not
endure to witness the poor father's silent grief.

"Certainly, Mr. Davies. I have my car outside. I will take you there
myself," answered Jones affably.

As the detective began to wrap Dick's belongings, Mr. Trenton, who I am
confident had heard no word of our conversation, suddenly realized that
the conference was over and leaning forward took the watch from the
table.

"May I keep it?" he begged.

"Yes, we have sufficient evidence in case we should need it," answered
the detective.

"I'll be with you in a moment," I said, for I wished to give Jenkins
directions to keep an eye on Ruth's father. When I returned Jones had
his package under his arm and though he said good-by, Mr. Trenton did
not respond.

"Poor old chap," he whispered. "It must have been an awful blow to him."

"Worse than anyone can imagine," I returned, thinking of the confession
he had made. So we went out, leaving him there alone with the thoughts
of his dead.

We drove in silence to Water Street and pulled up before a shabby old
house. Decidedly Mrs. Blake's was not the type of home I should have
picked out to live in, but when one has no intention of using one's
lodging, the more obscure the better, I imagine. And it certainly was
obscure, and dingy and ill-smelling.

I was shown the room in which Dick had slept and where he had left his
clothes, and it struck me that if he hired that room to remain unknown,
he had been very negligent in leaving his belongings around. Then I
decided he chose that locality because it was near the river and the
river was the most convenient end he could think of. Poor Dick!

I talked with the men who had witnessed the suicide, I was even shown
the place where the event occurred, and the point where the body
submerged! It was all very gruesome and alas, all too true! The only
thing that puzzled me was why the lad had done it.

It was one thing to convince Jones, but quite another to satisfy myself
that my reasoning was correct. Dick was not despondent by nature and
though he might hold himself responsible for Ruth's marriage, surely he
would have the sense to see that committing suicide would only add to
her sorrow without in the least aiding to free her. I gave it up unless
he really killed Darwin and feared to face the consequences, but that
would make him out a despicable creature indeed, and I resolutely closed
my mind to such a suggestion.

When I reached home Mr. Trenton put into words the thought I had refused
to harbor.

"Carlton," he said, with the calm of desperation. "I have been thinking
things over and I believe you are right. We will go to Ruth and tell her
that it is useless for her to shield Dick any longer."




CHAPTER XIV

GRAYDON MCKELVIE


It was easy enough for me to procure through Mr. Vaughn an interview
with Ruth and the next afternoon Mr. Trenton and I visited her in the
prison, or rather in that gray reception-room which is as far as
outsiders may come in the Tombs. She was delighted to see her father,
concerning whose silence she had been quite worried, and when he broke
down and told of yesterday's happenings, she wept with him for a few
minutes, then quietly dried her eyes and set herself to comfort him.
What she said I do not know, for I did not like to intrude myself upon
their sorrow, and I withdrew to the other end of the room and looked out
the grated window.

To think that Ruth, my beloved, should have to spend her days in such a
place, barred from association with her friends, and from the blessed
light of day, innocent of any wrong, yet suffering for some wretch's
crime! Ruth and the horrible creatures who infested the jail! The
thought goaded me to desperation. Abruptly I swung back toward her and
spoke hoarsely,

"Ruth, for God's sake if you are shielding Dick, tell us at once, for I
can stand this suspense no longer!"

She had been seated on a chair beside her father, but at my cry she
jumped up and came to me. Verily I must have been mad, I think, for I
caught her to me and kissed her again and again. A moment she clung to
me, then she pushed me away.

"Carlton! No, you must not!" she sobbed. "No, no," as I followed her,
"not until I am cleared of the shadow of murder!"

"You have committed no crime," I replied savagely. "What do I care for
the world's opinion!" And I caught her to me once more.

"Carlton! If you kiss me again I--I shall hate you!" she whispered
fiercely.

Instantly I released her and walked rapidly away to the other end of the
room.

"Carlton, please don't be angry," she said, brokenly, timidly touching
my arm with the tips of her fingers, "but, oh, my dear, if you kill my
self-respect what in all the world have I left to offer you!"

Humbly I carried her hand to my lips. "Forgive me, dear. I don't deserve
to be allowed even the privilege of looking upon you."

She gave me a smile so forgiving that it brought the tears to my eyes,
and seeing how I was moved she turned away to her father.

"Ruth," he said, relieving the tension, "we have come here, Carlton and
I, to ask you a question."

"Yes, Daddy," she replied, softly, sitting down beside him again.

He drew out Dick's letter and handed it to her. When she had read it he
explained the process of reasoning that had led him to believe that Dick
had killed Darwin and had then committed suicide.

"And now, Ruth, if you saw him there in the study and helped him to
escape, if you are shielding him as you did once before, I hope you
realize that he is quite unworthy and that it is too much of a sacrifice
for you to suffer for his crime."

He had spoken with difficulty, showing how much the words cost him, yet
determined to make amends for all the wrong that had been done to Ruth,
both by himself and Dick. When he finished she looked from him to me in
utter bewilderment.

"I am shielding no one, Daddy. And as far as I know Dick was not in the
study when I was there."

There was no mistaking her sincerity. She was telling the truth and the
whole business was a worse tangle than ever before.

"Besides," she added, "I do not think Dick would do such a thing."

"He did once," returned her father, gloomily.

"But, Daddy, dear, he did not know what he was doing and it--it was
Phil's fault for giving him that pistol. I have mothered him for years
and I know. Whatever reason he had for committing suicide, Daddy, rest
assured in the conviction that he did not kill my husband."

A ray of hope lighted Mr. Trenton's face. "You really believe that,
Ruth? You are not saying it just to comfort me?"

She laid a hand upon his arm as she answered quietly, "I don't believe
it, Daddy. I know he did not murder Phil."

After that we could not believe it either, and so we were back once more
exactly where we started from. In other words, we were moving in circles
which ended where they had begun: namely, in the police's assertion that
Ruth was guilty, a beginning which we knew to be false on the face of
it, but which we had no means of proving to anyone's satisfaction.

"The only thing to do is to hire a competent detective," said Mr.
Trenton emphatically, that night at dinner.

This recalled McKelvie to my mind. "I have one in view," I answered,
"but he is away at present."

"Hire another one then," he retorted.

But I preferred to wait, for as I said before I had not much use for
detectives, private or police, and the only reason that McKelvie
appealed to me at all was because he did not seem from Jenkins' account
to have much in common with the usual sleuth. Then Mr. Trenton wanted to
rush out and employ a man on his own initiative, but this also I
negatived, since no detective was far better than a mediocre fellow
without a grain of imagination. I remembered Jones, and shuddered for
Ruth.

I should like to say right here that if the reader thinks that both Mr.
Trenton and I got over our grief at Dick's horrible end very rapidly, he
must remember that human beings cannot be kept at high tension for a
great length of time or the brain would snap. Everyday occurrences and
the dire need of doing something for Ruth pushed to the background more
recent happenings, particularly when Jenkins brought me word late that
same night that Graydon McKelvie would see me at his home.

Mr. Trenton of course desired to accompany me, but I finally dissuaded
him, telling him that it was better that only one of us should apply to
McKelvie, especially as I had been forewarned that he was rather
eccentric. To which Mr. Trenton grudgingly agreed, and I set out to
interview this solver of crimes with a fluttering heart, for upon him I
based all my remaining hopes.

As I sat in the cosy little sitting-room of the old house on Stuyvesant
Square to which I had been conducted by a better combed and more civil
Dinah with the announcement that "Mistuh McKelvie'll be down in a
secun', sah," I conjured a vision of the type of man I expected to see.
I evolved a cross between an oddity and a mental Sampson, a fretful,
thin man, with a head too big for his body, who would speak in a
querulous high-pitched voice.

The man who entered the room at that moment and came toward me with
extended hand was none of these things. He was a slender, well-dressed
young man, well above the medium height, with a pleasant, but rather
rugged cast of countenance, whose main features were a tenacious chin
and a pair of brilliant black eyes. But when he spoke my name I forgot
his appearance. Never had I heard such a melodious voice. It soothed the
ear with its mellow richness and remained in the mind long after it had
ceased, like the echo of some clear-toned bell. And such was its power
that by merely pronouncing my name he had made me believe that he alone
of all the world could possibly solve the problem which was well-nigh
overwhelming me.

Later I came to know him better and I should have liked him even without
the added attraction of his voice, for he was a refined and cultured
man, extremely clever, if eccentric, whose main idiosyncrasies seemed to
be confined to a whole-souled worship of Sherlock Holmes, a decidedly
autocratic manner, and a fondness for speaking satirically, even at the
expense of his friends.

"Jenkins has told me that you have a problem which you wish me to look
into," he said, motioning me to be seated as he settled himself in a
large arm-chair. "Will you give me briefly the details of the case?"

I am afraid my story was far from brief, for I told him everything from
the moment I heard the shot, through the inquest, to Dick's suicide. He
listened attentively to every word without comment and when I was
through he briskly assumed command.

"I have read of the crime in the papers," he said, "but I must study the
coroner's personal notes of the inquest, before I come to a decision."

He rose and walked to his desk as he spoke, where he scratched off a few
lines on a sheet of notepaper, which he enclosed in an envelope.

"What was the reason for young Trenton's removal from New York six
months ago?" he asked abruptly, turning toward me as he sealed the
envelope.

"Is it necessary to the investigation?" I inquired, loth to reveal the
family skeleton.

"I do not ask unnecessary questions," he returned coldly.

Without more ado I related the affair in all its sordid details. When I
finished he held out the envelope which he still retained in his hand.
"Kindly tell Jenkins to take this note to Coroner Graves," he said.
"Meet me here at ten o'clock to-morrow for your answer. Good-night, Mr.
Davies."

Before I could adjust my thoughts to his rapid speech I found myself in
the street looking in some perplexity at the closed door of Graydon
McKelvie's house.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" I exclaimed wrathfully, as I climbed into my
car.

I drove away in no very pleased frame of mind at the reception I had
received, for when I reviewed the conversation I realized that he had
not compromised himself to help me at all. The moment I reached home,
however, I forgot my annoyance at the cavalier way I had been treated.
The sudden transformation of Jenkins' lugubrious countenance into an
ecstatic smile as he hastened to carry out McKelvie's command, for
that's just what it was, made me feel sanguine once more of that
gentleman's aid. I put down his manner, therefore, to eccentricity and
the natural desire to know more of the problem before he promised to
bring his faculties to bear upon it.

I passed the evening in Elysium and I came down to earth with a bang
when promptly at ten o'clock the next morning, in answer to my query,
McKelvie tossed a sheet of paper across the table to me with the remark:

"Find the answers to those questions and you'll have the name of the
person who committed the crime."

I looked at him, sitting smoking unconcernedly, to the paper in my hand,
undecided which to tackle first, when my mind caught the sense of the
words before me. After that I forgot my surroundings until I had
absorbed every line that McKelvie had written. The document was drawn up
in the form of a series of questions, with sufficient space below each
one to insert the proper answer, and it read as follows:

(1) Why was the pistol fired at midnight?

(2) Did the murderer also light the lamp?

(3) How did the murderer enter and leave the study?

(4) What was the motive for the murder?

(5) Why did the doctors disagree, and which was in the right?

(6) Why did Philip Darwin put that ring on his finger and then pull it
off?

(7) Whose is the blood-stained handkerchief?

(8) Where did the second bullet go?

(9) Why is there so much evidence against Mrs. Darwin, and who would
most desire to injure her?

(10) Is Cora Manning the woman in the case and if so, who and what is
she?

(11) What has become of Darwin's securities?

(12) What is Lee Darwin's connection with the affair?

(13) Why did Richard Trenton come to New York and then commit suicide?

(14) What is the relation between Mr. Cunningham and the murdered man?

(15) Which one of those having a sufficient motive for killing Darwin
answers to the following description: clever, unprincipled, and
absolutely cold-blooded?

"Find the answers to those questions!" I repeated when I had devoured
the sheet with my eyes. "It would take me a lifetime! For mercy's sake,
don't fail me now when I have only you to depend on to help me!" I
cried.

With an odd smile he took his pipe from his mouth and tapped the bowl
upon his open palm. Then he looked at me and spoke abruptly, "If I take
this case it will be on one condition."

"A thousand if you wish," I exclaimed impatiently.

"No, only one, that when I give commands they shall be obeyed
implicitly, even though you may not be able to perceive their wisdom at
the time."

I blinked at the unexpectedness of the answer and then held out my hand.
"It shall be as you say, Mr. McKelvie, only don't let them convict
Ruth."

He clasped my hand. "I won't, Mr. Davies, if she is guiltless, and my
first command is this: I want an interview with Mrs. Darwin this
afternoon."




CHAPTER XV

THE INTERVIEW


When we entered the Tombs that afternoon I noticed that several of the
wardens smiled at McKelvie, as if his presence were a familiar one in
that place of horrors. The matron too was very accommodating, more so
than she had been to me, when McKelvie suggested that she stand out in
the corridor when Ruth arrived. I noticed, however, that though she did
as he asked and moved out of earshot, she remained where she could keep
an eye upon our movements.

When I presented Graydon McKelvie to Ruth and explained his mission, she
gave him such a sweet, pathetic smile and wished him success in so
gentle a manner that he was won over to her cause on the spot.

"Mrs. Darwin," he said, with feeling, in that wonderful voice of his,
"my best is the least I can offer you."

From that moment I had no misgivings as to the outcome of the affair.
Let come what would, Graydon McKelvie would prove Ruth innocent, not
because he believed, but because like myself he knew her to be innocent.

"Mrs. Darwin," McKelvie was saying gently, "in order to get at the
bottom of this matter it will be necessary to ask you certain pertinent
questions. I trust you won't be offended by anything I may say and also
that you will answer me truthfully in every case."

"I will tell you anything you desire to know," she answered quietly.

"The coroner's inquest brought out a number of facts which do not, in my
estimation, agree with one another. You say the study was in darkness
when you entered, yet the lamp was lighted after the shot was fired. You
are sure you did not light it yourself, unconsciously, perhaps?" he
inquired in a brisk manner.

"I did not touch it," she answered with conviction. "I had just picked
up the pistol and was standing beside the chair some distance from the
table when the lamp apparently lighted itself."

"If someone had pulled the cord of the lamp would you have been able to
see that person?" he persisted.

"Yes, for I turned toward the table the minute the light went on. There
was no one there--except Phil--and myself," she said low.

"Point to investigate," he muttered, making a note in a small black
book. "Memo: How was the light turned on?

"Now, Mrs. Darwin, please go back in your mind to the moment when you
heard the shot. What part of the room did it appear to come from?" he
continued.

"I--I'm afraid I couldn't say."

"Did it sound very close to you, or far away?" he prompted.

"Quite close. It was deafening," she said.

"Did it sound in front or behind you?" he continued, patiently.

"Behind, I think."

He nodded. "You say you trod on the pistol as you moved forward. You did
not hear it fall near you, for instance?"

"No, when I heard the shot I involuntarily closed my eyes. It's a habit
with me when anything startles me. When I opened them again I took a
step and trod on something hard. I heard no sound at all."

"I see. You did not know the object was a pistol you said?"

"I did not know it. I merely felt something hard under my foot and in a
dazed way I picked it up, without actually being conscious of what it
was."

"One thing more. Supposing there had been someone behind you, could you
have heard that person?"

"No. The carpet is very thick and absolutely deadens any footfall.
Besides I do not see how anyone could have been back of me for I heard
no one breathing."

"That doesn't follow. A person might have stood far enough away so that
you would not notice the breathing, particularly if that person took
pains that you shouldn't. And now we come to the breathing that you did
hear. Where did it seem to come from?"

"It was right beside me, very, very close."

"Was it normal, hurried breathing, or was it labored?"

"Oh, horrible! A--a gasping sort of breath!"

"What advice did Mr. Cunningham give you at the inquest?" he asked, with
a sudden change of subject.

"I don't understand what you mean, Mr. McKelvie," she answered,
surprised.

"The coroner appointed him your counsel pro tem. and he left the room to
consult with you. Did he not tell you what you should or should not say
in answer to the coroner's questions?" he explained.

"Oh, no. He merely sent word by a policeman that I was to come down and
that he considered it best that I tell frankly all that had happened
that night. I did not see him until I came into the study and he first
spoke to me, advising me to answer," she replied.

He made one or two more notes and then held out his hand. "Thank you,
Mrs. Darwin. You have helped me materially. Good-by for the present."

"Good-by, Mr. McKelvie. Good-by, Carlton. See how quickly you can solve
this mystery, won't you please? It's horrible there!" and she pointed
toward the corridor.

"I will do my very best, Mrs. Darwin, but don't hope too soon, for the
way is long and dark," returned McKelvie with deep sympathy.

When she had disappeared from sight around the bend of the corridor, he
spoke again. "She's a brave little woman," he said, greatly moved. "God
grant I'm not too late!"

I was silent, for Ruth's incarceration was the one subject I dared not
permit myself to dwell on if I desired to retain my sanity, and in
another moment McKelvie himself had changed the subject.

"By the way, I clean forgot to ask her a rather important question," he
said, and he called to the warden, who brought Ruth back as far as the
door of the reception-room. Somehow I could not bear to part from Ruth
again and as there was no necessity for me to show myself, I remained
where I could hear him without being seen.

"I'm sorry to disturb you again, Mrs. Darwin, but I forgot to ask you
this question. Why did you deny knowing Cora Manning at the inquest?"

I was surprised, but Ruth said calmly, "I don't know her, Mr. McKelvie."

"But you know who she is," he returned, smiling.

"Will it help you?"

"Very much."

"She's Lee Darwin's fiancée. I have never met her, but one day he
confided in me and showed me her picture. She is a very beautiful and
noble girl, so please don't drag her into this inquiry, for whatever
Phil's motives in leaving his money to her, I am sure that she is
innocent of any knowledge of his actions," she pleaded.

"I won't bring her into it unless it's absolutely necessary," he
replied.

"Are you a mind-reader?" I inquired as we walked slowly across the
courtyard to the men's building and so out into the street.

"Not that I'm aware of," he replied seriously. "What makes you ask?"

"I'd have sworn that Ruth had never even heard of Cora Manning," I said.

"That's because you hear and see without observing," he explained. "I
read what you heard: namely, that Coroner Graves, dissatisfied with Mrs.
Darwin's first answer, asked her again if she knew Cora Manning. The
inference was plain. She knew or knew of this girl and hesitated to say
no or yes. By the time the coroner repeated his question she had made up
her mind."

"That's so. Now that you mention it, I recall that she seemed disturbed
by the question. And so she is Lee's fiancée, yet he denied all
knowledge of her," I mused aloud. "Strange that everyone should have
been so intent on shrouding her identity in mystery. What was their
reason, do you suppose?" I asked suddenly.

McKelvie shrugged. "I do not know--yet. 'There are more things in heaven
and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio,'" he said
lightly.

I opened my eyes wide at this apt quotation for I did not know him then
as I do now and I pondered in silence upon the oddity of hearing a
detective spout Shakespeare, until I remembered that Jenkins had said
that McKelvie was not a detective in the ordinary sense of the word.

"Very kind of Jenkins," said McKelvie aloud. "By the way I phoned him to
meet us at the Darwin house. I may need him in the course of the
afternoon."

In view of his stipulation and fearing to lose him before he had begun
work on the case, I murmured hastily, "That's quite all right," then I
gasped and looked into his amused, slightly ironical eyes.

"Why, man, it's marvelous," I said.

"What is?" he asked coolly, although he knew exactly what I meant.

"Your reading of my thought," I replied. "Why you might almost be
Sherlock Holmes himself."

"No. I lay no such flattering unction to my soul, if you will pardon the
misquotation. Sherlock Holmes is in a class by himself. No one can touch
him, but I have studied his methods and in this case it was not very
difficult to guess what you were thinking when you eyed me so hard and
murmured, 'Jenkins,' unconsciously, particularly when I know Jenkins so
well."

We had been walking up Center Street as we talked, in total disregard of
the fact that my car was parked in front of the Tombs, but now McKelvie
paused abruptly and I saw that we were standing in front of Police
Headquarters.

"I had intended going out to Riverside Drive at once, but I have changed
my mind," McKelvie explained. "I want to look at the exhibits before I
view the scene of the crime. The scent is decidedly cold. I must see
what I can do to warm the trail."

"Do you think the police will let you see them?" I asked dubiously.

"We can do no more than ask. I have influence yonder," with a nod of the
head toward the massive abode of the representatives of law and order.
"Besides I would be a poor specimen indeed if I couldn't bamboozle Jones
into giving me whatever I want."

"You know Jones, then?"

"We have crossed one another's paths occasionally. Why?"

"He's persuaded Ruth is guilty. He unearthed most of the evidence
against her," I warned, "and he will guard it jealously."

"Not Jones. It's only natural that you should be prejudiced against him,
of course. But really he's not a bad sort, and he's only doing his duty
as he sees it."

"You are not small-minded at any rate," I answered smiling.

"Oh, well, I always believe in giving the devil his due," he returned
with a mocking laugh as he ascended the steps.




CHAPTER XVI

THE EXHIBITS


We entered the building and at McKelvie's request Detective Jones was
sent for. We awaited his arrival in silence, merely because McKelvie
refused to talk, but he found his golden tongue readily enough when
Jones came forward and blandly inquired what he could do for us.

The police detective was a shorter man than McKelvie, but heavier of
build, with a pleasant enough face and fairly agreeable manners. He
seemed to consider himself well enough acquainted with McKelvie
magnanimously to overlook his eccentricities, and asked in a bantering
way what he expected to get out of a case which had already been
satisfactorily solved by the police.

McKelvie laughed good-humoredly, and answered in kind. "I was asked to
investigate," he said, "and my aim, you know, is always to oblige."

"Whom? Yourself or your client?" inquired Jones shrewdly.

"My client, of course," McKelvie returned sententiously. "But,
seriously, Jones, I did not come here to exchange witticisms, pleasant
though it is to me to do so with such an opponent as yourself."

"What did you come for then, you blarneyer?" demanded Jones.

"I want a look at the exhibits. Come now, be a sport and show them to
me."

"They will be of no use to you," answered Jones a trifle suspiciously.
"They are all evidence against the accused."

"What's the objection then to showing them to me?" McKelvie responded.
"I just want to satisfy my client that I have done everything possible
to solve the case. I don't expect to learn anything from them."

Jones shrugged. "We have deduced all there is to learn and you are
welcome to that," he said quietly.

"But not welcome to look at the articles themselves, is that it?"
returned McKelvie, with a curl of the lip. Then he laughed outright.

"Say it. Go ahead. Don't spare me," remarked Jones with a grimace.

"I was wondering how soon it would be before you would be coming to me
for advice, as you did in that last case of yours," McKelvie answered
reflectively.

Jones flushed, then grinned. "You win," he said, and ushered us into his
private office. From a cupboard in a corner of the room he produced the
articles in question, and placed them on the flat-topped desk before us.

McKelvie picked up the pistol and examined it carefully. "Mrs. Darwin's
finger-prints, I understand?"

"Yes."

"Anyone else's?"

"No."

"Dear, dear, that's too bad." McKelvie laid down the pistol and poked
the bullet with his forefinger.

"Another theory gone up in smoke?" asked Jones, with a laugh.

"More or less. Sure the bullet fits the pistol?"

"As sure as human beings can be of anything in this world. We had the
fellow from whom both pistol and bullets were purchased examine the
weapon."

"So. You're sharper than I'd have given you credit for being."

"The police are not overlooking anything in this case," retorted Jones
with some pomposity.

"Exhibit three--two handkerchiefs," muttered McKelvie. "Where did they
come from?"

"The blood-stained one was in Mr. Darwin's hand. The other belongs to
Mrs. Darwin. As you see, they are identical," explained Jones.

McKelvie sniffed at each one critically in turn, and then without any
warning of his intention, passed the blood-stained handkerchief suddenly
beneath my nose. Instinctively I drew back, inhaling involuntarily as I
did so, and then I blinked and looked at McKelvie. But he was engrossed
in reading the sheaf of bills and taking this as a sign that he did not
wish his action remarked upon, I busied my brain in trying to recall the
name of that delicate fragrance that for one fleeting second had
assailed my nostrils when McKelvie brushed my face with the
handkerchief. But try as I would I could not remember, and I decided to
ask McKelvie the name of the perfume when we were once more alone. In
the interest aroused by more pressing matters, however, I completely
forgot the trifling episode.

By this time McKelvie had opened the cash box and was engaged in peering
at the stoneless ring through his lens.

"Thank you, Jones," he said, replacing the ring beside the other
objects. "But, hello, what's in this envelope?"

"Burnt scraps of the torn will. And look here, you have overlooked the
will he was making," returned Jones, pushing forward a heavy sheet of
paper.

"I noticed that," responded McKelvie indifferently. "May I look inside
this envelope?"

"Surely. You will find that the most interesting scraps are the one with
the name Darwin and the one with the partially burned letter R,"
explained Jones.

As in the case of the ring, McKelvie used his lens on the scraps, then
he replaced them in the envelope.

"Thank you, Jones. Some day I hope to return the favor."

Jones, who had been highly amused by McKelvie's actions, waived aside
the other's acknowledgment with a lordly air. "You are welcome to
whatever you learned. Not much, was it?" he said.

"No, not much," replied McKelvie with a twinkle, adding as we passed out
of earshot, "not much but quite enough, thank you, Mr. Jones."

"Then you did learn something of importance after all," I remarked as,
seated once more in my car, we drove swiftly toward Broadway and headed
uptown on our way to the Darwin home.

"Two things, one of which would have told me if I had not been positive
before that Mrs. Darwin is innocent."

"Yes?" I prompted as he paused.

"There's entirely too much evidence against her. Why, man, it's
overwhelming! One quarter of it would be sufficient to establish her
guilt! Just go over it calmly. The quarrel, the change of will, the
letter--any one of which would be ample motive. Her presence in the room
when the shot was fired, your testimony that she held the weapon in her
hand, the finger-prints on the pistol, the handkerchief, the closed
room--It's much too much and thereby proclaims her innocence."

"And the second thing?" I asked.

He did not answer for he was employed in making what looked like a
series of hieroglyphics on a page of his notebook. As I shifted closer
to watch his occupation, between the traffic signals, he tore out the
page and turning it over made four letters on it and handed it to me.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, I accepted the page with the other, and
stole a quick glance at it. The letters he had made were capitals and
were arranged in two sets. In the first group the L and the R were
written with a flourish, so that the first stroke of the R resembled
that of the L. In the second set the first stroke of the L was looped
while that of the R was straight.

"Well?" I questioned, decidedly puzzled.

"I wish I knew whether Darwin made his capitals with a flourish,"
returned McKelvie. "The initial letter of the name on the scrap Jones so
obligingly showed me had been burned away, leaving only the first stroke
of the letter visible. If Darwin made his capitals like the first set on
this sheet," tapping the paper I still held, "then the will might have
been in favor of either the wife or the nephew and there is no way of
proving which, except by taking Cunningham's statement as truth. If, on
the other hand, Darwin made his capitals like the second set, then the
will he destroyed was in favor of Lee Darwin, and Lawyer Cunningham was
guilty of prevarication at the inquest. It makes a nice little problem
to think about. I must find an answer to it as speedily as possible."

"Ruth would know Darwin's hand," I said eagerly.

"But the prison authorities aren't going to let us run in and out of the
Tombs every time we happen to think of something we should like to know
about," he replied dryly.

Piqued by the irony in his voice I remained silent, for I was not yet
sufficiently accustomed to his manner to let his sarcasms pass
unnoticed, and the remainder of the drive was accomplished in unbroken
silence on both our parts.




CHAPTER XVII

THE LAMP


The moment we drew up before the house, McKelvie sprang out and
disappeared from view. I switched off the motor and clambered out to
find Jenkins waiting for me. He nodded in the direction of the grounds
and as I had no mind to hunt for McKelvie I was on the point of
ascending the steps when he appeared suddenly from behind a clump of
bushes.

"Just taking stock of the general atmosphere, as it were," he said,
waving his hand in the direction of the grounds, which made me take a
second look at my surroundings.

My first visit had not been conducive to leisurely inspection and I now
saw that the house was exceedingly unusual, a replica of the relic of a
bygone age, although by no means so very old itself. It had been modeled
after a type of dwelling that is now obsolete, but which was much in
vogue when the English held sway over the Island of Manhattan, and was a
massive affair with the servants' wing tacked on at the back like an
after-thought (which it probably was, since it looked newer than the
original domicile), and connected with the main building by a narrow
enclosed passageway.

The entire structure, including the garage in the rear, stood directly
in the center of the vast grounds, and was completely screened from the
view of the curious by the forest of trees that surrounded it. It was an
odd house, and it is a great pity it is no longer standing, but in a
way I can hardly blame the heirs for having had it torn down and a
modern home built on the site, since it must forever have remained
coupled in their minds with associations which we who were in any way
connected with the events which took place in that house, were all of us
endeavoring to forget.

"Only two things to be learned here," said McKelvie. "First, that it
would be easy for anyone to enter or leave the grounds unnoticed on a
dark night."

"And it was dark that night, beastly dark," I interrupted.

"And secondly, that there is more space occupied by the left side of the
house than by the right."

He pointed to the building and I saw what he meant. The left side jutted
out almost beyond the steps. The right side was cut off level with the
topmost gradient and in line with the front door.

"What a curious way to build a house," I remarked. "What's the
interpretation, McKelvie?"

His answer was to spring up the steps and ring the bell. He waited a few
minutes, then hearing no sound rang again.

"It's no good," said McKelvie, with a shrug, after our third attempt to
rouse the inmates. "They've probably deserted the ship. It's a habit
with servants when things go wrong in a house. Jenkins, go around back
and see if you can unearth the butler. He can be depended upon to have
remained behind. Tell him that Mr. Davies wishes to enter the house."

As Jenkins disappeared, McKelvie continued: "Strange that Orton hasn't
the gumption to find out what's wanted."

"He left the house for good after the inquest," I returned. "I doubt if
there is anyone living here now."

"What about young Darwin?"

"Lee? The last I heard of him he had gone South."

"Lee Darwin gone South?" he repeated. "How do you know?"

"I forgot to mention it last night, but when I first called on you I
also went to the Yale Club. They told me Lee had left for the South the
previous afternoon. At the time I thought it queer that he should go so
soon after the murder, without waiting to attend his uncle's funeral."

"It was odd. I'll have to start somebody on his trail at once. Did you
know that he was here the night of the murder?"

"Here in the house?" I gasped.

"No. Outside the study window," he returned.

"But McKelvie," I answered, thinking to trip him, "that footprint was
made by Lee Darwin in leaving the study."

"What footprint?" He stared at me in evident surprise.

"I understood you to mean that you had deduced Lee's presence from the
footprint that Jones discovered," I returned abashed.

He laughed heartily. "My dear man, where are your reasoning powers?
Footprints don't last forever and we have had a shower since the murder.
Besides I'm not clairvoyant enough to guess by a look at the imprint
whose shoe made it. No, I base my deduction on this."

He held up a stick-pin of a peculiar dull brown hue, made in the shape
of the head of a bulldog. On the gold setting around the base of the
head had been engraved the name, L. Darwin.

"Where did you find it?" I asked eagerly, as he slipped it into his
wallet.

"Beneath the first two windows of the study the ivy has grown very
thickly. I found the pin close to the wall and directly beneath the
second window, entangled in the vine. The head is exactly the color of
the ivy stem and it had remained unnoticed. I saw it because I was
hoping to find proof of his presence there."

"But I do not see how you could possibly know he had been there," I
objected.

"I've learned to read between the lines and I spent the night in
thoroughly acquainting myself with the inquest. Besides, Mr. Davies, you
have a very retentive mind and you told me more than you guessed last
night. One of the things you emphasized was the fact that Lee Darwin had
seemed to know that his uncle was dead when he saw the coroner, and that
he had turned deathly pale when suddenly accused of being outside the
study that fatal night. You ended by saying that although that point was
cleared up to everyone's satisfaction you were still persuaded that the
young man knew more than he gave out, and I agree with you there."

"But if he witnessed events, why doesn't he clear Ruth then?" I
protested.

"I didn't say he saw anything. I merely said he was there," he retorted,
and refused to discuss the point further, which was just as well
perhaps, for Jenkins was holding the door open and there was much to be
done if McKelvie was to clear Ruth before her trial.

As we entered I noticed Mason hovering in the background, and I nodded
to him. "Mason, this gentleman is a detective who has come to solve the
mystery of your master's death. I should be obliged if you would let him
in whenever he comes here."

"Yes, sir, indeed I will, sir. Master was my master and I'm not saying
anything against the dead, sir, but I'd like to see someone else swing
for it, indeed I would, sir," he said in a troubled whisper.

"Thank you, Mason. That is all. If we need you we shall call you."

He moved slowly toward the servants' entrance and I turned to look for
McKelvie. He had been examining the lock of the front door, and now he
was employed in measuring the respective distances of the stairs and the
drawing-room door from that of the study. As Mason disappeared, however,
McKelvie looked up at me with a smile.

"Ready?" he inquired, and when I nodded he opened the door of the study
with an eager air and the light of battle in his eyes.

I had expected to see him whip out a lens and begin a minute examination
of the room. Instead he adjusted the chair in the position in which it
had stood on the fatal night, and seating himself in, closed his eyes.

This procedure did not at all impress me as the right way to go about
solving the crime, when every moment was precious. I was on the point of
remonstrating with him when Jenkins enjoined silence upon me.

"He's thinking, sir," he said low.

Thinking! I was thoroughly disgusted. With my intimate knowledge of the
case thinking for five consecutive days had brought me nowhere, yet here
was this man whom I had engaged to find clues and investigate the murder
thoroughly, sitting back in a chair thinking--goodness knows about what,
since all the thinking in the world would not produce the tangible
material evidence of which we stood in such dire need!

"Jenkins!" McKelvie sat up with a suddenness that startled me. "Open
that safe."

As Jenkins knelt before the huge contraption and manipulated the dial
with deft fingers, McKelvie turned to me with a quizzical smile.

"Don't become annoyed, Mr. Davies," he said quietly. "Each man his own
method, you know. I was just trying to decide a certain small point and
now that I have satisfied myself as to my correctness in the matter,
I'll be as energetic as anyone could possibly wish."

I felt the blood surge into my cheeks, as I said a little stiffly, "I
didn't mean to criticize----"

"No harm done," he interrupted lightly, rising and laying a hand on my
arm for a moment. Then he addressed my man. "You're mighty slow for an
adept, Jenkins."

"An adept! Jenkins!" I could hardly articulate the words.

"A former adept in the art of safe-cracking," answered McKelvie with a
flourish. "But I trust you won't count that against him since he
reformed some years ago."

"No, of course not," I murmured hastily, as Jenkins looked up at me with
pleading in his somber eyes. "He's a very good servant, whatever else
he may have been."

With a beaming smile Jenkins rose and opened the door of the safe.

"Now," said McKelvie, "I'm going to show you several curious, but rather
interesting facts."

He turned to the lamp upon the table and gazed at it thoughtfully for a
moment, then he snapped it on and off. "Did you notice anything odd
about it?" he asked.

In imitation of his manner, I too gazed steadily at the lamp. I had paid
no great attention to it before, being too overwrought to notice
details, but now I saw, or thought I saw, what he meant.

In keeping with the style of the room, the lamp though small was made in
the shape of a bacchante who wore on her hair a crown of leaves and
about her bare shoulders a wreath of the grapevine, so exceedingly heavy
that she held it away from her graceful body with her hands, from which
depended a rather large cluster of magnificent grapes.

"It is very beautiful," I responded, "but odd for a lamp, and that bunch
of grapes seems almost out of all proportion to the rest of the figure."

"True, but that is not what I referred to," he returned. "Look here!"

Again he pulled the cord which cleverly imitated a stray tendril
clinging to the wreath, and a pleasant glow suffused the table, but much
as I looked I could detect nothing amiss.

McKelvie smiled involuntarily at my anxious endeavor to discover the
flaw. "Don't you see that the light comes from the right side of that
cluster and not from the center?" he remarked. "Which means a double
socket of course. Why then doesn't the other bulb light also?"

"There may be no bulb in the left-hand socket," I suggested. "Or it may
be broken."

He nodded. "We'll soon settle that." He unscrewed the bunch of grapes
and revealed the double socket, each part of which was provided with a
bulb. He exchanged the bulbs and when he pulled the cord the same
condition obtained. Only the bulb on the right lighted.

"It isn't broken, you see. Therefore, it must be lighted from some other
source. I divined as much when Mrs. Darwin declared she hadn't touched
it, and that if it had been lighted from the table she would have seen
the person who pulled the cord. The only thing remaining is to find the
switch that operates it."

Without a moment's hesitation he made for the safe and I followed him
hastily. Now that I was in front of it I saw that the safe was nothing
but a closet containing three shelves, which were built into the side
walls at such a height that by stooping slightly a man could pass under
them with ease. I glanced along the lowest shelf, although I knew that
it was empty since Jones' entrance at the inquest, but McKelvie paid no
attention to the bareness of the cupboard. He was engrossed in fingering
the wall beyond the door. Then with a grunt of satisfaction he caught my
hand and placed it where his had been. Instantly my fingers came in
contact with a small button. I pushed it, and lo! the left bulb of the
lamp sprang suddenly into being.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" I ejaculated, looking at McKelvie. "Why does any
sane person want to light his lamp from his safe?" I asked.

"Because, Mr. Davies, it's no more a safe than I am--well--Jenkins," he
returned impressively.

"Not a safe?" I exclaimed.

"No."

"Then what--?"

"I'm going to show you." McKelvie again fingered lightly the wall, but
this time it was the wall which formed the back of the safe.

Presently with that same peculiar grunt he took out a pocket-flash and a
knife. Opening the knife he pried the point into what looked by the aid
of the flash like a harmless knot-hole just beneath the lowest shelf.
(He was kneeling on the floor of the safe and Jenkins and I were
stooping to watch him.) The next moment the knot-hole had swung aside,
revealing to our astonished gaze a tiny key-hole!

The back of the safe was in reality a door!

Silently we watched as McKelvie fished out his keys and tried them in
the lock but without success. Then he spoke to Jenkins. "Tell Mason to
give you all of Mr. Darwin's keys, but don't let him come in here."

"Very well, sir."

When Jenkins returned with the keys McKelvie tried them in the lock, one
after the other, but the door remained as securely locked as before.

"Strange," he said, looking annoyed. "You are sure you brought me all
the keys?" he added abruptly.

"Yes, sir, even the ones he had in his pocket when he was shot, sir,"
responded Jenkins.

"Odd. I hate to break it open. It might be useful later on."

Jenkins, who had been peering intently at the key-hole over McKelvie's
shoulder, spoke suddenly. "No need to smash it, sir. I still have my old
tool kit and if I'm not mistaken I have a master key that will fit this
lock."

"Off with you, then. Break all traffic laws if necessary. Only be back
as soon as possible," cried McKelvie gayly, and I never saw the solemn
Jenkins move so fast before.

While we awaited the man's return McKelvie came out of the safe and
resumed his indolent pose. Again I found myself growing exasperated with
his attitude. Surely there were clues to be found in the room, and he
wasn't thinking because those brilliant black eyes were wide-open and
wore an expression of contented ease.

"Since you object to my inactivity," he remarked quietly, "let's talk.
At least we shall be exercising our tongues, if nothing more," and he
laughed oddly.

I ceased trying to understand him and welcomed the opening that he gave
me. "Will you answer me three questions?" I inquired.

"Depends on what they are," he returned laconically.

"Nothing really startling," I answered, laughing. "I merely wished to
know why if Lee Darwin was outside that study window he did not leave
footprints for the police to discover, as they did the ones that he made
in the morning."

"Because there is a flower-bed under all the windows except the first
two. Beneath those two the cement walk reaches to the wall. He stood on
this walk that night, but in the morning having just come in the door
he rushed out of the window nearest to him and stepped into the
flower-bed."

"I see. Now here's question two. How did you know so unerringly that the
lamp was also lighted from the safe?"

"Childishly simple. I had already deduced a secret entrance."

"How?" I broke in.

"Sherlock Holmes says, 'Exclude the impossible, whatever remains
improbable must be the truth.' Mrs. Darwin didn't kill her husband or I
should not be here. The case is one of murder, not suicide, therefore
someone else must have been in the room at midnight. He couldn't leave
by the windows or the door and flesh and blood doesn't vanish into air,
ergo he must have gone out by some other entrance, natural inference a
secret one, since it wasn't discovered."

I nodded. So far it was absurdly simple and clear. I was a trifle
mortified that I had not divined it myself, but then such things were
not in my line and the affair stuck too close to home to leave me any
capacity for ratiocination.

"The question that had to be settled then," he continued, "was the
situation of this entrance. I called your attention to the peculiar
architecture of the house. When I entered the study I noticed that the
safe occupied the wall in question. Jenkins opened it for me and I saw
that it was the size of an ordinary closet and not very deep. What was
more reasonable than to deduce that the remaining space between the back
of the safe and the outer wall of the house was occupied by a passage of
some kind!"

Again I nodded. "Of course. It was just a question of accounting for the
extra square footage of house. But you haven't answered my original
query."

"About the light? Mrs. Darwin said she didn't touch it, the dead man
presumably couldn't, therefore the murderer must have done so. If he had
pulled the cord Mrs. Darwin would have seen him, hence he lighted the
lamp from some other source. Where? Not at the main switch near the
door, for he had to vanish at once, knowing the shot would rouse the
household. Besides, Mrs. Darwin would have heard the click when he
pushed the button. The only place left was somewhere near the entrance.
It was more likely to be inside than out, since, as before, Mrs. Darwin
heard no sound. So I looked for it in the most plausible spot and found
it."

I smiled. "You have answered my third question, which related to the
secret entrance, but I have thought of two more to take its place. If
the murderer used Darwin's pistol, how is it that only Ruth's
finger-prints are on it?"

"He'd be too clever not to use gloves," returned McKelvie shortly.

"To be sure. But here's a harder one. How did the criminal, if he was
behind Ruth, shoot Philip Darwin with such accuracy in the dark?"

"Exactly, that's just the point," he replied enigmatically.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE SECRET ENTRANCE


When Jenkins arrived with the keys, McKelvie looked them over
critically, selected a couple, and tried them on the door. The first was
too large, but the second turned the trick. Cautioning us to stoop to
avoid the shelves, McKelvie pushed open the back of the safe, which
swung away from him into the darkness beyond. With the flash to guide
him he stepped through the opening, then beckoned us to follow him.
Though it was too dark to see, I knew I was in a room of some sort, for
I felt the velvet softness of a carpet beneath my feet, and I also
tripped over some article of furniture. By this time McKelvie had
located the light and I saw that my room was really an alcove fitted up
with a luxurious divan heaped high with pillows, beside which stood a
small smoking-stand. But ornate and sumptuous as the alcove was I should
not personally have cared for it, since the atmosphere was close and
smoke-laden and there was no means of letting in the light of day.

McKelvie glanced hastily about and then striding to the divan he bent
down and sniffed at it critically. Instantly I imitated him. To my
amazement the same fragrance clung to the Persian cover of the couch
that I had detected on the blood-stained handkerchief. I smelled it
again to make sure and then as my memory still played me false I turned
to ask McKelvie what it was. He was trying his key in the lock of a door
at the rear of the room, and if he heard my question he failed to reply
to it.

With less difficulty this time he unlocked this second door, which swung
inwards and stood at the head of a flight of rather steep and dark
stairs. As before, McKelvie preceded Jenkins and myself, but we kept as
close as possible to him that his flash might guide us as well. At the
bottom of the steps was another door of similar make, which also opened
inwards, and to my astonishment it gave exit onto the garden at the side
of the house between the first study window and the corner. So
skillfully had it been cut in the masonry, however, that only one
initiated into the secret of the entrance would have known it was there.

McKelvie examined the ground around the door and as at this point also
the cement walk reached clear to the wall, I wondered what he hoped to
discover. Whatever it was, his scrutiny satisfied him, for he stood up
with a smile and applied his lens to the key-hole of the door. Then he
nodded his head in a contented manner and remarked that we had better
return to the study. I noticed that he locked all the doors scrupulously
behind him, leaving the secret entrance exactly as he had found it, even
to replacing the round disk which counterfeited the knot-hole.

Once in the room he knelt down and examined minutely the dial of the
safe.

"Interesting and unique," he commented. "Look here, Mr. Davies!" He
pointed to the inside of the door, and I noticed to my astonishment that
the dial was duplicated within. "Do you get the significance?" he asked
quickly.

"Why, that safe can be opened or closed by combination from the inside
as well as the outside," I hazarded.

"Naturally, to be of any use as an entrance it would have to be capable
of being opened from the inside," he said caustically. "No, what I meant
was this. Supposing we want to lock the safe. Give me a combination."

"I gave him 'Darwin,' the first word that occurred to me, for it was one
of those old style safes with the six-letter combination. He twirled the
knob of the dial on the outside and pointed as he did so to the inside.
Just as the inside handle of a door will revolve when the outer one is
turned, so the inner knob of the dial duplicated the revolutions of the
outer.

"Now, don't you see that in order to use this entrance it is necessary
to know what combination was used to lock the safe from the study and
vice versa?" he questioned.

"Yes, that's plain enough. To use the entrance the criminal had to know
the combination. Well, what of it? A clever man would hardly be balked
by so small a thing."

"You still don't get what I'm driving at," he returned. "I'll try to
explain. You have arrived at the conclusion that I held a while ago;
namely, that the criminal came in and went out by the secret entrance.
Am I right?"

"Yes, that is my opinion."

"Now we come to my point," he said, rising and beginning to pace the
room. "If the criminal entered by the safe, he must have been cognizant
of three things: first, that there was such an entrance; secondly, that
three of the doors were opened by a key of a certain size and make;
thirdly, that the safe door was unlocked by a certain combination, that
combination being the one which Philip Darwin himself had used. That
the criminal should know of one, or perhaps of two of these facts, yes.
But that he should be aware of all three of them seems incredible!"

"Why incredible?" I objected. "He may have known of the entrance. He
could easily then take an impression of the outer lock and have a key
made, and Philip Darwin himself may have revealed the combination to
him."

"Very good, but not carried quite far enough," he said with his
quizzical smile. "Before I show you where you are at fault, answer me a
question. How do you suppose that entrance came to be there so very
handy for the criminal's purpose?"

"I presume it was built with the house," I answered.

"Precisely. When?"

"Almost a hundred years ago--1830, to be exact."

"Exactly, and old Elias Darwin, the great-grandfather of Philip, who was
a firm believer in the established order of affairs, modeled his home in
the country (for this stretch of land was country then) on that which
was built by his ancestors in pre-revolutionary days, secret entrance
and all; for, of course, in those times secret entrances were
indispensable for the concealment of friends, whether Tories or Whigs."

"Where did you learn all this?" I asked in amazement.

"I have a book home which details the histories of various mansions in
New York," he replied.

"That accounts for the entrance. But what about the safe?" I continued.

"The safe is decidedly more recent. Doubtless the secret entrance had
been blocked up, if it was ever cut through, and no one knew of its
existence until Philip Darwin stumbled on the knowledge. I looked up the
family history of the Darwins this morning while I was awaiting your
arrival. Who's Who describes Mr. Frank Darwin, the father, as having
been a strait-laced, Puritanical man, and you yourself know what the son
was. Can't you imagine the clash between them?"

In view of Mr. Trenton's story concerning Dick's mother I could well
believe that father and son had not agreed.

"In 1906 there is record that Frank Darwin went to Europe for a year. Of
course, this is mere conjecture, but it is reasonable to suppose that
Philip, who was then twenty-one, took the occasion to have the safe
built, and the secret entrance unblocked."

"Mason should know," I said.

"I don't think so, or he would have mentioned it at the inquest.
However, there is no harm in questioning him. Go and get him, Jenkins."

When Mason stood before us McKelvie said quietly, though his eyes
sparkled: "You testified that you had been with the Darwin family thirty
years. Did you remain in the house when Mr. Frank Darwin went to Europe
in 1906?"

"Yes, sir. I remained as caretaker."

"Then you can tell us when that safe was built?"

"Yes, sir. It was that same year, sir. Mr. Phil complained he had no
private safe and his father told him to have one built while he was
gone. He chose that place, sir, because he liked the study. His father
used the den upstairs."

"Why did he build such a large safe?"

"I don't know, sir. He sent me away to visit some of my folks, sir,
while it was being built. He told his father it was to hold his fortune,
sir."

McKelvie looked across at me with a triumphant expression which said as
plainly as words, "Notice how accurately I deduced the truth," but his
voice was subdued enough as he continued his questions.

"He did not get along with his father, I understand?"

"No, sir. They had different ideas on every subject, sir."

"Why didn't Philip Darwin live at his club then, when he came of age?"
McKelvie inquired.

"Because his father told him, sir, that if he left the house it would be
for good, and not one penny of his money would he get, sir. Mr. Phil
knew that his father always carried out his threats, sir."

"That is all, Mason."

"Yes, sir."

The moment the door closed behind the old butler McKelvie said, with a
smile, "Just as I thought. And what came in handy when his father was
alive was doubly useful after his marriage. And thus we come back to the
original discussion, whether the criminal would know the three necessary
facts to enter by the safe."

"A member of the family might," I said.

"Yes, a member of the family. Lee, for instance, or even Orton might
discover that there was such a passage and secure a key to it. Would
either of them know the combination?"

"Orton was Darwin's private secretary."

"As far as his business down-town went, but not his secretary, as far as
his personal affairs were concerned. Besides, recall Mason's testimony.
He was surprised to find Orton in the study because Darwin always kept
it religiously locked, to preserve his secret, of course. Then, too,
Orton was Darwin's creature and, therefore, he would be doubly careful
not to place himself in the fellow's power. He evidently considered he
was running no risk, since he let Orton into the study that night.
Besides, if you did not want anyone prying into your safe, what
precaution would you take to prevent it?"

"I'd change the combination frequently."

"Exactly; and there you have an answer to my problem. Granted that the
criminal knew the first two facts, was he going to depend on a
combination that might be changed five minutes before he wished to use
the entrance? No, no, we're dealing with a person too clever not to
foresee that contingency. Besides, as far as I could detect, no one has
recently taken an impression of the outer lock."

"Then we get back where we started and the entrance is of no value to us
at all," I pointed out.

"You jump back too far. It merely shows that the criminal did not enter
by the safe. That he left that way is proved by the fact that he
vanished from the study without using door or windows, and that he very
evidently took Darwin's key with him."

"But--the combination?"

"The safe was open, for Darwin had just removed the will from it. Even
if it had been closed, a clever man could find an excuse for making his
victim open the safe. Once inside any combination of six letters would
close the door effectually against intruders."

"I suppose you are right, but how did he get in then?"

"Darwin let him in himself, either through the window or the door. Most
probably through the window, since you would have otherwise heard steps
in the hall. Recall Orton's testimony. He went to the garage to follow
the maid. When he returned he heard voices in the study."

"And when he went in at eleven-thirty, Philip Darwin was alone," I
remarked with a smile.

"Yes, to be sure, Philip Darwin was alone," he repeated, crestfallen.




CHAPTER XIX

THE LAWYER AGAIN


Before I could retort the front door-bell rang sharply. Turning quickly
McKelvie walked to the safe and silently locked it. Then he spoke to
Jenkins with his usual assured manner. "Tell Mason to answer the bell.
And I sha'n't need you again to-day."

"Very well, sir."

As Jenkins opened the door and went out McKelvie dropped into a chair
beside me.

"I wonder who that can be," he murmured, "but whoever it may be, not one
sign, not one word of what we have learned."

I nodded comprehendingly, and in the pause that ensued I heard Mason
shuffle to the door and fumble with the lock. Then a man's voice
inquired for me. I heard an answering murmur and rose, turning toward
the open study door just as Mr. Cunningham crossed the threshold.

"Mr. Davies," he said, with a smile, extending his hand. He had
recovered his voice since the inquest and spoke in a rich baritone.

I gave him my hand, but not over-cordially as I said, suspiciously, "How
did you know I was here?"

He laughed, not at all put out. "I called at your apartments to give you
some information, and Mr. Trenton kindly told me where I could find you.
He also explained your mission. A very laudable purpose. Mr. McKelvie,
I presume?" turning toward my companion.

"I beg your pardon," I said stiffly, for I was ashamed of my unjust
suspicion, which had its inception in the fact that he was the dead
man's lawyer, and as such prejudiced against Ruth, and introduced the
two men.

McKelvie, who had also risen at the lawyer's entrance, and who was
standing with his hands behind his back, affected not to see
Cunningham's extended hand and merely nodded. Annoyed at his incivility,
and seeing that Cunningham frowned angrily, I hastened to make the
peace.

"Mr. McKelvie put me out of his house when I first called on him," I
remarked to Cunningham with a laugh. "You may consider yourself highly
honored to have received a bow."

The frown melted from Cunningham's brow as he said, pleasantly enough,
"I understand. The idiosyncrasies of the great must be indulgently
overlooked," and he returned McKelvie's nod with a ceremonious bow.

"You have some information to impart?" broke in McKelvie briskly as we
seated ourselves.

"Yes. I have discovered something that I thought might help toward
freeing Mrs. Darwin. You remember," turning to me, "that I testified
that Philip Darwin had removed his securities from my office. I learned
yesterday that he had used them as I thought upon the market. There was
a slump in the stock he was operating the afternoon of the seventh of
this month and as far as I can make out he was completely ruined."

"Ruined!" I repeated, for I could recall no rumor to that effect on the
Street that day. "You are sure?"

"Positive. He was completely, absolutely ruined," returned the lawyer.
He looked at me thoughtfully a moment and then added, "You were
wondering why, being a broker yourself, you had not heard of it? The
explanation is simple. The world has believed Philip Darwin immensely
wealthy for so many years that the truth concerning his financial
affairs would have been a decided shock to his friends and associates.
Naturally, though he lost heavily on the market on the seventh, no one
suspected that he was wiped out, and so nothing was thought of the
occurrence, for he had lost as heavily before without its making any
appreciable difference to him."

"I understand. And, of course he knew that he was ruined?" I continued.

"He must have known it."

"Then why was he troubling himself to make a new will?" I said,
perplexed.

Cunningham shook his head. "I never pretended to understand him. But I
thought my information might help along this line. If he had no money
Mrs. Darwin certainly didn't murder him to inherit his fortune."

"She may not have known that he was beggared," I retorted.

"Humph! If she swore she did know that fact, who could contradict her?"
and he smiled blandly.

"Are you a criminal lawyer, Mr. Cunningham?" queried McKelvie suddenly.
He had arisen again when Cunningham began to talk and had been pacing
the room in apparent indifference to our conversation.

"No, I am not," answered the lawyer promptly, just a little surprised.

"What an infinite pity! You would make a great success in that line I am
sure," responded McKelvie, and in his flexible voice I again detected
traces of irony.

Cunningham looked at McKelvie undecided whether to take the remark as an
insult or a compliment, and I saw McKelvie's lip curl just a trifle
before he continued suavely, "I meant it, Mr. Cunningham. You would make
a great criminal lawyer. I advise you to try your hand at that branch of
the profession."

Cunningham laughed. "Thanks, but I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks.
Besides, I am planning to take a little vacation presently. I expect to
travel for the next few years, but I do not mean to intrude my own
uninteresting affairs upon you. You have no time to waste in this case.
Have you discovered anything of value so far?" he continued with
friendly interest.

McKelvie shook his head and sighed. "I am afraid so far it is a losing
game," he said with an air of great candor. "The trouble is, as I
explained to Mr. Davies, that the scent is cold. The clues are in the
hands of the police. Ah, if only I could have been here from the first!"

"It is a pity. They say you are a great detective. I should hate to see
you defeated," answered the lawyer, giving McKelvie a Roland for his
Oliver.

McKelvie laughed--a short, hard laugh.

"Don't fool yourself, Mr. Cunningham. I am not going to be defeated," he
said tersely. "No, not even if the criminal is the cleverest fellow
living."

"Pride goeth before destruction, Mr. McKelvie. By this time the criminal
has doubtless betaken himself to other parts," returned the lawyer,
sardonically.

"The world is small, and I am going to get him if it takes me the rest
of my life." McKelvie's jaw snapped with grim determination.

The lawyer rose. "I must be going. Good-by, Mr. Davies. Farewell, Mr.
McKelvie. Long life to you, sir."

"Damn his impudence," said McKelvie as the front door slammed, "but he's
right. I have no time to waste. I'll call you up in the morning if I
have news, and in the meantime say nothing to anyone of our
discoveries."

"Not even Mr. Trenton?"

"Not even Mr. Trenton. I'm trusting no one but you and--Jenkins. Also, I
do not want that meddlesome old lawyer hanging around when I want to
work. Good-by."

"Just a moment. How does what Cunningham told us affect the case as it
now stands?"

"Not a hair's breadth. I told you before there was more than enough
evidence against her. And I'm hanged if I don't believe he knew it,
too!"




CHAPTER XX

DEDUCTIONS


Naturally, Mr. Trenton was eager to know what we had accomplished and
bombarded me with questions the moment I stepped foot in my apartments,
which was not until late, for I had stopped at the office to attend to
some pressing business first. I put him off, however, by saying that
McKelvie was just getting his bearings and we'd have definite news when
I heard from him again. I expected that he would call me up next day,
but I received no word from him, so that I had plenty of time to
speculate on the little I knew.

Personally, I was not sorry that Philip Darwin had failed, because I did
not relish the idea of Ruth's inheriting his money, but I could not
understand why McKelvie had disparaged Cunningham's motive in giving us
this information. Not that I wanted to side with the man. I felt the
same unreasonable antagonism that McKelvie evidently experienced toward
him, but I wanted to be fair, and as far as I could see he was desirous
of helping us as much as he could.

At any rate, motives for the crime, as far as Ruth was concerned, were
valueless, since we knew of the existence of the secret entrance. What
troubled me most was this point. Why should any sane man (I presume that
the criminal was sane, if criminality is not another form of insanity) I
repeat, why should any sane man shoot another one in the dark in the
presence of a third person with the chances ten to one against his
hitting the one at whom he aimed, and ten to one in favor of his being
discovered? It was absurd on the face of it, yet it was just what had
happened in the study that night, and twist it as I would I could make
neither rhyme nor reason out of it. McKelvie had said the criminal was a
clever man and clever criminals don't usually leave anything to chance,
for only chance could have directed his aim in a room so dark that he
could not possibly see his prospective victim!

Though I thought about it continually, this point was still a puzzle
when McKelvie phoned me, early the second day after our visit to
Riverside Drive, and asked me to meet him there at ten o'clock, but to
tell no one where I was going. As I was in the habit of leaving for the
office about eight I said nothing of my ultimate destination to Mr.
Trenton, but I ordered Jenkins to be at the office as near nine-thirty
as possible. I did not know whether McKelvie wanted him or not, and it
was simpler to dismiss him than to send for him.

When we entered Darwin's study at ten o'clock sharp McKelvie was
standing at one of the windows whistling. He greeted us with a smile and
the remark, "Well, I'm all ready to tell you how the murder was
committed."

"You have discovered something new?" I asked quickly.

"One or two things, but nothing bearing on my statement. I knew before I
entered this room day before yesterday how it was done. For another that
might seem impossible, but for me, no. It was simplicity itself."

I couldn't help smiling at this piece of conceit and catching my look he
laughed good-humoredly.

"All great detectives--and I am one, according to my friend,
Cunningham--are egotistical," he said.

"Is that the reason that Sherlock Holmes is an egotist, sir?" asked
Jenkins suddenly.

"Undoubtedly; and why not, since he is the greatest of his kind.
You see great detectives seldom fail, and so naturally they
become--well--self-opinionated," returned McKelvie.

But I had not come there to discuss the failings of detectives, great or
small, so I proceeded to dismount him from his hobby.

"You said you knew how the murder was done. So does anyone who reads the
papers. The coroner's inquest made that fact plain," I said to get him
started. I had learned already that he disliked having his statements
belittled.

"The coroner's inquest!" he scoffed. "Haven't you the wit to see that
the inquest was in the hands of the police from the start? Jones
questioned Orton in the morning and then calmly used Graves and his jury
as a vehicle for tightening the net in which Mrs. Darwin had become
entangled. What chance then had the truth for even so much as lifting
its head? I suppose the police explained to your satisfaction how the
murderer shot so accurately in the dark?" he ended, cynically.

I smiled inwardly as I realized that I had drawn the very fire I wanted.
Now I would have the answer to my puzzle.

"Well, how did he do it?" I asked, unruffled.

"He didn't. He shot Darwin while the lamp was lighted, like any
right-minded person," he answered triumphantly. "By the way, Jenkins, I
don't believe I'll need you to-day."

"Very well, sir."

I waited until Jenkins had gone and then I replied to McKelvie's
statement. "What you have just remarked is utterly impossible," I
retorted. "Ruth heard the shot before she saw the lamp spring into
being, and she was speaking the truth."

He laughed. "Certainly, I am not disputing that point. I am merely
making the assertion that the murderer shot his victim while the lamp,
and for all I know, all the lights were lighted."

"But----"

"On second thoughts I don't believe I'll tell you. You might be as
skeptical of my information as you were triumphant just now at having
roused my ire," he answered laconically, and I knew that I had not
deceived him long with my pretense of blockheadedness.

"I promise to believe anything you may say and swallow it all, hook,
line and sinker," I pleaded.

"Well, perhaps under those circumstances--" he appeared to reflect, then
said abruptly, "Would you call Dr. Haskins a man who knew his business?"

"Yes, decidedly so," I replied, surprised at the turn in the
conversation.

"He remarked, if you remember, that Philip Darwin lived twenty minutes
after the bullet had penetrated his lung, and yet he also agreed with
the coroner's physician that Philip Darwin died at midnight or shortly
thereafter. You yourself can testify that the shot was fired at
midnight. How then do you account for the discrepancies in these various
facts, for facts they are?"

My mind reverted to the inquest, and I heard again the pompous
coroner's physician explaining Dr. Haskins' mistake, and I also recalled
the young doctor's face, which certainly belied his apparent
acquiescence with the other's statement. And suddenly I saw what
McKelvie was driving at. Yet, how could it possibly be?

"You mean that he had already been shot when Ruth entered this room?" I
said slowly, hardly daring to believe that which I uttered. It was so
incredible, so seemingly impossible!

"Yes, just that." The words came with quiet conviction.

"But I heard no other shot, and Philip Darwin was alive at
eleven-thirty!"

"Of course you heard no shot. We're dealing with a clever man, I tell
you, and he wasn't advertising his actions," returned McKelvie, with
that note of impatience in his voice which crept into it whenever I
failed immediately to grasp the point. "I'll show you how it was done,
so that no one could possibly have heard that shot, even if there had
been someone listening at door or windows, which, of course, there was
not."

He walked to the safe, and unlocked the door. Then he inserted his key
in the back wall and ushered me into the secret room.

"In here," he said, "no noise, however great, could be heard without
these walls. They are sound-proof, for I have tested them myself. I
fired a pistol by means of a mechanism, and then listened in the hall
for its explosion. I heard nothing. When I returned to this room the
pistol had gone off, as was intended. So you can see that shooting his
victim in here with the doors closed there was no chance that the shot
would be heard by anyone in the house at the time."

I stared at him in astonishment. "But, McKelvie, Jones proved beyond the
shadow of a doubt that Philip Darwin had just risen in his chair at the
table when he was shot," I protested.

"Jones proved it!" he jeered. "Ye gods! Jones proved it! Of course he
proved it. What else would you expect of Jones? Why do you suppose the
murderer took the trouble to make those marks in the carpet except to
fool the police?" he raged. "Certainly Jones proved it when it was put
there for that purpose!"

"Granted," I said pacifically. "He shot Darwin in this secret room. Then
what?"

McKelvie calmed down and resumed his story. "Then he proceeded to
manufacture evidence. He carried his victim through the safe," returning
to the study as he spoke and relocking the entrance, "placed him in that
chair and arranged everything to look as though Philip Darwin had been
writing, as indeed he had been when Orton came in at eleven-thirty.
Then, satisfied that all was as perfect as he could make it, he turned
off the light and waited."

"What for?"

"Mrs. Darwin, naturally."

"How on earth did he know she would come into the room? How could he
possibly divine that I would urge her to get me that letter when I only
spoke on impulse myself?"

McKelvie sighed. "I'm not omniscient. If I could tell you how he knew
it, or why, I could tell you who committed the crime. I am only
reconstructing what actually happened, for he was in the room at
midnight, wasn't he, since he fired that second shot and lighted the
lamp? And is it reasonable to suppose that it took him twenty minutes to
shoot his victim and place him in that chair?"

I acquiesced, but not because I could see through the affair. It was
growing more intricate with every step we took. "But why, man, why?" I
persisted.

"Because he needed a scapegoat. It may be, of course, and probably is,
the fact that he was about to leave when he heard Mrs. Darwin try the
door, and that the idea then came to him to incriminate her."

"Why--that's monstrous!" I cried.

McKelvie shrugged. "When you are dealing with a murderer, his little
ideas are apt to be rather outside the pale of civilized folk," he
returned ironically. "By providing the police with a suspect he escaped
their vigilance. Mrs. Darwin had the most motive for killing her
husband; therefore, she made the best possible victim. But he figured
without me. It's like a game of chess. He makes a move. I block him. At
present it's 'check,' with all the advantage on his side and every
prospect of the jury finding Mrs. Darwin guilty of the murder."

He had forgotten my presence and was talking to himself, his eyes grown
dreamy as he gazed into the distance. At my exclamation, he passed a
hand across his eyes, saying in a different tone, "I beg your pardon. I
forgot in my interest in matching my wits against his, that to you Mrs.
Darwin is more than a pawn in the game."

"McKelvie, surely you can't be serious," I implored him.

"I'm sorry to say that I am," he returned. "The prosecution has a very
strong case, and we have nothing we can offer that refutes a single
point that they can make." He moved away from the window, where he had
been sitting for some little time, and began to pace the room in long,
even strides.

"If only I knew where that second bullet had lodged itself! The
physician declares there was only one wound and only one bullet;
therefore, it's not in Darwin's body. Also, I have searched every square
inch of this room--walls, ceiling, floor, carpet and furniture. There's
not a trace, nor even the faintest shadow of a trace of that bullet!"

He shook his head despairingly, but I had hardly listened to his
harangue. My mind had leaped to a sudden joyful conclusion.

"McKelvie," I cried, "we have evidence to refute their arguments! Let's
go before the district attorney and tell him what we have learned and
insist on his releasing Ruth at once!"

"What evidence do you refer to?" he inquired a bit coldly. "Do you take
me for a mere calculating machine without any human feelings and
consideration for others? Don't you suppose that if I had any valuable
evidence I should have used it to advantage long ere this?"

"Why," I stammered, all the wind taken out of my sails, "what about
the--the secret entrance?"

"As to that, it may or may not have been used upon that fatal night. We
conjecture because we are proving Mrs. Darwin innocent, but we do not
positively know anything about it," he put in imperturbably. "Mr. Darwin
may have lost or misplaced his key."

"How do you account then for the lighting of the lamp from the safe?" I
persisted.

"Again, we do not know it was so lighted. Often, if a connection is
loose, a jar or shock will light the lamp of itself."

"But the shot in the dark?"

"Ah, the police don't believe for a second that the room was ever in
darkness at any time. They believe that you and Mrs. Darwin concocted
that bit of evidence."

"When?" I spluttered.

"You gave the wrong impression about Mrs. Darwin the night of the crime.
They would argue collusion before their arrival."

"But, McKelvie, what about the actual time when Philip Darwin was
killed, twenty minutes before Ruth ever set foot in the study?" I
continued, exasperated by his skillful refutation of my arguments.

"On what do I base that conclusion?" he asked quietly.

"On Dr. Haskins' testimony."

"Exactly. And do you believe for a moment that the district attorney
will give credence to a fact which Coroner Graves practically ruled out
of his court?" he demanded.

But I was still determined to have my way, for I wanted to free Ruth
above everything else. "There's the second shot to prove it," I said
stubbornly.

He looked at me a moment with a strange smile, then he tapped his head
significantly. "Pardon me," he said quizzically, as I flushed angrily,
"I had forgotten you are in love and that lovers are never logical.
Don't be angry with me and I'll show you what would happen if I
approached Grenville with your last statement as a proof of my previous
deductions. You have no experience in such matters, but, unfortunately,
I know Grenville so very well."

McKelvie drew his mouth down in imitation of the district attorney,
whose picture I had seen more than once in the paper, and then continued
his exposition, mimicking Grenville's soft voice, as I suppose, whenever
the part demanded it.

"When I had been ushered into his office he would adjust his glasses and
listen with an air of great politeness to all I had to say. Then, when I
was through he would smile, still politely, very, if a trifle
sarcastically, and remark in his purring voice (the purr of the tiger
before he shows his claws):

"'Of course, since only one shot was fired from Mr. Darwin's pistol, you
have brought with you the weapon that produced the second shot?'

"I would have to acknowledge that I not only had no such weapon, but not
even the prospect of finding it.

"'No? Then, of course,' with a still deeper purr, 'you have brought me
the bullet itself?'

"'Well, no,' I would answer sheepishly, 'I haven't even got that.'

"'What! No bullet either? Dear, dear, Mr. McKelvie, you really are a
genius in your line. And you would actually have me credit the evidence
of a chimera, a hypothetical revolver that fires a shot that leaves no
trace----'"

Here McKelvie broke off abruptly and banged his fist against his
forehead. "Stupid, stupid. Oh, that someone would write me down an
ass!"

"What's the trouble, now?" I asked. "I thought you were doing very
well."

"As regards Grenville? Well, I'm glad you realize that we couldn't prove
anything with mere deduction unsubstantiated by facts, for any clever
prosecutor could knock our evidence into a cocked hat. No, I was
referring to something else," he returned, gazing somberly before him
with a look akin to horror in his eyes.

"What is it?" I demanded.

He shook off whatever was troubling him and replied in a
self-contemptuous tone, "Nothing, except that I must be getting old. I
have actually allowed myself to ape that pompous idiot of a coroner's
physician, and have thus been guilty of the worst crime in the decalogue
of a detective. I have been fitting the facts to my theory instead of
fitting my theory to the facts!"

"And that proves?"

"Just what I told you before, that we are face to face with a far
cleverer, more cold-blooded man than even I had given him credit for
being!"




CHAPTER XXI

THE STEWARD


I was taken by surprise when Mason knocked on the door to tell us that
he had prepared some luncheon for us. We had talked for two hours and
had virtually arrived--nowhere! The thing was beginning to get on my
nerves and I said as much to McKelvie as we seated ourselves at the
table.

"Yes," he returned. "It's getting on mine, too. I feel like--well, a
person tied to a tree, who can go so far and no farther. But I'm going
to break away."

"You mean you are going to try to locate the criminal since we can find
no clues to help Ruth?" I asked.

"No, not directly, at present. I'm going to try to locate substantial
evidence against him, for your clever criminal is not so easily caught.
The trouble lies right here. Though I know the murderer is clever I have
no idea as to his identity, because I do not absolutely know the true
motive for the crime. Or, rather, I should say, no proof, for
unfortunately there are any number of persons who might have been in the
house at that time and who had sufficient motive for killing Darwin."

"Can't some of them produce alibis?"

"Alibis! I spent all day yesterday chasing alibis. Let's go over them.
First, there's Mr. Trenton----"

"Heavens! You don't suspect him?" I gasped.

"Why not? Don't you suppose he realized as you did that he was primarily
to blame for Mrs. Darwin's marriage? And didn't he, while living in
this house, have an opportunity to witness and resent the treatment
accorded to his daughter? And more than resent his own humiliation at
the hands of Philip Darwin, a humiliation of which even young Darwin was
cognizant, if he spoke the truth at the inquest?"

"You're right. I hadn't connected him with the affair at all. I suppose
because he was away," I replied.

He smiled. "I think we can safely knock him off our list, for though he
had motive he had not the opportunity. I motored to Tarrytown yesterday
and had an interview with Mrs. Bailey. On the night of the seventh, Mr.
Trenton was ill, too ill to leave his bed, and precisely at midnight
she, herself, and her doctor were in attendance upon him."

"I'm glad of that," I said, drawing a long breath. "It's bad enough as
it is without dragging Mr. Trenton into it, too."

"Though I made certain of his alibi because I am leaving no stones
unturned in this case, still I never for one moment believed him guilty.
It would be a monstrous father, indeed, who would let his daughter
remain in jail if a word from him could clear her, particularly if he
loved her and had bitterly repented of his former treatment of her."

"That's one off the list. Who else could have done it?" I prompted, as
he remained absorbed in thought.

"Cunningham is clever, and though he may have had opportunity, he lacks
motive. I saw the telephone girl in the apartment house where he has a
suite of rooms. She says that he left town about the first of October
and did not return until about ten o'clock the morning of the eighth.
Of course he might have got in the night before, in which case he spent
the night in the street or with a friend, for he is not registered at
any of the hotels, although he could have registered under an assumed
name, both of which presumptions are absurd, since he could have easily
returned home and none the wiser. The girl said he looked as he usually
did when he returned from out of town, but she had no idea where he
went. It seems he has many out-of-town clients whom he visits
occasionally, and it would certainly take quite a while to locate them
and get the desired information, with the chances ten to one that he
went somewhere else altogether, and had nothing to do with the murder
after all. The only thing I have against him is that he is clever, and
for that matter so I should judge was Richard Trenton."

"You think Dick might have done it?"

"I'm overlooking no one. I saw Jones and got from him all the data
concerning Trenton's actions on that night. Also I telegraphed to the
Chicago police to try to locate anyone who may have known him there and
we should be hearing from that end in a day or two. There is one fact
that stands out clearly, and can't be explained away. He left the hotel
before eleven and did not return until one. Also there is no trace of
where he went during that time since, though he taxied to the hotel, he
was clever enough to take the Subway or the surface car to his
destination. Then we have the letter he wrote his father, which
certainly points to his intention to see Philip Darwin. Whether he did
or not, we don't know, but it's quite probable that he did come here,
and that the two men had a conference of some sort. Again I'm inclined
to believe that he is innocent for the same reason that exonerated the
father in my eyes. Yet there is his suicide to account for, and the
still stranger fact that he left no word of any kind to explain his
act."

He paused, then continued with a shake of the head, "There's not much
use bothering with him at present, for he's beyond helping us in our
predicament. There are others who may prove more useful."

"What about Lee?" I inquired, remembering the stick-pin and where it had
been found.

"Lee Darwin is the most likely suspect that I have," he returned, then
quietly busied himself with his dessert, for Mason had entered and was
hovering around. "By the way," he added, as we left the dining-room, "I
have an appointment with the steward of the Yale Club on this very
matter. I went there yesterday but Carpe was away and I left word that I
would call at one-thirty to see him. Supposing you drive me over."

"After this visit I'll be able to decide whether our young friend had
the chance to commit murder," he continued when we were in the car
headed for the Yale Club. "He had plenty of motive."

"Chance, too, McKelvie. Didn't you say yourself that he was there that
night when you first showed me his stick-pin?"

"I said he was there and I still say it, but that means nothing at all.
We have got to prove that he was there at the psychological moment."

I nodded. "But, even if he had been, I can't see where you find a
motive. He quarreled with his uncle, I know, but there was nothing in
that to cause him to shoot Darwin."

"Wasn't there?" answered McKelvie. "Surely you don't believe that he
really quarreled with his uncle about Mrs. Darwin? It's absurd on the
face of it, that he should suddenly object to treatment that he had
accepted with utter indifference for five months or so. No, no, I have
another theory altogether about that quarrel."

Our arrival at the Club put an end to our discussion. Carpe, the
steward, whom I had interviewed the night I first sought McKelvie, came
forward as we entered. He was a big, dependable fellow, this steward,
and had been in the employ of the Club for years. Moreover, he could be
trusted to give correct information about the doings of the various
members of the Club, all of whom he knew well.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly. "If you will come into the office
I shall be glad to accommodate you."

We followed him into a small room at the side of the hall and he invited
us to be seated, as he dropped heavily into a chair at his desk, but
McKelvie remained standing, and as he put his questions he paced back
and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I desire to ask you some questions about Mr. Lee Darwin, Mr. Carpe," he
began. "You have heard nothing from him since he left?"

"No, sir, not a word," replied Carpe, slowly.

"Go back to October seventh, Mr. Carpe. Lee Darwin engaged rooms for
that night, did he not?" continued McKelvie.

"Yes. He called me personally about noon and said he wanted a suite of
rooms for an indefinite time. He came in some time during the afternoon
but went out again at five o'clock."

"You are sure of the time?"

"Yes. There was to be a banquet of some kind to which he had been
invited. It was just striking five as he came into my office here and
told me he could not attend, asking me to make his excuses for him. He
said he would not be back until late. It made an impression on me at the
time because he was not in evening clothes and I had always known Mr.
Lee Darwin for a very fastidious young man."

"Do you know what time he got back?" McKelvie inquired after a pause.

"He didn't come back that night," answered Carpe.

McKelvie and I exchanged glances. "You could swear to that?" asked
McKelvie eagerly.

"I could. I sleep on the first floor at the back of the house. About
five o'clock in the morning I heard someone knocking on my window and I
got up to see who wanted me at such an hour. We don't keep open house at
this Club. In the dim light I saw that the man was Mr. Lee Darwin, so I
motioned him to the back and opened the door for him myself. It was
quite a shock to me to see him, I can tell you. He was pale and
wild-eyed and his clothes were rumpled and dusty. He stumbled in and I
helped him to his room. He told me to keep quiet about him and naturally
I promised. I thought he had been out on a spree of some kind. He acted
as if he might have been drinking," explained Carpe ponderously.

"What did he do after you promised silence?" McKelvie took a turn around
the room as he put the question.

"He went to bed, and at luncheon time I awakened him. He dressed
hurriedly and rushed out without eating and did not return until three.
There was a telegram waiting for him. He read it and then tore it up and
his hands were trembling as he did so. Then he remarked that he was
leaving for the South on business and asked me to leave his rooms
undisturbed. He left in ten minutes and that is the last I have seen of
him," replied Carpe.

"When he came back the morning of the eighth, were you really positive
that he had been drinking, or did he give you another impression as
well?" continued McKelvie.

"Well, to be candid, at the time he seemed to me to be scared, as if he
had seen something that had terrified him plumb out of his wits. It was
afterwards in thinking it over that I decided that he had been out on a
lark," responded Carpe, after a moment's consideration.

"I should like to examine his rooms," said McKelvie abruptly.

"Certainly." Carpe rose and led the way up the stairs, along a hall and
into a suite consisting of a dressing-room, bedroom, and bath.

The rooms were nicely furnished but were not unusual in any way and gave
no indication of having been recently used. Everything was in immaculate
order.

"Any of his belongings still around?" queried McKelvie.

"Yes, he left some things in the chiffonier."

McKelvie strode to the article of furniture in question and examined its
contents with great care, as if hunting for some definite object. Then
with a shrug he announced that he was through. I thought he had been
disappointed in his search, but one look into his sparkling eyes told me
a different tale. He had been successful, but what had he expected to
find?

"Thank you, Mr. Carpe. I'm much obliged to you. Keep my visit a secret,
particularly as your information may not be of value to me and might, if
gossiped about, merely create an unpleasant situation for the young
man," said McKelvie as we returned to the lower floor.

"Just as you say. Good afternoon, Mr. McKelvie," and the door closed
behind us.

As we descended the steps I said curiously, "What did you find,
McKelvie?"

For answer he pulled from his pocket a small yellow satin sachet bag
with the initials L. D. embroidered on it in blue. He placed it in my
hand and with the remark, "Take a good whiff. It's a heavenly scent."

I held the dainty bag to my nostrils and inhaled deeply. It was
wonderfully, delicately fragrant. I had a distinct recollection of
having been recently made conscious that there was in this world such a
subtle, elusive perfume, but for the moment I could not place it. Like a
melody that haunts by its familiarity even when its name eludes the
mind, did this perfume waft across my senses the knowledge that I had
breathed in its fragrance before and on two distinct occasions. Then
memory awoke and I saw myself drawing back from a blood-stained
handkerchief which had been suddenly thrust beneath my nose at
Headquarters, and recalled wondering where I had come across that
perfume before. Ah, I had it. It was Dick who first introduced me to
it. He also had a tiny sachet of yellow satin embroidered in blue and
when I noticed it with some astonishment among his things he laughed in
an embarrassed way and said a girl he knew had made it for him. When I
asked him what it was he named it for me with a shame-faced look.

The subtle perfume that now assailed my nostrils and delighted my senses
was none other than the fragrance that scented Dick's belongings, that
clung to the Persian silk cover in the secret room, and that had left
its trace on that square of cambric that Philip Darwin had been holding,
the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot! And Rose Jacqueminot meant a woman
and the only woman I could think of was--Cora Manning.

"What do you make of this, McKelvie?" I asked, returning the sachet.

He shrugged. "May be important and may not. I was more interested in
hearing that he had been out all night."

"Which means of course that he had the opportunity," I interpreted.

"Yes, he had the opportunity, but he may not have used it. His stick-pin
is no proof that he was there at midnight. There are all sorts of
possibilities in a case like this one. However, he did have ample
motive, for besides the quarrel there is the will. I examined specimens
of Philip Darwin's handwriting. He does not make his capitals with a
flourish. He makes his R's straight. So he was disinheriting his nephew
and not his wife. Also the criminal knew that fact, or why his attempt
to destroy the scraps by burning, which would account, you see, for his
still being in the study when Mrs. Darwin entered."

"Somehow I can't believe Lee did it--unless it was on impulse," I said,
recalling the young man's noble countenance. "Besides, McKelvie, surely
he isn't so depraved as to implicate Ruth!"

"'Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth?'" he quoted. "He has
the Darwin blood in his veins."

"So has Dick for that matter," I thought to myself.

"I don't mean to imply by that that he necessarily committed the
murder," continued McKelvie. "I merely state that he had plenty of
motive and chance. But so did several others, as we know. And even if he
is the murderer we have no proof of that fact; nor does there seem to be
at present any chance of questioning him. I have a man on his trail, but
so far Wilkins has met with no success. He's evidently disguised, since
no one recognizes his photograph, which, added to his use of Rose
Jacqueminot sachet, looks very bad indeed."

"Why?" I put in.

"Ask me that again later and I may be able to give you a more definite
answer," he retorted. "To return to the subject. It may take months to
find Lee and we haven't months to waste on this case."

"What do you propose to do then?" I asked despairingly.

"I'm going to let you drive me over to Forty-second Street to see Claude
Orton," he responded, entering my car.




CHAPTER XXII

ORTON'S ALIBI


As we drove toward Forty-second Street, I recalled my instinctive
distrust of the secretary, his stealthy attitude, and very evident
desire to see Ruth convicted. I had suspected him that very first night,
and now I envisioned him sneaking through the secret entrance and
returning to the house in time to follow me into the study.

"I know what you are thinking, but he couldn't possibly have done it,"
said McKelvie quietly. "He's the only one I don't suspect. He hasn't the
nerve in the first place, and in the second place he hadn't the time.
How long do you suppose it takes to lock all those doors--they were
locked, remember--and return to the house and lock whatever entrance he
used--not the front door, for you would have heard him--and enter the
study a second after yourself?"

"He may never have gone out," I cried. "He could easily have stayed in
the room all the time in a dark corner and have come forward when he
turned on the lights. I swear I never heard him!"

"What about Mrs. Darwin's testimony that he was in the hall?" he asked.

"She may have been mistaken. He gave false evidence concerning her."

"That's what we are going to see him about. But, remember this, Mrs.
Darwin would have no reason for saying she saw him if she did not."

To this last statement I had to agree, for Ruth I knew disliked Orton,
and would hardly be likely to shield him. So I ceased discussing the
point, knowing we would soon have the truth, for McKelvie could extract
information from a stone.

In due course we drew up before a second-rate apartment hotel that was
sadly in need of a coat of paint. We entered a dingy hall and inquired
for Orton.

"Suite Four, third door to your left," droned the switchboard girl.

We walked down the hall, which would have been decidedly improved by an
application of a mop and some soap and water, and knocked at Orton's
apartment. As we waited we heard the sound of a door closing, and then
the shuffle of feet and presently the door opened a crack and Orton's
near-sighted eyes peered at us from the aperture.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently.

"A moment's conversation," replied McKelvie, but at that minute Orton
recognized me and, swiftly retreating, began to close the door.

McKelvie, however, was prepared for him and the closing door met an
obstruction in the shape of the toe of McKelvie's boot.

"There is no use trying to keep me out," he continued sternly, "unless
of course you would like to tell your story to the police."

At mention of the police Orton retreated still farther, and we followed
him into the apartment, closing the door behind us. We found ourselves
in a stuffy, gloomy little parlor filled with a lot of ugly,
old-fashioned furniture. Orton, who was clad in dressing-gown and
slippers, ungraciously asked us to be seated, but before we could state
our errand a quavering voice from somewhere in the rear reached us.

"What is it, Claude? Who is in there with you?" it said.

"You have frightened my mother," said Orton, plucking at the cord of his
wrapper, as if undecided whether to go or stay.

"Tell her it's all right and that you know who we are," commanded
McKelvie. "And without leaving this room," as Orton started to move
away. "I guess she can hear you from here."

Sullenly, Orton obeyed, and then seating himself on the sofa, demanded
what we wanted.

"At the inquest you gave several bits of information which had no
foundation in fact," began McKelvie, going straight to the point. "You
lied and you know it. For that matter so do I. Now I want to know why?"

"Mr. Davies, of course I know," answered Orton with a sneer. "But what
right have you to question me?"

"I am investigating the case for Mr. Davies on the quiet," answered
McKelvie suavely.

"And that gives you the right to intrude on my privacy, I suppose?"
continued Orton sarcastically (he had abandoned his rôle of "humble
still," or rather he was Uriah Heep grown bold through triumph), "and to
force yourself into my rooms?"

McKelvie shrugged. "Really if you would rather be put through the third
degree at Police Headquarters it's a matter of indifference to me."

Orton's pallid face became livid. "Are you trying to frighten me by
pretending that you believe that I killed Philip Darwin?" he cried, but
his voice trembled in spite of himself.

"No, I'm not pretending any such thing. I know you didn't kill him.
You're too much of a coward," returned McKelvie contemptuously, whereat
Orton gave a gasping sigh of relief. "But I do say you know more of this
murder than you gave out, and a hint to that effect in the ear of Jones
will be quite sufficient to bring the police to this place. No doubt you
have a telephone that I can use. I'll give you five minutes to decide."

But Orton didn't need five minutes, no, nor even ten seconds. McKelvie
had hardly finished speaking when Orton flung himself forward with
clasped hands, his prominent eyes fairly popping with terror.

"I'll tell you everything, anything, though I declare I know nothing.
Only don't send the police here," he pleaded in a frightened voice.

I was amazed at his abject fear but McKelvie motioned him back, and said
coldly: "Very well, but don't lie to me, for I know why you fear the
police." He leaned closer and whispered a word that I did not catch, but
which had the effect of making Orton wring his hands helplessly, and
whine that he never intended to lie, and would tell us everything we
wanted to know.

McKelvie silenced him with a gesture, as he said: "I want an account, a
true one, of everything that you did and said and saw on the night of
October the seventh between ten-thirty, when you summoned Mrs. Darwin to
the study and midnight, when the shot rang out."

"I wanted to tell what Mr. Darwin had said and they wouldn't let me at
the inquest," put in Orton, aggrieved.

"You're not dealing with the police now, and I want every word that has
any bearing on the case, whatever its purport."

"Very well. At ten-thirty I told Mrs. Darwin that her husband wanted her
and then I listened at the door. They were quarreling about the love
letter I had put together for him."

"When did you show him this letter?" interrupted McKelvie.

"In the morning after Lee left the study. Mr. Darwin told me to patch it
together because he said it would come in handy some day. It did--that
night," and he leered at me in a very unpleasant way.

"Go on," said McKelvie peremptorily.

"I couldn't hear what they said----"

"Then how did you know that they were quarreling about the letter?" I
asked.

"I was going to say," Orton ignored me completely, "that I couldn't hear
the words exchanged until I opened the door a crack. Then I heard very
well, indeed. Mr. Darwin was threatening Mr. Davies, and Mrs. Darwin
retorted that she would send for him and warn him, but he only laughed
in a queer way and then I saw her coming, so I retreated. After that he
called me in and told me to watch her. I crept upstairs and heard her
orders to the maid, whom I followed to the garage. Then I came back and
hung around the hall. Mr. Darwin had told me he was expecting a visitor,
so when I came back I applied my ear to the door. I could hear voices,
his and a strange one, but not what they said, though they spoke loudly
as if in anger."

"Why didn't you open the door a crack?" I inquired sarcastically.

"Because I was too clever. Mr. Darwin had locked the door when I went
out and I knew it was still locked. Besides at ten-thirty only the lamp
was lighted and the region of the door was in comparative darkness, but
at this particular time I could tell by applying my eye to the key-hole
that the other lights had been turned on as well. So even if I could
have opened the door I should still have been afraid of being seen."

"Never mind that. Go on with what's important," broke in McKelvie,
impatiently.

"At eleven-twenty-five Mr. Davies arrived, and at eleven-thirty Mr.
Darwin called me."

"How?"

"There's a bell connection between the study and my workroom. When I
went in Mr. Darwin had resumed his seat at the table and looked pretty
much as he did when we saw him later, except he was alive."

"A good deal of difference, I should judge," I thought to myself,
"between a corpse and a well man. However, that's neither here nor
there."

"He had just finished writing the name, Cora Manning, on his new will,
for the ink was not yet dry when I reached the table. I told him all
that had taken place. It was then he laughed and said: 'So we've a
broker in the house, eh? He should know how to play fast and loose, eh?
I'll make him useful, this broker lover of our stainless Ruth.'"

Orton mouthed the words with devilish delight and I had all I could do
to keep my hands off of him. But McKelvie paid no heed to our feelings.

"Go on, man," he said with growing impatience. "Don't repeat what I know
already."

"You said that you wanted to hear everything that was spoken," grumbled
Orton.

"Yes, so I did. Only hustle along and get it out. Was that all he said?"
demanded McKelvie.

"No. He said something else. I remarked that a broker ought to know how
to play fast and loose, and he replied: 'Yes, and other things, too, eh?
Mr. Davies doesn't know it yet, but he has done me the very greatest
service by coming here to-night. See that the windows are properly
locked and then go to bed.' As I locked the windows I could hear him
laughing to himself, and he was still laughing when I closed the door
behind me."

"What did you think he meant to convey by those words of his?" asked
McKelvie.

"I thought he might be referring to the fact that now he had good
grounds for divorce. I believe he was tired of Mrs. Darwin," replied
Orton.

"You are sure that Mr. Darwin was alone at eleven-thirty?" continued
McKelvie, after a slight pause.

"Yes, absolutely alone," responded Orton. "There was no place where
anyone could hide. I examined the window hangings as I locked up."

"What about the safe?"

"It was partly open and I looked in as I passed. It was empty."

"Humph. Now I'd have sworn--" murmured McKelvie.

"What?" asked Orton inquisitively.

"Nothing. What's the rest of your story?" retorted McKelvie.

"I didn't go to bed. I wanted to see what would happen, for I was sure
from the way he spoke that Mr. Darwin meant to call Mr. Davies into the
study later on, so I continued to work in the little room until I grew
weary and thirsty, and going out in the hall found that it was about ten
minutes to twelve. Still nothing had happened, for I could hear the
murmur of voices in the drawing-room."

He didn't have to tell us how he knew. We could guess. Ruth was right in
saying that he was always spying upon her.

"I knew," he continued, "that Mr. Darwin kept a good brand of whisky,
private stock of course, in a cabinet in the dining-room, and I
determined to mix myself a drink. But just then I heard the key turned
in the study door and thinking Mr. Darwin was coming out, I went back to
my room and closed the door. I waited some time, maybe five minutes or
more, and then looked out. No one was around and both drawing-room and
study doors were closed. I decided I had missed the show, since there
was no sound from either room, and I determined to have my drink before
I went upstairs. I went in to the dining-room and had my hand on the
cabinet key when the shot rang out. I hurried to the study and saw--Mr.
Davies in the doorway, Mrs. Darwin holding the pistol, and Mr. Darwin
dead."

"You didn't see Mrs. Darwin go into the study?" questioned McKelvie.

"No, but I judged she had gone in when I heard the study door unlock.
You see, I did not know what might happen, especially when Mr. Davies
said I had no proof that I wasn't in the study also, so I decided to
have an alibi for the police. That's why I said I was on the stairs
because then they would not know where I had really been. I didn't know
that Mrs. Darwin had seen me."

"A good thing for you that she did see you," returned McKelvie grimly,
"or you might be occupying that cell in her place."

Orton blanched like the coward that he was. "But--but, I'm innocent," he
said, indignantly.

"Well, you wouldn't be the first innocent person to grace a cell, I
assure you," retorted McKelvie dryly. "You have told us everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"Very well, then you can answer several questions. You are positive you
heard the key turned in the study door when you stood in the hall at ten
minutes to twelve?" continued McKelvie. "Remember I want facts, and not
impressions."

"I am as positive as that I am sitting here. But it was more toward five
minutes to twelve because I paused to ascertain if Mrs. Darwin was still
in the drawing-room and I listened for a minute or two before I started
for the dining-room," replied Orton with conviction.

"A minute is a good long while, longer than you think, Orton," returned
McKelvie. "But that point is, after all, immaterial. We will say that
somewhere between ten and five minutes to twelve the study door was
unlocked from the inside," and he looked at me significantly.

If he was right in his premise, then the person who unlocked that door
could have been none other than the criminal, for at ten minutes before
midnight Philip Darwin was past unlocking doors! Yet it seemed a
foolhardy thing to do, for any one then could have entered and
discovered him. But, no, after all, it was the sensible thing to do from
his point of view, since otherwise the prospective suspect would have
been unable to enter the room. Then I looked at McKelvie with dawning
horror in my eyes. The unlocking of that door could have meant only one
thing, that the criminal knew Ruth was across the hall, and
deliberately, cold-bloodedly, planned to saddle her with the murder of
her husband!

"Why, McKelvie," I began, horrified, but he tread on my toe as if by
accident, and I recalled hastily that we were not alone.

"Even if I had not heard Mr. Darwin unlock the door," continued Orton
ingratiatingly, "he must have unlocked it at some time, for I heard him
turn the key in the lock when I left him at eleven-thirty and the door
was open when Mrs. Darwin entered the room. But, I know I'm not mistaken
in saying that I heard it unlocked."

"How do you know that it was Mr. Darwin who unlocked it?" I asked
injudiciously.

McKelvie frowned, but Orton answered without apparent suspicion, "He was
alone in a closed room. Who else could have opened it, Mr. Davies?"

"No one, of course," I lied cheerfully, and subsided into the
background, not wishing to give Orton any further inkling of what we
knew.

"When you came out into the hall the second time, you said that you
heard no sound from either room. Did you open the study door even a
crack that time by any chance?" resumed McKelvie.

"No. Again I feared to be seen. You see that all the lights in the room
had been turned on," replied Orton.




CHAPTER XXIII

GRAMERCY PARK


Even McKelvie was taken aback by this statement, more so than I was, I
could see, because he was firmly convinced that the criminal waited for
Ruth in a darkened room. I stole a glance at Orton to see whether he was
triumphing over us, but he was sitting in the same dejected attitude and
did not act at all as though he had made a remarkable declaration. Yet
if he spoke the truth, he sent our theories tumbling about our ears like
a house of cards from which one of the foundation units had been
suddenly removed. If the study was lighted at that time, then Ruth must
have seen the criminal, yet she had said she was shielding no one and I
believed her. What paradox was this, then? Even McKelvie was puzzled.

"I wish I were sure you are speaking the truth," he muttered, looking at
Orton in a reflective way.

"It is the truth. Why should I make it up? I applied my eye to the
key-hole to make doubly sure, even when I saw the light shining beneath
the doorsill," said Orton, and there was no mistaking his sincerity and
genuine surprise that McKelvie should doubt him.

"You did not chance to see anyone when you applied your eye to the
key-hole?" went on McKelvie, putting aside his conjectures.

"No, I saw no one."

"You are acquainted with the details of Mr. Darwin's business, are you
not?" McKelvie remarked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Yes, I'm conversant with a good deal of it," responded Orton.

"Is it true that he removed his securities from Cunningham's office and
used them to speculate with?" continued McKelvie.

"I suppose so since the lawyer says it. I myself never even knew he had
those securities. I attended strictly to his business in connection with
the bank, answering letters, arranging committee meetings, taking notes
of any agreements the directors came to, and so on. He speculated with
his own private funds, and advised his brokers himself, so I know
nothing beyond the fact that his transactions were large," answered
Orton.

"You didn't hear any rumors that he was speculating in M. and R. stock,
for instance?"

"Well, yes, he told me himself that he was going to take a chance on
it," replied Orton after a slight hesitation.

"He didn't happen to mention that he was ruined, did he, on the
afternoon of the seventh?" insisted McKelvie.

"Ruined!" Orton's eyes fairly popped with amazement. "No, I had no idea
it was as bad as that."

"What do you mean?" asked McKelvie quickly.

"I was watching that stock go down, and when he came into the office
that afternoon I asked him casually if he had invested. He said, 'Yes,
heavily,' in a dull kind of voice, but I thought nothing more about it,
because he was always pessimistic whenever he speculated and I also knew
he was too cautious to put up more than he could afford. I can't
believe he could have invested his whole fortune," and Orton shook his
head with a shrewd glance at us.

"Rumors are apt to exaggerate," responded McKelvie lightly. "By the way,
how much was his whole fortune?"

"I don't really know, but I believe he got quite a bit when he married
Mrs. Darwin. At least I gathered as much from something she said to him
one day when he had been particularly mean to her," explained Orton.

"Do you recall the exact words?" asked McKelvie, ignoring my frown.

"Not the exact words, but the sense of them," answered Orton with a
smile. "She wanted to know if he hadn't humiliated her enough when he
forced her to sign over to him her fortune, thus leaving her dependent
upon him, and he replied with a sneer, 'That's all I married you for, my
dear.'"

At that moment I rejoiced in the murder, and should have thought no ill
of her if Ruth herself had done it. It was not murder but the
justifiable removal of a venomous snake. I was beginning to regret I had
not done it myself six months before when it first occurred to me as the
only solution to our trouble.

"I think that is all then. Say nothing about our having been here, and
I'll do the same with regard to your affairs. By the way, at the trial
you may use the alibi you gave the police. You might find it awkward
explaining why you lied to them." McKelvie rose as he spoke, and walked
toward the door.

"You're not joking? I can give the same evidence I gave before?" gasped
Orton incredulously.

"Yes, only take care not to trip yourself up under cross-examination,
though I doubt if there is much danger from Mr. Vaughn. Why on earth did
you pick that old fossil to defend her?" he continued, as we re-entered
my car. "The prosecution will put it all over him from the start."

"I went to him because he was the only one I could think of at the
moment, but he will not defend her himself, McKelvie. He will employ
other counsel. Though I can't see that it matters much what kind of
counsel we have or if we have any at all, for the prosecution has the
facts while we have--mere theories," I returned gloomily.

"You're right. We have only theories and for a moment mine got a mortal
blow when Orton said the study was lighted, for as near as I can figure
that must have been just before Mrs. Darwin went in. Lord, if Grenville
knew that fact he'd laugh in your face when you testify, as I presume
you will, that the study was in darkness. Yes, and how much store would
the jury set by Mrs. Darwin's account then?"

"Is that the reason you told Orton to repeat his evidence?" I asked.

"Naturally. I'm not giving my opponents any more points in their favor.
The game is unequal enough as it is," he replied, drawing his brows
together in an effort to reconcile the various facts in the case.

"But, Orton may give us away," I said presently. "He may become
frightened when he has to testify under oath."

"He's looking out for A No. 1 and he's an adept liar, to boot. Besides,
he'd say nothing to make me reveal what I know about him," retorted
McKelvie, coming out of his abstraction.

"What do you know about him?" I asked curiously.

"Only that he's mixed up in some boot-legging scheme. Not much of a
hold, you think? Perhaps not, where a fearless man was concerned, but
Claude Orton is the greatest coward I have met in many a day. The very
word police is enough to scare him out of his wits, but he isn't worth a
moment's thought. I wanted to frighten him badly enough to get at the
truth and it netted us nothing in the end," he added, shifting
impatiently in his seat.

I laughed sardonically. "You forget. It netted us a lighted room," I
remarked.

McKelvie turned toward me with a look of deep concern in his eyes. "Tell
me," he said, "do you believe it was cleverness or sheer bravado that
made the criminal light the study with the door unlocked? Give me your
opinion."

"How should I know?" I retorted glumly. "It's my opinion he was liable
to do anything."

"He could hardly be cognizant of the fact that Orton was prowling
around, and he could easily turn off the lights when he heard footsteps
crossing the hall. That's doubtless just what he did, which would imply
that he was somewhere near the door. What a pity Orton caught no glimpse
of him! He would hardly leave Mrs. Darwin's entrance to chance. He'd
want to know when she was coming, for he couldn't be certain of the time
she would choose to enter, no, not if he were twice as clever." McKelvie
was thinking aloud, his brows knit once more, but I did not hesitate to
interrupt him. There was no Jenkins present to preserve the flow of his
thoughts undisturbed.

"You seem to believe, or rather I should say, you seem absolutely
convinced that the criminal knew that Ruth would come to the study. The
same conviction, with all its attendant horror, flashed over me a while
ago when you were questioning Orton. But, upon my honor, now I review
the thing calmly, I can't figure on what you base your conclusion. Ruth
had no more idea of going into that study than I had, until I suggested
it to her on the spur of the moment. That's the truth. How are you going
to get around it?" I said emphatically.

He pulled a briar pipe from his pocket and lighted it before he
answered. "That's easy. The criminal was in the room when Orton came in
at eleven-thirty. Probably he was hiding in the safe in the secret
room----"

"I thought you deduced that the criminal knew nothing of the secret
entrance until he forced the knowledge from Darwin just before he killed
him," I pointed out.

"I said he did not enter that way, not that he had no knowledge of it.
Orton said that Darwin and his visitor were quarreling. Darwin knew his
secretary and divined that he'd be hanging around the door listening. So
he called him in and got rid of him, in the meantime hiding his visitor
in the safe, from which point of vantage he heard the conversation
between Orton and Darwin. Am I correct so far?" he inquired.

"Sounds plausible enough," I replied.

"Knowing human nature (I make this deduction because throughout he has
most certainly traded on his knowledge of human beings in general, and
the police in particular), he put himself in your place. What would he
do if he were in love with Mrs. Darwin and had learned of the existence
of the letter. Why, naturally urge Mrs. Darwin to try to secure the
incriminating evidence. So you see he was pretty sure she would come,
but he did not know when. He couldn't possibly know when, could he?" he
asked appealingly.

"No, I don't at this moment see how he could, unless he was a magician,
which isn't likely. I think myself we are on the wrong tack altogether.
We are trying to complicate a simple affair. The criminal, no doubt,
came in at midnight and shot Darwin without knowing that Ruth was there.
Then he went off again through the secret entrance, and Ruth was
implicated by pure chance, for, after all, there is only one pistol,
there was only one shot heard, and only one bullet found," was my
contribution.

"All I can say to that, Mr. Davies, is that in that case the murderer
must have been a magician after all, for surely you are not implying
that Mrs. Darwin lied when she said the study was dark?" he remarked
with a smile, blowing wreaths of smoke along Broadway, for we were
driving slowly toward town.

I groaned. I had forgotten the problem of the shot in the dark.
Assuredly it was a poser, for the feat was well-nigh impossible, unless
we explained it by assuming a previous shot, which would have been all
to the good if McKelvie could only have found the lost bullet.

"You have reverted to the theory that the crime was one of impulse,"
continued McKelvie. "Disabuse your mind of any such idea. That murder
was premeditated. It was done in cold-blood, and planned down to the
smallest detail, days before it occurred. And so very carefully was it
planned that the criminal was able to work Mrs. Darwin into the scheme,
without in the least disturbing his previous calculations. That is why
we are stumped for the present, because I have not yet been able to put
my finger on the weak spot in the link. There is bound to be a weak
spot, there always is no matter how clever the criminal, but it may take
longer than the time at our disposal before the trial. I shall have to
pick up a new trail, since Orton had nothing of value to give us,"
McKelvie ended, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Speed her up a
little, Mr. Davies."

"What new trail?" I asked, obeying mechanically.

"The woman in the case," he said impressively.

"The woman in the case? You mean--Cora Manning?" I inquired.

"Yes. You know the old French saying, 'Cherchez la femme.' I have done
my best to keep my promise to Mrs. Darwin to let Miss Manning out of it,
but now it is a matter of necessity. I firmly believe she was in
Darwin's study that night, somewhere between eleven-thirty and
midnight," he answered.

"But, heavens, man, how did she get in?" I cried.

"She lodges, or did, at Gramercy Park. Drive me over there. She should
be back by now and if she should prove to be the woman in the case,
we'll make her talk. It ought not to take more than an hour at most, and
if I am wrong, why we shall be no worse off than we are now."

I gave my car more gas and continued down Broadway, intending to cut
across Twenty-first Street to Gramercy Park, remarking as I did so,
"You haven't told me how she effected an entrance into that closed
room."

"She must have entered by the secret entrance," he replied. "Eliminate
the impossible, you know."

"That's all very fine, but it plays ducks and drakes with your previous
reasoning, for how did she obtain a knowledge of those three
all-important facts about the entrance that you said even the criminal
could not divine?" I inquired.

"When we meet the fair Cora you can ask her to explain the facts for
you, Mr. Davies. I confess that I cannot," he said a little wearily. "It
isn't good to jump at conclusions and I make it a rule not to say
anything which cannot be proved to have foundation in fact. Now I do not
know how she got there, but I do believe she was present in the study.
Until we make that a fact also, we will not discuss it."

Annoyed at his tone I remained silent, but my eyes betrayed me as I
turned in his direction for a moment and he read curiosity in their
depths. He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "I'm an old crank. You
shouldn't mind my talk," he said. "I guess you have as good a right as
anyone to all the knowledge that can be gleaned in this business. I owe
my information to friend Jones. The blood-stained handkerchief is Cora
Manning's, I'm pretty sure, though the police are positive it belongs to
Mrs. Darwin. Perhaps you recall that I gave you an involuntary but
generous whiff of it that day. Did you recognize the perfume?"

"Not at the time. I have since placed it as Rose Jacqueminot," I
replied.

"That's right. It was very faint, but unmistakable. Now, I smelled the
other handkerchief also. It was scented with violet. You see, I have
made quite a study of perfumes and the different scents are as distinct
from each other as different brands of cigars or cigarettes. A refined
woman who has any taste at all chooses the perfume best suited to her
personality, and sticks to it. She doesn't use one kind one week, a
different kind the next. We will go over Cora Manning's room. If we find
even the faintest trace of Rose Jacqueminot we will know without a doubt
that the handkerchief is hers."

By this time we had reached Gramercy Park, and running up the steps of
what was once a fashionable residence, we rang the bell. After an
appreciable interval we heard a shuffle of feet in the hall, and a thin,
emaciated-looking chap opened the door.

"Is Miss Manning in?" inquired McKelvie.

"I don't know," said the man, dubiously. "If you'll take a seat in the
parlor I'll call Mrs. Harmon."

We did as he requested and entered a gloomy room in which all the shades
had been lowered, and as McKelvie moved restlessly around I seated
myself upon a very uncomfortable horsehair sofa.

"No wonder yonder fellow is pale and thin," I thought, then I rose
hastily, more in astonishment than true courtesy, if the truth must be
told, for coming through the narrow doorway was the very largest woman I
had ever seen outside of a freak show, and when I say large, I don't
mean that she was tall. She was hardly more than middle height, but so
ample of girth that I expected to see her stick midway between the
door-posts, and pictured McKelvie and myself frantically endeavoring to
extricate her by hauling mightily upon her short, fat arms. But she was
evidently accustomed to this particular doorway, for with a sidewise
shift she entered composedly enough.

"I'm Mrs. Harmon," she said affably. "What can I do for you?"

"I wish to see Miss Manning," returned McKelvie.

"Miss Manning has been away since the seventh of October," she replied
quietly.

A shade of disappointment crossed McKelvie's face. "You know where she
has gone?"

"No, sir. I don't. I thought she had gone to see some relatives,
perhaps."

"Please be seated, Mrs. Harmon. I should like to ask a few questions."
She looked at him in evident astonishment, and he hastened to add, "I'm
investigating the Darwin murder and any information you can give me will
be appreciated."

"Land sakes, you don't mean to tell me, young man, that you think she
did it?" she said indignantly.

"Oh, no, but her name was on the will and I wanted to trace the
connection, that is all," he replied suavely.

"There was a young man here not so very many days ago who talked like
that. I told him all I knew and he went and printed it in the paper. If
that's the kind you are I shan't say one word," she retorted, her fat
face flushing at the trick played upon her.

"We are not reporters, if that is what you mean," returned McKelvie
soothingly.

Under the spell of his voice she heaved an enormous sigh of relief and
lowered herself into a very wide arm-chair.

"You said that on the night of the seventh of October, Miss Manning
went away from here?" McKelvie began.

"Yes, she left somewhere around eleven o'clock."

"On foot or in a taxi?"

"She went on foot and I watched her cross Gramercy Park and go toward
the Subway," said Mrs. Harmon.

"Didn't you think it peculiar that she should leave suddenly at that
time of night without leaving her address behind?" he continued.

The woman rocked back and forth several times before she answered.
"Well, no. You see I didn't tell that other young man so, because he
didn't ask me, and besides I didn't like his looks. But I guess you're
all right. You have an honest face. I know pretty well why she wanted to
go away. I would have gone, too, in her place, poor girl.

"It all comes of taking up with these idle rich young men who have more
money than brains, say I," she went on with a self-righteous toss of her
head. I smiled. I couldn't imagine any young man, rich or poor, taking a
fancy to Mrs. Harmon. I wondered what kind of man Mr. Harmon had been,
but then she may have been slimmer when he first met and married her. "I
told Miss Manning she was doing a foolish thing, but she wouldn't listen
and engaged herself to a young chap named Lee Darwin," the good lady
continued. "I hadn't anything against the young man, he seemed a nice
boy, but after a while another man took to coming around. He was older
and wore a beard and eyeglasses. I didn't like him and told her there
would be trouble, but she thought she knew best, and so there was
trouble." Mrs. Harmon closed her lips on the words complacently.

"The morning of the seventh, Lee Darwin came here looking like a madman,
and they had some kind of a quarrel in this very room. I don't know what
it was about, but I heard him telling her that he was through with the
likes of her, and then he bounced out again. Well, she acted kind of
dazed for a while and then she made an appointment on the phone. When
she came back from her lessons he just mooned around, and at ten-thirty
that night she packed her bag and said she was going on a long journey,
and if anyone inquired where she was, to say I didn't know. But she
wouldn't tell me where she was going, and I figured she had decided to
hide away till she got over her hurt."

"Yes, I guess you're right," said McKelvie. "And now one more request. I
should like to see her room."

Mrs. Harmon eyed him suspiciously, but he gave her his best smile, which
would have melted a harder heart than hers, and hoisting herself to her
feet she led the way up the stairs to Cora Manning's room.

It was a small room but nicely furnished and very dainty, as befitted
the bedroom of a refined young woman, but McKelvie hardly looked at it.
He opened a handkerchief box on the dresser and when Mrs. Harmon had her
back turned he slipped something into his pocket.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harmon, you have been most kind," he said, as we left
the room.

"Not at all. I guess you can find your way out. It's kind of hard for
me, climbing stairs so much. Give the door a bang and it'll lock
itself," she returned, and we followed directions while she watched our
departure from the head of the stairs.

"Well?" I said, as we descended the steps.

"It's hers. Look!" He removed from his pocket the article he had taken
from Cora Manning's room and held it out on his palm. It was a tiny
yellow satin sachet bag embroidered in blue!

"This is getting ridiculous," I said, as we took our places in the car.
"How many more of these blooming things are we likely to run across
anyway? That's the third one I've seen."

"Third? I have knowledge of only two, this one and Lee's, and it's not
difficult to conjecture where he got his," McKelvie said, with raised
brows, as he repocketed the bag.

I told him of my discovery that Dick possessed one of these sachets
also, adding, "It's identical with this one. Do you suppose she gave it
to him?"

"Richard Trenton," he mused, glancing at his watch. "We'll just have
time before dinner. Take me up to Riverside Drive, if you will be so
kind. I want another look at that secret room."

I turned my car, and drove as swiftly as I dared along Broadway, asking
him, "Do you think that Cora Manning is in hiding because of that
quarrel?"

He did not answer until we were skimming along the Drive. "No," he said
quietly then, "I don't think so."

"Do you believe she killed Darwin?" I persisted.

"No, I don't. It was not a woman's job, but I do believe she can prove
for us when he died," he answered. "And through her I hope to locate the
criminal."

"If she is the woman in the case, she must be shielding the man or she
would have come forward long ago to free Ruth," I pointed out.

"Or he may be holding her a prisoner because she knows too much for his
peace of mind and body," he retorted. "That puts a different complexion
on it."

"In that case he will murder her, too, before we can reach her," I said
in a horrified voice.

"A man kills the woman he loves for only one reason, which does not
exist in this case," he replied.

"Good heavens!" I said. "The criminal in love with Cora Manning! Then
you mean that Lee killed his uncle?"

McKelvie shrugged. "That I can't presume to say. Perhaps it's
Lee--perhaps it's another. Remember this. If Richard Trenton knew her,
ten to one he was in love with her, too. I have seen her picture."

Which statement, since I was a man, only increased my eagerness to see
the fair Cora.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE SIGNET RING


At McKelvie's request I parked my car a block from the house and we
traversed that distance in silence, entering the grounds as though we
had come on no good errand. When we reached the house McKelvie piloted
me to the back and rang the servants' bell. It was late, after six, and
growing dark so that Mason was hardly to be blamed if he failed to
recognize us, especially as he did not expect to see us again so soon.

"It's Mr. Davies, Mason," said McKelvie. "Will you let us in to the main
wing through the passageway, please?"

"Yes, sir," returned Mason. "This way, sir, if you please."

He led us through the passageway and opened the door into the main wing,
going ahead of us to switch on the light in the hall.

"That is all. Leave the door open into the passageway. We shall probably
depart the way we entered."

"Very good, sir."

McKelvie waited until the old man had shuffled away before he approached
the study door. It was little more than six hours since we had been in
that room, yet it seemed more like a week to me, so many things had
cropped up in the interval, and I waited impatiently for McKelvie to
turn the knob of the door.

"I thought I heard someone in there," he whispered, and flung open the
door.

For one swift instant I had the impression of a glaring eye that winked
and faded as I looked, then only darkness confronted us, darkness and a
brooding stillness in which I could hear my very heart-beats.

McKelvie stepped into the room and found the switch, then as the study
was flooded with light, he turned and sped toward the safe with me at
his heels.

"The windows," he said tersely, as he spun the dial. "See if anyone is
hiding behind those curtains."

I hurried to the windows and swept back the hangings. There was no one
there, and I turned back to the safe just as McKelvie stood up and swung
open the door.

"Come on," he said, thrusting his skeleton key into the inner door.
"Don't forget to stoop and be careful to make no noise."

I followed him as he lighted his flash, and passed quickly through the
secret room to the door at the head of the stairs. Unlocking this he
motioned me to keep near him, and together we crept down the stone
staircase and out into the night. We listened a moment, but the only
thing we heard was the wind in the trees, which seemed to mock us
shrilly as we peered into the dusk beyond.

"Come on back," said McKelvie quietly. "We have work to do yonder," and
he nodded toward the entrance.

Wonderingly I obeyed him but asked no questions as he relocked the door
and led the way back to the secret room. Here he paused to turn on the
light and then lifting the divan aside with my help, he knelt and felt
the wall against which it had been placed.

"What is it?" I whispered. His haste and mysterious actions made me feel
somehow that to speak aloud would be to commit an unpardonable offense.

He raised his head as though listening to sounds from without, then he
sprang to his feet.

"The divan, quick, and no noise," he whispered.

I stooped to help him and as we lifted the divan to its place the fringe
of the cover caught in my cuff-link. I tried to untangle it, but
McKelvie had no time for such niceties. He wrenched the fringe free,
leaving a strand in my link, and as he did so something fell to the
floor and rolled along the carpet. He pounced upon the object, then
suddenly turned and switched off the light. By the aid of his flash he
crept to the rear door, and I distinctly heard the sound of steps on
those stairs as McKelvie unlocked the door.

With a sudden movement he pulled the door open and flashed his light on
the stairs. Again there was nothing but darkness and brooding stillness,
and I could see that the door at the bottom was tightly closed.

"Well, I'll be hanged," muttered McKelvie. "I must be hearing things.
Let's get back to the study."

We returned to the brightly lighted room and McKelvie locked up behind
him with scrupulous care. Then he went over to the table and seated
himself at its head in the chair in which Darwin had been found, and
motioned me to take the place beside him.

"Funny thing," he said presently. "I could have sworn there was someone
in this room when we first entered. I'm positive I saw this lamp go
out."

"Was that it?" I answered. "It looked like an eye to me, a great glaring
eye that faded as I gazed."

"You saw it too, then? I'm glad of that," he returned. "I was beginning
to think I was the victim of hallucination. No, it was the lamp, which
means someone was in that safe. However, he had the start of us, and
there is not much use in trying to catch him at present."

"Who was it?" I asked eagerly. "Do you suspect?"

He made no answer but took from his pocket the object which had fallen
from the divan. It was a heavy gold ring, evidently a man's. He looked
at it critically and then held it out to me.

"Do you know whose it is?" he asked low.

Before I could take it from him he hastily slipped it back into his
pocket and leaning closer, said in my ear, "Don't make a sound, but look
at the safe door. Then turn back and listen to me as though nothing were
amiss."

I was sitting around the corner from the head of the table with my chair
turned slightly in McKelvie's direction so that my back was partly
toward the safe. At his words I turned and looked at the safe door,
expecting I know not what, and to my amazement I saw that the knob of
the dial was turning silently and apparently of itself!

There was only one explanation. Someone was opening the door of the safe
from the inside, somebody who knew the combination which McKelvie had
used! And yet how could anyone have cognizance of the six letters
McKelvie had picked out to close the safe. For this was no attempt such
as Jenkins had made, no adept manipulation, since the dial was turning
with precision, as though the hand that twirled it knew exactly how to
spin it.

McKelvie's foot on mine recalled the remainder of his injunction, and
turning back, I held out my hand for the ring. His lips formed the word,
"No," and his eyes directed me to what he held in his hand. It was Lee
Darwin's stick-pin.

"I thought there was someone in the room when we entered," he said in a
clear voice, "but since you say you did not see the light, why I must
have been mistaken. The case is getting on my nerves, and nerves are
queer things when they begin to jump. I've been working too hard, and
it's time I took a vacation."

He paused, and I had an uncomfortable feeling that whoever was in the
safe had succeeded in opening it and was gazing at us from behind the
shelter of the door. I shuddered as I realized the intensity of those
unseen eyes which held me riveted to my chair. I longed to turn around
and look and so break the spell, but McKelvie's glance on mine forbade
it.

"I'm convinced that Lee killed his uncle," he continued. "The stick-pin
proves his presence, and doubtless he had knowledge of the entrance.
There is nothing more to be learned from this study. My work from now on
must be conducted outside. As I said, I've got a man in the South and
until he picks up Lee's trail there is nothing more to be done."

He stood up and put the pin away. "I'm dog tired. We've had a strenuous
day. Take me home, Mr. Davies. I've earned a few days' rest."

Disappointedly I looked up at him. He spoke very convincingly and he did
look tired, but somehow I had hoped that the ring had opened up a new
line of inquiry for the morrow. Inaction was hateful to me while Ruth
remained a prisoner. I wanted to be up and doing, even if it was only
following a false scent.

"Come on, Mr. Davies. It's long past dinner time," he said impatiently.

"All right," I said reluctantly, rising and glancing casually at the
safe as I did so. To my surprise the door was closed and had the
appearance of never having been touched. Was I too beginning to have
hallucinations?

A warning pressure as McKelvie took my arm made me mask whatever
astonishment I felt, and also made me hasten with him from the room
without a backward glance. When we were in the hall I opened my mouth to
question him, but he shook his head and hurried me along to the door
leading into the servants' wing.

"Wait here a moment," he said, indicating the passageway. "I'll be back
in a second. Keep the door closed."

He disappeared down a side hall and I stepped into the passageway and
closed the door, wondering what it was all about, and particularly who
the man was who had evaded us to-night, if it was a man and not a freak
of my imagination. Still, McKelvie had heard him, too, and it was hardly
likely that both of us were dreaming.

"Come, we'll have to hurry," said McKelvie, returning suddenly.

In silence we let ourselves out the back door and crept through the
grounds to the gate. In another minute we had gained the corner and my
car.

As I drove toward town I remarked, "Was there really someone in that
safe, McKelvie?"

"Certainly. I thought I was mistaken at first, but he came back again,
as you observed. I thought you looked uneasy while I was talking," he
said laughing.

I reddened. "It wasn't very pleasant to feel his eyes on me and be
forbidden to see who it was. You were facing the safe. You saw him?" I
questioned.

"No, I didn't see him. He was too clever to risk that. He knew we were
there, and he came to find out how much progress we had made toward
putting him behind the bars where he belongs," retorted McKelvie
grimly.

"You don't mean to tell me that it was the criminal himself who had the
nerve to come there to-night?" I said.

"It must have been, for who else has a key to those doors? Remember that
he took Darwin's key, and mine is the only other one that will open
those locks. Also he would be too clever to take anyone else into his
confidence," he replied.

"How did he know the combination that you used?" I continued.

McKelvie laughed. "When I locked the safe the other day I used the word,
Darwin, the one you suggested. He has since made himself acquainted with
that combination. Just as he was too clever to change it so that I would
believe the safe untampered with, so was I too clever to let him know
that I suspected his visits."

I nodded. "Why didn't you go over to the safe and capture him then?" I
asked. "You missed an opportunity."

"What happened when we chased him before? The moment he saw us making
for the safe he would be gone. Besides, I was playing a little game. I
had put him on his guard by hunting for him. I decided to trick him into
thinking that I no longer had any interest in him."

"Then all that very convincing conversation----"

"Was mere bunk," he answered. "I'm glad it was convincing, though, for I
was trying to fool a very clever devil."

He fished around in his pocket and drew out the ring. I could see it
gleam in the light of the street lamps as we sped toward the park.

"Strange. I had an idea that there was a secret panel or something of
the sort where he could hide such things as he needed, for I could
figure no other reason for his coming to that house, and that is what I
was hunting for when you so opportunely caught your cuff-link in that
Persian cover. This ring must have been tangled in the fringe and when I
yanked the cover I dislodged the ring. That was a stroke of pure luck,
and it changes the whole course of the inquiry. Word from Chicago would
have told me something, but not as much as this band of gold does. Take
a good look at it and tell me whose it is."

He took out his flash and played it over the ring while I looked at it.
Then I turned away, feeling sick at heart. The ring was a heavy gold
signet with a deep-cut monogram, and it was a ring I knew only too well,
since I had bought it myself at Ruth's request that she might give it to
her brother on his birthday. That was three years ago, and what a very
happy time it had been and how pleased Dick had seemed to receive the
ring, for he always made a fuss over Ruth. I remember that he swore to
wear it always as he slipped it on his finger, and now here it was
cropping up to bring more misery to the girl I wanted most to shield
from all harm and sorrow.

"Well?" McKelvie's voice broke the thread of my thought.

"It's Dick Trenton's," I said low. "And now shall I drive you home?"

"Home? I should say not!" he almost shouted. "We're going to get some
dinner and then we're off to Water Street. The trail's too hot to turn
aside now."




CHAPTER XXV

THE DECEPTION


I did drive McKelvie home after all, for he quite suddenly insisted that
I partake of his hospitality, saying that we should find a better dinner
at his house than at any restaurant in Greater New York. From there I
phoned Jenkins to look after Mr. Trenton, and then followed McKelvie
into a low-ceilinged old room lighted by a mellow glow which made the
heavy mahogany furniture seem even more ancient than it really was.

I had not realized how tired I was mentally and physically (it's hard
work racing around the city in a car) until I faced my host across the
table, and saw how weary he looked. He smiled a little as I
unconsciously relaxed after partaking of the soup which the old darky
had served to us.

"Mr. Davies," he said, "I shouldn't drag you around with me. It's not
fair to you. Go on home after dinner and I'll go to Water Street alone."

"You are tired, too," I returned.

"I'm paid to do this work. It's part of my business to chase after
clues," he said. "You are my client, so to speak, and the client is not
expected to aid the cause except in furnishing the means to carry it
on."

But I shook my head. "I'm too keen on the result to stop now," I
replied.

"Even if it should lead you into unforeseen channels?" he queried.

"Even so. Ruth is the first consideration," I responded firmly.

"Very well, and now the best thing we can do is to cease talking about
it," and forthwith he launched into an account of a trip he had once
taken through Africa.

He was a born narrator, and under the spell of his voice and the
influence of that most excellent dinner, cooked as only Southern darkies
know how to cook, I forgot the problem that was troubling me, forgot
that there were such things as crimes and criminals; aye, even forgot
that there was such a place on the globe as New York City, while I
followed McKelvie on a lion hunt in the heart of northern Africa.

"And that's where I got that skin," he said, as we rose and sauntered
into the living-room.

I gazed at the great rug spread out before the fireplace, and pictured
to myself how it had looked the day McKelvie shot it when he spoke
again.

"I'm afraid we'll have to smoke our cigars on the way. It's getting
late."

With a sigh I returned to the business in hand, and as I drove through
the poorer sections of New York on my way to Water Street my mind
reverted to the first time I had visited that locality, which brought me
around to Dick and the signet ring. So Dick had been in the Darwin home
that night, and since his ring was in the secret room, then he must have
been behind the safe at some time during the evening. McKelvie claimed
that the criminal was hiding in the safe when Orton entered the room at
eleven-thirty, but he also maintained that the criminal was the man we
had heard when we ourselves had been in the study this very evening. If
that were the truth then it could hardly have been Dick, since Dick was
dead. Yet what did McKelvie hope to learn by visiting the scene of the
suicide?

When we reached Water Street we pulled up before the lodging house where
Dick had stayed and rang the bell. Mrs. Blake opened the door and eyed
us suspiciously.

"No lodgings," she said uncompromisingly, beginning to close the door.

"Just a moment. We don't want lodgings," said McKelvie crisply, at the
same time displaying a bill as he held his hand toward the lighted
doorway. "We want you to answer a few questions."

Seeing that we were not of the class to which she was accustomed, and
her suspicions allayed by the greenback, she wiped her hands on her
apron and asked us in.

We went as far as the hallway, which was more ill-smelling than when I
had first made its acquaintance, and paused near the shabby old
staircase.

"On the tenth of October a lodger of yours committed suicide by
drowning," said McKelvie abruptly. "Is this the man?"

He took a photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. As she
grasped it I had a glimpse of the pictured face and was not surprised to
note that it was Dick's.

"Well, I won't say for sure. It looks like the same man, only 'tother
was more like the men I takes to lodge," said Mrs. Blake after gazing at
the photograph.

"And this one looks like a gentleman, is that it?" supplemented McKelvie
with a smile.

The woman nodded, and taking a piece of charcoal from his pocket
McKelvie reclaimed the photograph and proceeded to blacken the lower
part of the face, giving Dick an untidy appearance, as though he had
not shaved for a week or more. Then he showed it to her again.

"Yes, sir. It looks more like him now," she added.

McKelvie pocketed the picture. "What's the name of the man who told you
about the suicide?"

"Ben Kite."

"Thank you," and he placed the bill in her hands.

"Phew! It's good to get out into the fresh air. How do they stand it!" I
exclaimed.

"So used to it they don't even notice it," McKelvie returned with a
shrug. "Drive down to the wharves and we'll have a talk with Ben Kite,
if we can find him."

"What do you expect to learn by all this questioning?" I inquired
anxiously.

He did not answer except to draw my attention to a group of men lounging
on the wharf. "Stay in the machine while I find out if Kite is among
them."

He alighted and approached the group, but it was too dark for me to be
able to distinguish more than a general blur of outlines.

"Can you tell me where I can find Ben Kite to-night?" I heard McKelvie
ask.

"Who wants 'im?" growled a coarse voice in answer.

"I do," replied McKelvie.

"What you want, stranger?" remarked the same voice again.

"Are you Ben Kite?"

"That's the name me mither give me," the man returned, detaching himself
from the group, which laughed immoderately at his words. "What you
want?"

"A moment's conversation and I'll make it worth your while, but I don't
care particularly for an audience. Do you see that car? Tell your
friends to remain where they are. You'll find me waiting in the machine
if you want a ten-spot."

McKelvie returned to my side and entered the machine. Hardly had he
settled himself when the man was beside us. He was the same fellow I had
questioned. I knew his ugly face in the light cast upon it by the lamp
under which I had parked, but he failed to recognize me, since my face
was in shadow.

"On October the tenth a man who lodged at Mrs. Blake's jumped into the
East River and was drowned. Am I right?" asked McKelvie without
preliminary.

"Sure. I told the bulls all I knowed at the time," responded Kite.

"I know. But I want the information first hand. He came to the wharf and
jumped in. Was that the way it happened?"

"Sort of like that. When I seed him he was right on the edge. I hallooed
and he flung up his arms high and duve in. I ran to the edge, but he
never cum up. Current got 'im, I guess," answered Kite indifferently.

"And the body has not been recovered?" continued McKelvie.

The man grinned. "Well, they ain't had time. It's only four days. He
might bob up yet."

I shuddered at the callous way in which he spoke of this boy of whom I
had been fond.

"Is this the man?" McKelvie turned his flash on the picture.

"Sure, that's 'im, all right."

"Thank you. Here's your money. Drive quickly, Mr. Davies," McKelvie
added in my ear as the man moved away. "If they think we have money they
may try to get some of it for themselves."

I gave the car more gas and we were speeding round the corner before the
man had more than joined his friends.

"Where did you get that picture of Dick? I do not recall having seen it
before. It must be a recent one, for he looks older than I remember
him."

"What picture of Dick?" he asked.

"The one you just showed Kite," I returned.

"Oh, that. I noticed it this morning when I examined the house, before
your arrival, and that is what I went back to get after our adventure in
the study to-night."

"Do you think the body will ever be recovered?" I asked as we turned
into the Bowery from Catherine Street.

"No. It would be a very strange thing to recover a corpse that never
existed," McKelvie responded grimly.

"A corpse that never existed," I repeated slowly and recalled my own
doubts when Jones had first given me the news. "I understand. He was
hardly likely to drown, since he could swim too well."

"Yes. Kite told us that plainly to-night. His words were: 'He flung his
arms high and dove in,' which meant that he could dive; from which I
deduced that he was probably a good swimmer. When a man who can swim,
strikes the water his instinct is to swim, no matter how much he may
want to drown. Besides, a suicide generally goes in feet first, not head
first, for it takes a lot of skill to dive, even when you don't
contemplate drowning," he replied, giving me his line of reasoning.

"Then he left his things at Mrs. Blake's to create the impression that
he had committed suicide," I said heavily.

"Yes, so that the world would believe that Richard Trenton had drowned
himself," returned McKelvie.

"But why? In God's name why? Not because he--" I broke off, unable to
finish. Yes, I know I had dallied with the thought before, but then it
had only been conjecture with the belief that such a thing was
impossible to sustain me. Now, however, it was grim reality that stared
me in the face. What other reason could Dick have for the deception
which he had practised upon us all?

"We're not going to jump at conclusions, Mr. Davies." McKelvie laid a
hand on my arm. "He may have had good reasons for his act."

"What reasons could he possibly have?" I said impatiently.

"When I hear from Chicago, which ought to be any day now, I can answer
that question more definitely. Until then we will give him the benefit
of the doubt, for, after all, he is not the only one who has vanished
without a trace, nor, which is more important, is he the only one in
love with Cora Manning," he added significantly.

"That's the second time you've mentioned that the criminal is in love
with Cora Manning," I said, as we neared his house. "But there seems to
me to be a flaw in that assumption."

"Why?"

"It stands to reason, does it not, that if the murderer loves Miss
Manning he must know that she uses rose jacqueminot perfume?" I
remarked.

"Yes, he knows it," agreed McKelvie. "In fact, it wouldn't surprise me
if he owned one of those yellow satin sachet bags himself."

"Then he can't be as clever as you make out, or he would never have
made the mistake of putting a handkerchief scented with rose jacqueminot
in Mr. Darwin's hands, under the belief that it belonged to Ruth,
particularly if he saw Cora Manning in the study."

McKelvie smiled. "Do you remember my saying that Lee's use of rose
jacqueminot looked bad for him? It was because of that handkerchief that
I made the assertion. The criminal, as I said before, uses rose
jacqueminot, and he has become so accustomed to the scent of it that his
olfactory nerves have lost the power to respond to it except when it is
present in a fairly detectable amount. There was only the merest trace
on that handkerchief, indistinguishable to him, and, therefore, deeming
it unscented, he decided it belonged to Mrs. Darwin. I have an idea that
he found it somewhere near the door leading into the hall. He would have
done better to carry away the handkerchief with him, but like all the
rest of his kind, he could not resist the chance to strengthen the
evidence against Mrs. Darwin and so put himself into our hands," he
explained.

"But what applies to Lee, applies to Dick as well," I returned. "He also
possesses a yellow satin sachet bag."

"Yes, that is true," he responded as he alighted before his door.
"Therefore we have no right to condemn one more than the other until we
have a few more facts at our disposal. I'll call you if there are any
new developments. By the way, don't tell Mr. Trenton that his son did
not commit suicide until we know definitely what happened in the study
that night. _Au revoir_, Mr. Davies."

"I understand. Good-night, McKelvie," I replied.




CHAPTER XXVI

JAMES GILMORE


In the morning I returned to the office, for I could hardly expect my
partner to carry on the business alone very much longer. He was
extremely interested in the mystery because of my connection with it and
also because he knew Ruth personally, and asked me what progress we had
made so far. I told him all the various facts that McKelvie had dug up
and he looked very grave when he learned the truth about Dick's
pretended suicide. We were still discussing the matter when McKelvie
called me on the phone to say that he had word from Chicago and would
like me to hear what Dick's friend had to say.

"What is it, a new clue?" asked my partner curiously.

I repeated McKelvie's communication, saying that I was sorry to have to
abandon him again, but that I would be back as soon as I could get away.

My partner clapped me on the shoulder. "That's all right, old man, you
need not feel obliged to get back. I'll worry along somehow without
you," he said kindly, adding with a laugh, "besides, you're worse than
useless any way with this business uppermost in your mind. You'd be apt
to make a bear out of a bull market," and his eyes twinkled.

So I drove to McKelvie's house and found him in his living-room talking
to an old-young man of some thirty odd years, whose hair was quite gray
and whose skin had a peculiar dead look, as though he had spent a part
of his life shut away from the sunlight.

"Mr. Davies," said McKelvie when he had introduced me, "James Gilmore is
a friend of Dick Trenton, and he has come from Chicago in answer to my
request to relate to us what he knows of young Trenton's movements."

James Gilmore nodded. "If you have no objections I'm going to begin
further back a bit so that you will understand how I came to be mixed up
in this affair. Ten years ago I was a teller in the Darwin Bank. I was
twenty-one, ambitious, and eager to make as much money as my pals. My
salary was small, but the son of one of the directors, Philip Darwin,
who was just a few years older than myself, took a fancy to me and told
me that he could help me to make all the money that I wanted. I was
young and foolish and I trusted him. I took money from the bank and gave
it to him to speculate with, money that he feared to take himself,
though I blame only myself for my folly. I did not have to steal, for,
in a measure, I knew the risk I ran. But he was such a smooth fellow,
and being the son of a director he declared that he could prevent any
chance inspections, and I would have the money to replace long before an
accounting was made. I believed him, and two days after I had given him
the money we had an unexpected visit from the inspectors, and I was
caught short. I went to Darwin for the money, but he shrugged his
shoulders and said that the market had gone against him and that that
was a risk that I had to stand. There was nothing to do but face the
music, for, of course, his part in the affair never came to light at
all."

James Gilmore broke off to add with bitter emphasis, "He was the son of
a rich man, and I was poor, and so I paid for what he gained, for I
have since learned that he made money on that deal and kept it all, damn
him!

"Well, I got ten years, since it was my first offense," he continued
presently in a quieter tone, "and when I got out last March I vowed
vengeance upon him. I found out what he was doing and where he spent his
evenings, and one night in the beginning of April I ran across a chap
whom I had met in Sing Sing. He told me that he had been hired by a man
to quarrel at cards with some boy whom this man was trying to ruin. The
place was one of the resorts that Darwin attended and the scheme sounded
like the sort of thing he would be capable of, so I asked this fellow,
Coombs, if I could sit in at the game, and he answered. 'Yes, just drop
in and I'll say you're a pal of mine.'

"That night I repaired to a private room in the rear of the gambling den
and took a seat in a corner until Darwin and the boy had come in. They
were disguised, but Coombs gave me the wink, and instinct, a feeling of
antipathy, told me that the older man was Darwin, although I did not
really see his face, for the light was bad. When I joined them, Darwin
frowned, not because he recognized me (there was no danger of that--ten
years in jail make a difference in a man), but because he wanted no one
interfering with his plans. We began to play, and then Coombs, as per
orders, cheated, cheated so openly it was a farce. But the boy had been
drinking and he hadn't the wit to see that he was being made a fool of.
He accused Coombs of double dealing, and Coombs jumped up and made for
him with his chair, whereupon Darwin pulled out a gun and fired two
shots in rapid succession. The first one bowled Coombs over, but I
sensed what was coming and the second shot went over my head as I
ducked. However, I dropped to the floor, deeming discretion the better
part of valor. Then I saw Darwin press the pistol into the boy's hand,
firing another shot as he did so and exclaiming, 'You've done for him,
Dick, but don't worry, I'll get you away, never fear.'

"A terrific pounding ensued on the door at this moment and calls and
yells came from the main room. Darwin sprang for the light and
extinguished it, and seeing my chance I, too, sneaked away by the rear
entrance just as the inner door gave way. I didn't want to be accused of
having killed Coombs, and I knew that I could not implicate Darwin,
since at no time had I seen his face. I was an ex-convict, and he a
prominent and wealthy man. It was my word against his. What chance had I
of using my knowledge to account?

"The murder of Coombs came out in the paper, and there was quite a to-do
over it, and fearing that someone might recall that I had been there
lately, and that I also knew Coombs, I lit out for the West. In
September I drifted to Chicago, and having found a job, looked for a
boarding-place. I found a very respectable home and there made the
acquaintance of a handsome young fellow who called himself Richard
Trenton. I wondered about him, since he seemed above his surroundings,
but never was really intimate until I happened into his room to borrow a
book that he had offered to lend me and found him at his desk writing
the name Philip Darwin over and over on a sheet of paper.

"I was stunned for the moment, and then I found voice to say, 'You know
him, too?'

"'Yes,' he said bitterly. 'Do you?'

"I nodded. 'Yes, I ought to know him. I served ten years in jail on his
account,' I said.

"'Tell me about it,' he demanded.

"When I was through he sat for a while in silence and then he said, 'He
has harmed me, too, but only in taking advantage of my own folly,' and
then he told me the story that Philip Darwin had concocted for his
benefit, a story which he, Dick Trenton, was too drunk to have been able
to contradict. He had quarreled with a man and had pulled out a gun and
killed the fellow and Darwin, like an angel of mercy, had got him away
and saved him from the chair.

"When I heard that I let out a yell and told him the truth. He was mad
then, mad enough to kill, and he swore he would go back to New York to
have it out with Darwin. Then suddenly he seemed to recall something and
just collapsed, and when I urged him to go and revenge himself, all he
did was to shake his head.

"'He forced my sister to marry him to save my life.' he said hoarsely,
clenching his hands. 'I must free her first and then--he shall pay.'

"Under those circumstances things were different, so we concocted a
letter and sent it to Darwin, telling him we had proofs of his perfidy,
and he must promise to let his wife divorce him at once or face the
consequences. As soon as he got the letter there came a telegram from
him, saying that his lawyer, who was in his confidence, was on his way
to Chicago to confer with us. Well, we awaited the lawyer's arrival, and
he came to the house and asked for Trenton. He was a red-whiskered,
red-haired fellow called Cunningham, and he asked us for proofs of what
we knew.

"Trenton did the talking, and he said that he could prove that it was
Darwin who had fired the pistol, that he could produce several witnesses
to that effect, that he had been investigating the thing for months. All
this was pure bluff, of course, but the old chap came off his high horse
and said that his client had deceived him and that under the
circumstances he had nothing more to say. He would return to New York
and advise that Mrs. Darwin be allowed her divorce and after that why he
had no objections if we saw fit to punish Darwin.

"Seeing that we had won over the lawyer, we waited eagerly for news of
the divorce proceedings, but in the beginning of October there came a
long letter from Darwin. He explained that his lawyer had called on him
and that in view of the fact that we had the proofs he was willing to
grant Mrs. Darwin the chance to divorce him, but there was one
difficulty in the way of that. Mrs. Darwin did not want a divorce, and
he thought it was best for Dick to come to New York to see him
personally before any actions were taken. Then Dick could talk to his
sister and matters could be arranged to the satisfaction of all parties.
If this was agreeable Dick would find him home at eleven-thirty on the
night of October seventh.

"Well, we talked it over, and as Mrs. Darwin's letters had always been
very cheerful and never held any complaint about her married life, why,
we were in a quandary, for, of course, we couldn't expect Darwin to
denounce himself to her. So the upshot was that Dick telegraphed that he
would confer with Darwin. I told him to go armed, as I didn't trust
Darwin around the corner, and Dick promised, though he said with a laugh
that he knew where Darwin kept his pistol, and it would be easier to
borrow that than to try to buy a new one.

"I saw him off, and then on the evening of the eighth I read about the
murder in the papers. Right away I jumped to the conclusion that Dick
had fired the shot, but when I read further I was amazed to see that the
murder was the result of a quarrel between husband and wife and that
Dick hadn't been there at all. I wondered why he didn't send me word,
and then two days later I saw an account of his suicide in the papers. I
couldn't quite figure it out, and finally decided that he had arrived
too late to prevent the tragedy and drowned himself in a fit of grief."

James Gilmore shook his head in a perplexed way. "And now this gentleman
tells me that Dick didn't commit suicide, and I understand it less than
ever. There is one thing sure. He's not in Chicago. The police got your
message, and after combing the city went to his boarding-place for
information, and that's how I caught on that someone was looking for
news of Dick. I said to myself, 'You're the boy to give it,' and here I
am."

"And I am much obliged to you, I am sure," said McKelvie. "You have
helped me immensely. And now that we may be absolutely sure that no
mistake has been made, take a look at this picture and tell me whether
you recognize it."

He handed Gilmore a photograph of Dick, an old one, not the one which he
had blackened for Mrs. Blake, and Gilmore nodded quickly.

"Sure that's Dick Trenton, all right, except that he was wearing a very
full beard when I met him. He told me he grew it as a disguise, but that
he intended to shave it off the moment he reached New York. He said his
sister would disown him if he looked like Daniel Boone."

McKelvie nodded, and I added, "He evidently kept his word, since he had
only a stubble when he pretended suicide, poor boy."

"When you discover where he is, let me know," said Gilmore, rising.
"Take my word for it, he is somewhere in this burg. Well, I must be
going. There are some of my pals I want to look up before I go back to
Chi. I'll keep my top eye open, and if I get a hint I'll let you know."

"I wish you would. Thank you again," said McKelvie, escorting Gilmore to
the door.

When he returned his eyes were shining. "Well, that was worth-while
news," he said smiling.

"It certainly was, providing he hasn't--" I said with a gesture.

"We won't spoil it by dwelling on that fact. Remember what I said last
night. Stay for luncheon and then give me the benefit of your services
as chauffeur. I know you will want to go with me, for I am going to ask
Mr. Cunningham what advice he gave his client about this most
interesting affair."




CHAPTER XXVII

THE STRONG BOX


After a luncheon, to which I did full justice, McKelvie flipped over the
pages of the city directory and studied the section devoted to
Cunninghams.

"That's rather peculiar," he said. "He has no office in the city. If he
is a lawyer, where does he conduct his practice? Something wrong,
somewhere. Come on. We'll get him at his apartments."

We drove to 84th Street and inquired for Cunningham.

"Mr. Cunningham? He's not at home," replied the switchboard operator in
the hallway of the fashionable apartment house.

"Do you mean that he is out of town?" asked McKelvie anxiously.

"Oh, no. He'll be back at five, I guess. That's the time he usually
comes in when he's in the city," said the girl, bestowing a fetching
smile upon my companion.

McKelvie improved the acquaintance. He returned the smile. "Is he away
very much?"

"Yes, quite a bit."

"Thank you, and you need not mention that I was asking about him. He
might not like it," remarked McKelvie.

"You said it. He's closer than a clam about himself," she returned with
a little toss of her head.

"Our friend Cunningham was once quite attentive in that quarter,"
explained McKelvie with a laugh as we drove away. "So much I learned
when I first came here, and so I proceeded to make friends with Jane."

"Where to?" I inquired, laughing. "Home?"

"No, the Darwin Bank. I have a mind to see whether our lawyer friend,
who has no office, possesses a sufficient capital to live on his income.
Mr. Trenton is the best man to apply to I guess, since I have already
learned that Cunningham keeps an account at his bank."

When we arrived at the bank I sent my card in, and we were admitted at
once to Mr. Trenton's private office.

"What is it, Carlton?" he asked fearfully.

"Good news," I replied, "which I should like you to convey to Ruth" (I
had ceased visiting her at her own request), and I told him Gilmore's
story.

Mr. Trenton beamed on McKelvie when I had finished the tale. "My dear
sir, this is all your doing. How can I ever thank you? You have lifted a
great load from my mind, and I can think of him with great pity now
instead of horror in my heart."

He bowed his head and I was glad he did not know that Dick was alive. It
was far better that he think his son drowned than that he know that Dick
was somewhere in New York, afraid to come home.

"Mr. Trenton," said McKelvie presently, "I came here primarily to obtain
some information. Philip Darwin had an account here, did he not?"

"Raines can tell you," Mr. Trenton replied, ringing for the head
cashier.

I nodded to the young man as he entered, for we were acquainted and Mr.
Trenton introduced him to McKelvie, adding, "And Mr. Raines, you have
my authority to tell Mr. McKelvie whatever he desires to know."

"I'm at your service, Mr. McKelvie," responded Raines, with a cordial
smile.

"I wish to know whether Philip Darwin has a bank balance here and if so
how much," said McKelvie, getting down to business at once.

"He closed out his account on the sixth of October," replied Raines.
"I'm not likely to forget it, since it was the very next night that he
was murdered."

"And the amount of his balance was--" repeated McKelvie.

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I gave him the money myself."

"Did he take it in gold or notes?" asked McKelvie.

"In bills of large denominations, so that it did not make such a very
large package to carry. He put it into a small bag and took it away
himself."

McKelvie took a turn around the room and then asked abruptly, "Does a
Mr. Herbert Cunningham, who lives on 84th Street, bank here?"

"Yes. He's a red-whiskered chap, is he not?"

McKelvie nodded. "Can you give me the amount of his balance?"

"I'll get it for you in just a moment." Raines left the room and
McKelvie continued to pace the floor.

"What do you suppose Philip did with all that money?" asked Mr. Trenton.

"That's what I'm going to find out," returned McKelvie. "I have an idea
I know where it is."

"According to Cunningham, Darwin lost it on Wall Street," I said.

"Yes, and according to Orton Darwin was a cautious speculator. I'll
wager the secretary was the better judge of Darwin's character. Orton's
shrewd for all that he's a wretched creature. No, that money did not go
into Wall Street, and I'm going to locate it in just a moment. Well?" as
Raines came in again.

"Cunningham's balance is ten thousand dollars," returned Raines.

"Any increase lately?" asked McKelvie.

"No, just a steady decrease," answered the cashier.

"Has he a strong box?"

"Yes, he has."

"May I examine its contents?" inquired McKelvie.

Raines looked at Mr. Trenton.

"It's all right. I'll come along, too," and Mr. Trenton rose.

"By the way, Mr. Raines," said McKelvie, "I should like this
investigation conducted as inconspicuously as possible. I'm a rich
eccentric who wants to hire a strong box, if anyone asks any questions."

"All right, sir. Whatever Mr. Trenton says goes. I'll meet you
downstairs with the key," replied Raines.

Mr. Trenton conducted us through the bank corridor to the rear of the
building and down a flight of stone steps to the entrance to the vault.
The guard swung open the heavy door with a "good-afternoon, sir," to Mr.
Trenton, and we entered the fireproof room where the safe deposit boxes
were kept and paused before the one marked Cunningham.

When Raines came in he inserted the master key in the lock and opened
the deposit box. Inside was a smaller tin cash box and when he lifted
the lid, for it was unlocked, we saw that it was crammed with bills.
Raines' eyes opened wide with amazement, and if McKelvie hadn't caught
the box it would have fallen from his nerveless fingers.

"Mr. McKelvie," he said in a strange voice, pointing to the contents of
the box, "those are the bills I gave to Philip Darwin!"

"I thought as much," said McKelvie seriously. "Lock up this box again.
Until we can prove that Cunningham has no right to the money, we cannot
confiscate it. Thank you very much, Mr. Trenton, for your kindness in
allowing me this privilege, and I'd be much obliged if you will say
nothing to anyone about our discovery. You'll excuse us if we hurry
along?"

Mr. Trenton nodded and we hastened out, leaving the president and the
cashier to lock up the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in
Cunningham's strong box.

"So Cunningham has the money," I remarked as we drove toward Stuyvesant
Square. "Can it be he murdered Darwin, and then helped himself to the
bills. The cash box in the safe was found empty," I added.

McKelvie smiled grimly. "Oh, no, he didn't steal the money. I don't
believe it was ever in the house on Riverside Drive, but we will make
our friend explain its presence in his strong box just the same. It
should be an interesting account, to say the least," he ended
sarcastically. "Call for me here at five and we'll hear what he has to
say."

I pondered McKelvie's meaning as I returned to the office. The
explanation should be interesting he had said. I agreed with him, yet
after all it could have no direct connection with the murder, since
Philip Darwin had never taken the money home. But how did McKelvie know
this latter fact? Was he merely theorizing, or did he know more than he
had told me? He had not appeared surprised when we discovered that the
lawyer had the money, for he had even hinted that he knew where it was.

I determined to ask him what other information he had upon this point
when I called for him at five o'clock, but at four-thirty, as I was
making ready to leave, he phoned me to postpone our visit. His voice was
so high-pitched with excitement that my questions vanished from my mind
as if by magic, and all I could exclaim was, "What is it? What has
happened?"

"Our friend Cunningham will have a pretty job on his hands explaining
away all the facts I have gathered against him to-day," he exulted.
"He's no more a lawyer than I am, Mr. Davies!"

"Not a lawyer!" I repeated.

"No. He's not registered, and he cannot practise law in New York City!
I'm going to look up one or two more details before we call upon him. Be
at the house at quarter to eight, please, providing, of course, that you
desire to accompany me."

"McKelvie, if you dare to go to 84th Street without me, there's going to
be trouble between us," I warned and he laughed gayly as he rang off.




CHAPTER XXVIII

GOLD AND BLUE


Though I was impatient to interview Cunningham, it was almost
eight-thirty before we arrived at 84th Street, for on the way we had a
blowout and the garage attendant was the slowest specimen of his type
that I had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Cunningham himself, debonair and genial as usual, admitted us into his
apartment and invited us into what he designated as his smoking-room. It
was a medium-sized room furnished in good taste, and as I sank into the
depths of a luxurious arm-chair and accepted the cigar he offered me I
felt assured that Cunningham could reasonably explain away the doubts
which I had lately entertained toward him. Yes, the personality of the
man and the soothing influence of that rare cigar had combined to make
me as eager to hear him justify himself as before I had been anxious to
prove him the murderer of his friend.

But McKelvie was not so easily won over. He accepted a chair and a
cigar, it is true, yet I knew well that he was waiting as a person does
at chess for the next move of his adversary.

"It is very pleasant to have you gentlemen call upon me," said
Cunningham, breaking the silence. "Have you come in a friendly or an
antagonistic spirit, Mr. McKelvie?"

"I have come with an open mind," responded McKelvie quietly.

"Explain yourself, please." Cunningham leaned back and puffed leisurely
at his cigar.

"In an investigation of the sort that I am conducting one stumbles upon
many queer things." McKelvie paused to draw a long puff and to blow a
series of rings toward the ceiling. "As these smoke rings cross and
recross each other and finally merge together, so do the trails in this
case cross and recross each other until they all come together in the
final solution. To distinguish the truth from the myriad bypaths of
coincidence and false testimony is quite an art, I assure you, for I do
not believe in doing any man an injustice. Therefore, I have come here
to-night to give you a chance to explain certain curious facts which
have come to my knowledge."

Cunningham bowed. "I thank you for the consideration, and I shall do my
best to satisfy you."

McKelvie laid aside his cigar. "Are you a lawyer, Mr. Cunningham?" he
asked bluntly.

If he thought to startle the man facing us so calmly McKelvie was
mistaken in his estimate of the lawyer's character. Cunningham removed
his cigar from his mouth, contemplated its lighted end for a moment, and
then replied simply, "I am not registered in New York, if that is what
you mean."

"Then may I ask by what right you constituted yourself Mr. Darwin's
lawyer, and acted as Mrs. Darwin's counsel at the inquest?" continued
McKelvie imperturbably.

Cunningham grinned sardonically. "I fancy that my estimate of the police
coincides with yours, Mr. McKelvie," he said. "They got the idea, from
Orton possibly, that I was Darwin's lawyer. They asked me to attend the
inquest. I assumed the position they thrust upon me. What would you?" he
shrugged whimsically. "It was no time to explain the complicated
relation between us. As far as Mrs. Darwin is concerned, I did not
advise her. In fact, I did not even see her until she entered the
study."

He paused, and then leaned forward and said pointedly as he eyed
McKelvie coolly, "You have asked me if I'm a lawyer. Yes, I am in this
way. I have studied law and was ready for my bar examinations when the
death of an uncle in a foreign country left me wealthy. I had to go
abroad to secure my inheritance, and when I returned I had no desire to
restudy for those examinations. So you see, I am a lawyer without a
sheepskin, but, nevertheless, Philip Darwin had more confidence in my
judgment than in that of the men who legalized his affairs. I have given
him legal advice, yes, as between friend and friend, because I was his
confident and he asked me for it, but I have never attempted to practise
law in New York City or elsewhere. If you doubt my statement you are at
liberty to verify it."

"I don't doubt you, Mr. Cunningham," responded McKelvie quietly. "I know
you haven't practised law. I was merely trying to get the connection
between you and Darwin, since you know so many of his affairs and
represented him in a legal capacity when you went to Chicago to see Dick
Trenton."

A slight tremor of Cunningham's eyelids was the only indication that the
shot had told, but he replied as coolly as ever, "Not in a legal
capacity. He sent me because I was acquainted with the details of the
affair and understood merely that I was to find out how much real proof
the boy had. What Darwin called me in his telegram I do not know, since
I did not see it."

"How do you know he sent a telegram?" queried McKelvie.

"Is this the third degree, Mr. McKelvie?" asked Cunningham, frowning.

"No, Mr. Cunningham. I know it sounds very much like it," apologized
McKelvie, "but it isn't meant to be. You have shown a disposition to aid
us before, and you will help me immensely by making certain matters
clear. Will you answer a few more questions?"

The frown cleared. "Certainly. Glad to assist you. Fire away,"
Cunningham returned indulgently. "And I don't mind saying that Darwin
told me he had sent a telegram when he asked me to go out to Chicago for
him."

"What advice did you give Darwin when you returned from Chicago?"

"I told him that the boy had a strong case and advised him to write and
request Dick himself to see Mrs. Darwin and arrange for the divorce.
Whether he followed my advice or not I don't know."

"For your information let me say that he did follow that advice, that
Young Trenton came to New York and, without apparent cause, committed
suicide. Whether there was an interview between them or not I cannot of
course say positively," was McKelvie's astonishing reply. Why was he
permitting Cunningham to remain in ignorance of our latest discovery
concerning Richard Trenton?

"I'm very sorry to hear this," murmured Cunningham. "I should hate to
think that my advice had brought him to such an end."

McKelvie changed the subject as abruptly as he had introduced it. "You
said you had charge of Darwin's securities. What made you keep them?"
his eyes on the other man's face.

"He was a very peculiar man and hated responsibility. I have cared for
his securities and valuables for many years."

"Are you also caring for the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars that
he drew from the bank and that is now reposing in your strong box?"

Cunningham looked annoyed, and then laughed cynically.

"Nothing escapes you, does it?" he sneered, then in a different tone,
"No, that money is mine. A year ago I loaned Darwin enough to cover a
slump in the market and thus saved him his fortune. I told him I was in
no hurry for it, but as I've remarked more than once, he was peculiar.
He came to me on the sixth and handed me the cash. I asked him what I
should do with all that money in that shape and told him I'd prefer a
check. He said that I'd given him cash and he felt better returning it
in kind. And so he left it. I was going to add it to my bank account,
but I'm going on a trip shortly and decided the cash would be useful to
me. Therefore I put it in my strong-box for safe keeping."

"Thank you very much. Sorry to have disturbed you," said McKelvie,
rising.

"Answers satisfactory?" asked Cunningham with a wry smile.

"Quite."

"And how much nearer to the solution have I carried you?" Cunningham
continued with great politeness.

"Unfortunately I have remained static. Your answers though satisfactory
as far as you yourself are concerned, have not helped me a particle
toward solving my problem. I shall have to resort to desperate measures,
I'm afraid," responded McKelvie, smiling rather oddly.

"Desperate measures, eh? That sounds like business. Before you undertake
this work, honor me by drinking to your ultimate success," returned
Cunningham. "My man is away, so if you will pardon me a moment I will
get the whisky and soda."

The moment Cunningham left the room, McKelvie to my astonishment, sprang
to the heavy portieres through which our host had passed and looked out.
Then he drew back and walking swiftly to a door at the side of the room,
he opened it and darted within.

Wondering what he was up to, I rose and followed him to this doorway and
looked into the room beyond. To my surprise it was a bedroom,
extravagantly but exquisitely furnished in gold and blue, a woman's
boudoir, but I had no time to fix the details in my mind, for at this
moment McKelvie came toward me hurriedly from his search of the
dressing-table.

With a final comprehensive glance, and a whispered, "I thought I heard
his step in the hall," McKelvie closed the door silently while I
retreated to my chair and sank into its comfortable depths, none too
soon. With a clink of glasses, Cunningham entered through the portieres.
He glanced at us rather suspiciously, I thought, but McKelvie was
contemplating the ceiling as he puffed his discarded cigar, and I was
deep in the pages of a book, what book I have no idea.

Cunningham set the tray he carried on the table and poured out the
whisky, allowing us to help ourselves to the soda. Then we raised our
glasses and drank to the toast Cunningham had proposed, though I noticed
that McKelvie merely touched his glass to his lips and set it down
untasted.

"I never drink whisky," he said quietly, as Cunningham raised his brows
in interrogation.

"Is there anything else I can offer you?"

"No, thank you. I appreciate your efforts in my behalf. Good night, Mr.
Cunningham," and McKelvie bowed, a trifle too deeply to be really
sincere.

"Good night, Mr. McKelvie," responded Cunningham, returning the bow.
Then he offered his hand to me. "Good night," he said again as we left.

"What on earth were you doing in that bedroom?" I inquired as we parted
at McKelvie's door. "By the way, it was rather an odd room--for a
bachelor."

"Did you remark the gold and blue? Rather a familiar combination, eh?
Here's the true significance of that very charming room."

Holding up his hand, he dangled before my eyes a tiny yellow satin
sachet bag embroidered in blue, a satin sachet whose fragrance was the
fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot!




CHAPTER XXIX

THE REWARD


Cunningham and the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot! Cunningham and a
yellow satin sachet embroidered in blue!

These words kept pounding in my brain and though I went over them in the
light of the facts which we had gleaned, I could see no plausible reason
for Cunningham's having committed that murder. He could have no possible
motive for wanting to harm Ruth since he did not know her, nor could I
believe, despite the gold and blue room, that he was in love with Cora
Manning. He had evidently never called on her at Gramercy Park or her
landlady would have described him to us, and it was not likely that
being engaged to Lee, Cora Manning would have received the advances of
other men, at least so I judged from the manner in which Ruth had spoken
of her.

Cunningham's explanations, too, had been eminently satisfactory, and had
cleared him even in McKelvie's eyes, as far as I could judge last night.
Besides, it wasn't as though Cunningham were the sole possessor of one
of those sachets.

McKelvie was in much the same position as that robber in "Ali Baba and
the Forty Thieves," of which I used to be fond in my childhood days,
that robber who led his chief to the cross-marked house only to discover
that all the neighboring houses were also cross-marked. As a clue, then,
the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot and the yellow satin sachet were as
useless as the robber's chalk-mark.

It might also be that Cunningham's use of that particular fragrance, and
his acquaintance with a woman who also affected yellow satin sachets
embroidered in blue, was one of those coincidences that often occur in
life, where truth is in many cases stranger than fiction.

As McKelvie had truly remarked, the trails crossed and recrossed until
the right one was lost to view in the labyrinth of paths. As I looked
back over the facts we had learned I was amazed to find how little real
progress we had made toward the solution. It was all conjecture and
except for Dick's ring, we had no clues which could rightly be termed
such. And when it came to suspects, Lee and Dick and Cunningham ran a
close race, though the greatest amount of evidence pointed toward Dick,
since McKelvie was inclined to hold Lee guiltless, and Cunningham had no
adequate motive.

About two o'clock McKelvie called at the office and found me alone.

"Can you spare me a few minutes?" he inquired, as he glanced at the work
on my desk.

"I should say so," I returned quickly, pushing aside my papers.
"Anything new?"

"No, I've come to the end of my tether--"

"You don't mean that you're giving up the case?" I interrupted,
dismayed.

He laughed. "Giving up the case when it's just becoming exciting? You
don't know me, Mr. Davies," he cried, and his voice was exultant, his
eyes fairly dancing. "I was going to say that I have reached the point
where skirmishing in the dark is no longer satisfactory. I'm coming out
in the open and I'm going to fight him with the plan of campaign spread
out for him to read."

"You think that is wise?"

"Yes, decidedly so. I'm going to let him know I'm after him, and then
we'll watch him struggle to escape my net," he declared.

"Then you know who the criminal is?" I asked.

"No. I suspect, but I have no proof," he replied. "Ah, he's a clever
devil, that fellow, and we're just beginning to break below the surface
in this affair. Here's my scheme."

He drew from his pocket a folded sheet, opened it, and handed it to me
with the remark, "I've distributed copies of that around the city."

I looked at the sheet, which still smelled strongly of the printer's
ink, and saw that it was a hand-bill offering a reward of one thousand
dollars for any authentic information which might lead to the discovery
of the present whereabouts of Lee Darwin, last seen about four o'clock
at the corner of Twenty-fifth Street and Third Avenue, on the afternoon
of October the eighth. There followed a description of the young man,
accompanied by his photograph and the added announcement that the reward
would be paid by Graydon McKelvie, at No. -- Stuyvesant Square.

"Ought to bring results, eh? When some six million people become
interested in finding him we ought to locate him in short order."

"What makes you think he is in New York?" I inquired.

"Wilkins returned yesterday morning and reported that Lee never went
South at all. There is no trace of his having gone there. So I started
Wilkins at this end again. Last night when I got back from Cunningham's,
Wilkins was waiting for me. He had discovered that Lee had taken a taxi
as far as Third Avenue and Twenty-fifth Street. After that he vanished
completely. So the presumption is that he is still in the city."

"In the city and in hiding," I mused. "Yet you said the night we chased
the criminal, that in accusing Lee you were putting the true culprit off
his guard by making him think you had no interest in him. That would
imply Lee's innocence, yet what other possible motive could he have for
disappearing?"

"There are two reasons for his disappearance, as far as I can see. One
is the assumption that he is the criminal. This reason, as you remarked,
I have discarded. Lee did not kill his uncle. I'll tell you why I make
this assertion." He rose abruptly and took a turn around the room, then
halted in front of me again. "You saw and heard him at the inquest? How
did he impress you, as regards his character, I mean?"

"He struck me as being a rather passionate, quick-tempered chap, one who
also possessed the power of self-control. He has a frank face and clear
eyes. Also I've heard Mr. Trenton say in discussing him that he is a
fine, upright boy, and that he liked him very much indeed," I replied.

"Passionate and quick-tempered," repeated McKelvie. "Is he the type to
commit murder in cold-blood?"

"No. In a moment of passionate anger, yes, but not in cold-blood," I
returned with conviction.

"Just what I decided from the first, and as this murder was
premeditated, that let's him out. Now for the second reason for his
disappearance. He was engaged to Cora Manning, yet he denied knowing
her. When the coroner showed him the handkerchief he was in mortal dread
that he would recognize it as hers. Therefore he knew something of what
took place in the study, in which Miss Manning was involved. Or,
perhaps, he knew of her intended visit to the Darwin home. However that
may be, he knew something of importance. He left the inquest before all
the evidence was brought in, therefore he was in ignorance of the
verdict when he returned to the Club. Nevertheless he was a menace to
the criminal's plan to implicate Mrs. Darwin, for Lee would come forward
and tell what he knew the moment he learned of Mrs. Darwin's
predicament. What does the criminal do then? He decoys Lee from the Club
with a telegram, and keeps him a prisoner somewhere in the city, to
prevent him from giving evidence."

"What a fiend the man must be!" I exclaimed. "But how did he know so
quickly that Lee was a menace to him. The papers were hardly out by that
time," I added.

"Because he was at the inquest, and he deduced danger to himself from
Lee's actions," replied McKelvie. "That is, of course, he must have been
there to act so promptly since he has no confederate, I am sure. There
were any number of extra persons in the room. He could easily form one
of the curious, or disguise himself as a reporter, or any other
character that happened to occur to him. He is daring enough to have
impersonated the District Attorney himself."

I agreed. "But, in that event, when the man realizes you are after Lee
because you need his evidence, for of course he will see your reward,
won't he murder the boy to get rid of him? He seems to be capable of any
outrage."

"Unfortunately that is a risk I shall have to run. Now that I am
persuaded that the criminal is holding Lee a prisoner I've got to rescue
him, since the murderer is not likely to hamper himself with the boy
overlong--if he hasn't done away with him already. We have wasted much
valuable time following a false lead. Well, it can't be helped now, and
there is nothing to be gained by crying over spilt milk. Wilkins is
combing the East Side and I hope to have news in a few hours. From now
on it's a fight to the finish," he ended, exultantly. "I have shown the
criminal my hand. I want Lee, and the man I'm ultimately going to get
will do his best to balk me--if he can."

"Here's to our side," I said, catching his enthusiasm. "And remember
that I want to be in on anything that happens."

"Right. I won't forget you."

But he did, for I heard nothing further from him during the remainder of
the afternoon, which I spent in an endeavor to pin my mind to market
quotations which I considered merely trivial beside the problem that was
worrying me, and when I called his house that evening Dinah reported
that he had gone out and she had no idea when he would return.
Disappointedly I sought my favorite chair and my pipe, offering Mr.
Trenton a cigar, which he declined. He had been to see Ruth that
afternoon and as usual after such a visit he was very disheartened. I
tried to cheer him, but with little success, since my feelings coincided
so accurately with his own and I could ill bear the thought of Ruth in
that dreadful place day after day, with no hope of release. I finally
turned in, determined to forget my troubles in oblivion. But I could not
sleep. Over and over I reviewed the case, particularly the latest phases
of it, and wondered if Dick's ring in the secret room, where it
certainly had no business to be, might not serve as a clue upon which to
secure Ruth's release. Then my mind wandered to Lee and the girl of the
perfume, to Cunningham and the gold-and-blue room, until gradually it
seemed to me that a delicious fragrance pervaded the room, and I drifted
into the land of dreams.

And in that sleep I dreamed a weird and awful dream. I thought I stood
in the secret room behind the safe, which somehow resembled the
gold-and-blue room in Cunningham's apartment, and as I stood there
breathing the fragrance of Rose Jacqueminot a man dashed by me and
entered the study. He had a pistol in his hand and as he fired at
Darwin, whom I could see dimly in the distance, I heard a woman shriek.
Then the man came back, dragging a girl by the arm, and as he went by me
he dropped Dick's ring at my feet, and turned toward me such a face as I
hope never to see even in my dreams again. It was the face of a demon
distorted by passion, and it bore no resemblance to anyone I knew, or
rather, it was a composite of those concerned in the case, for he had
Dick's eyes, Lee's nose and chin, and Cunningham's red hair. A moment I
looked into his mad eyes and then I saw him raise his arm and fire at
the girl and I realized with horror that she was Ruth. With a cry I
flung myself toward him--and woke with my arms around my pillow.




CHAPTER XXX

THE CURIO SHOP


I sat up and passed my hand dazedly across my brow and then suddenly I
was broad awake and listening intently to the sound that had startled
me, the sound of my door opening stealthily. I peered through the
darkness but could discern nothing.

I waited a moment, but hearing no further sound reached under my pillow
for my revolver, for I knew I wasn't dreaming now, noticing by my
radium-faced watch that it was close to midnight. Then as I became
conscious of another presence in the room, the light was switched on
without warning, and I flung out my arm, covering the man who stood
there before me.

He was a rough-looking customer in an ugly, worn blue suit, and his cap
was pulled low over his brow. His face was unshaved, his lips were
coarse, his nose was thick, his eyebrows bushy, and the eyes beneath
were sunken and dull, a dead black in color.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, holding the pistol in line with
his heart.

But he did not reply except by a chuckle, and I flung down the pistol
with the cry, "McKelvie!"

"I'm glad I pass muster," he said, chuckling again, but I could only
stare at him in genuine amazement. Except for that chuckle I should
never have known him!

"Here," he said, flinging a bundle on my bed, "get into those things as
fast as you can, and meet me in your library. We have no time to waste,
but I knew you would never forgive me if I left you out of this."

As soon as he was gone I attired myself in the battered old suit of
brown which he had provided, and clapped a greasy cap upon my head. Then
I surveyed myself in the mirror and turned away disappointedly. I was
disreputable enough in all conscience, but no one would have taken me
for anyone else but Carlton Davies, grown somewhat seedy in appearance.
How did McKelvie do it?

In the library I found McKelvie talking to Jenkins, the latter clad in
bathrobe and slippers, as though he had just been dragged from his room.

"Ready?" asked McKelvie, as I entered, and when I nodded he turned again
to Jenkins. "Stay out in the hall beside the phone and don't go to
sleep. If I do not phone you by one o'clock, call Headquarters and tell
them to rush some men to Hi Ling's curio shop. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," answered Jenkins, blinking.

"Don't fall asleep, as it may mean our lives," repeated McKelvie
impressively.

"No, sir. I'll stay awake. You can depend on me, sir," said Jenkins in a
hurt tone.

"Yes, I know I can," returned McKelvie. "Come on, Mr. Davies."

McKelvie swung toward me and then began to laugh. "You're far too clean.
They'd spot you for a fake in a moment."

He took what looked like a box of lampblack from his pocket and applied
it to my face. As we hurried down the hall I glanced at my reflection in
the mirror. My face was a dirty gray, sallow, unshaved. I smiled as I
followed McKelvie into the outer hall.

"Ever read Gaboriau?" he asked as we crept stealthily down the stairs.

"Yes."

"Then you know the advice that Lecoq gave his men when they wanted to
disguise themselves. 'Change the eye,' he said. 'The eye is the
important factor in disguise.' He was right and I have spent some time
practising the maxim. Try to look stupid and your eyes will deaden. Not
that way," and he caught my arm as I made for the lobby. "The back
entrance for ours unless we want to land in a cell at the police
station."

We sneaked out into the back yard, around the building, and out into the
street, where a motor car was waiting.

"All right, Wilkins. Full speed ahead," said McKelvie as we got in. With
a jerk we were off toward the Park.

"Now," I demanded, "what's it all about?"

"You've got your pistol with you?" he asked, and when I answered in the
affirmative, he went on, "Don't use it unless I give you leave. The less
shooting the better for us, I expect."

"Is it Lee?" I inquired.

"Yes. My offer of reward hustled things up a bit." McKelvie leaned
forward and called out, "Faster, Wilkins. We'll never make it at this
rate."

"He's in danger, then," I said, as we tore around corners and down side
streets to avoid the cops.

"Yes. But let me begin at the beginning. Wilkins got onto the track of a
mysterious taxi that had been seen on Mott Street about four-fifteen the
afternoon of October the eighth, and while he was hanging around one of
those Chinese joints, he saw two toughs lounging down Pell Street, and
evidently discussing the reward, since one of them was waving the
hand-bill in the other's face. Wilkins followed them into an
eating-house and by securing a table next to them, overheard their
conversation. It seemed that they had identified Lee as the young man
they had kidnapped and they were weighing the respective merits of
giving their information to me or blackmailing the 'old man,' as they
called whoever had hired them. The younger tough was for telling me, but
the older one seemed to think they could make more from the 'old man.'
Whereupon the younger one declared that the old fellow was stingier than
hell and reminded his companion that Hi Ling had tipped them that the
young man was to disappear that night, after the boss's visit at one
o'clock. When the men separated Wilkins followed the younger one and by
many judicious hints and the added compensation of some money and
promised immunity from the police, he got the rest of the story.

"This fellow and his companion had been hired to kidnap a young chap and
they had deposited him in Hi Ling's back shop in an upstairs room. There
was something the young man knew that the 'old man' wanted to learn so
much, he had gathered from the Chinaman who kept the shop. In other
words, Lee knew something of the murder and the criminal wanted to find
out just how much, or else he wanted to keep Lee from giving evidence.
It doesn't matter which. The main fact remains, that he is holding the
boy a prisoner.

"Well, when he realized that through my efforts I was bound to learn
where Lee was, since he did not trust the toughs, he gave orders that
when he had paid the boy his customary visit at one o'clock, they were
to get rid of Lee for him. One more murder wouldn't disturb his
conscience very much, I guess. Our only chance lies in getting there
ahead of the criminal."

"How do you know it's not a trap?" I asked.

"I've provided for that by my orders to Jenkins. If it's a trap the
police will have to rescue us, that's all. I feel conscience-stricken,
lugging you into what may turn out to be a fight for life," he added.

"You needn't. I wouldn't have missed it for anything," I returned. "But
why don't you surround the place with the police right away?"

"Do you know where we are going?" he asked curiously.

"To Chinatown, I should judge," I answered.

"Exactly. They keep scouts on the watch at those places, which are
respectable without and--hells within. The moment they saw the sight of
a uniform Lee Darwin would disappear and no one would ever learn what
had become of him. Days later an unrecognizable corpse would be dragged
from the river."

I shuddered. What a horrible end for the boy if we should fail to reach
him in time!

At this juncture the car stopped with a jerk at the corner of Mott and
Hester streets, and we piled out.

"Wait here for us. If we do not come by one-thirty, you can go home,"
said McKelvie.

The man turned off his engine and settled himself to wait, and the next
moment we were hurrying toward Pell Street. Then we turned another
corner and modifying our pace, lounged carelessly toward the back
entrance of Hi Ling's curio shop.

Remembering Lecoq's advice I tried to look dull and stupid as McKelvie
opened the door. We stepped inside the shop and faced the Chinaman
seated behind a counter at the rear of the room. He was a fat old
Chinaman and he gazed at us stolidly as he smoked his pipe.

In a coarse voice McKelvie asked whether the "old man" had come, saying
he had sent us to stay with the prisoner until his arrival.

The Chinaman looked at us unblinkingly for five steady minutes, then he
waved his pipe toward a rear door. We shuffled toward it as fast as we
dared, and I for one, expected that every minute he would call us back
and question us more closely. But he did not move and we gained the
doorway and saw before us, in the flickering light of a gas-jet from
above, a staircase, steep, narrow, dirty. This we climbed and found
ourselves in a small entry with a door at the back. Stealing to this
door, McKelvie listened intently for a moment, then drew his revolver
and tried the door softly. It was locked. Shifting the gun to his left
hand he took out a long, narrow steel instrument, which he inserted in
the lock. As the door yielded silently, he stole into the room and I
followed him closely.

I did not hear but I knew he had closed the door behind us, and then his
flash glowed and the disk of light darted here and there over the black
interior of the room, or, rather, hole, in which we found ourselves. It
was empty save for a narrow cot, on which lay an inert figure,
apparently asleep. We moved closer to the cot and McKelvie let the disk
of light rest upon the face of the man before us.

It was Lee Darwin, I could not be mistaken, but he looked as though he
were in the last stages of some terrible disease. His form was quite
wasted, his eyes were mere sunken hollows in his ghastly face, and his
cheekbones stood out prominently where the flesh had fallen away. I
contemplated him in horrified silence, until a touch on my arm recalled
me to action.

"I'm afraid he's too far gone to walk," whispered McKelvie. "We'll have
to carry him. The main thing is to get him out before the criminal
arrives. I don't think the old Chink will give us much trouble."

Silently McKelvie bent over Lee and shook him into consciousness. The
boy opened his haggard eyes, stared at the flash, then shuddered away
from McKelvie's restraining hand.

"Go away," he said feebly. "I have nothing to tell you. Nothing, I say."

"Mr. Darwin," said McKelvie soothingly, "it's all right. We only want to
help you get away."

Lee turned toward the sound of the voice, a dawning wonder in his eyes,
then as the sense of McKelvie's words penetrated his dulled brain and
the sound of McKelvie's rich voice fell like balm on his spirit, which
had been harassed for days by harsh voices and coarse threats, he put
out his hand and pushed aside the flash which McKelvie still kept
focused on his face.

"Help me--get up," he said.

In the darkness we helped him to his feet and got him out into the
corridor, where he collapsed again. So we lifted him by his head and
feet and carried him down the stairs.

When we reached the bottom we looked across into the placid face of the
old Chinaman contemplating us fixedly from the doorway!




CHAPTER XXXI

THE RESCUE


"Lord," McKelvie muttered low, as we set Lee down upon the lowest step.
"He's evidently in the game, too. No wonder he was so obliging about
letting us pass, since there probably is no outlet yonder," and he
jerked his head toward the top of the stairs.

He pulled out his gun and leveled it at the Chinaman. "Now then, Hi, or
whatever your name is, just raise your arms above your head and back
into that room, or you'll get a taste of this," and he tapped his
revolver menacingly, but the Chinaman only continued to regard us
placidly, with no change of expression on his yellow countenance.

McKelvie spoke to me in an undertone. "He knows darn well I won't shoot,
damn him, since it would bring the house about our ears. I have a better
plan. I'll take Lee on my back and you can give yonder Chinaman a punch
in the jaw. Then we'll make tracks for the door. Once we get outside
we'll be fairly safe, for these Chinamen don't want a row with the
police if they can avoid it."

He slipped his automatic back into his pocket, and while he slung Lee
over his shoulder, I swaggered up to the Chinaman.

"Better let us pass, bo," I said roughly in character, to gain time.
"You might get hurt, Chink."

Again that stolid indifference, as though to him we did not exist, which
made my blood boil and gave my arm an added impetus. The next moment the
Chinaman was sprawling on the ground and we had gained the other room.
With my cap pulled well over my face I was making tracks for the door to
get it open for us to pass, when I heard a yell from McKelvie.

"Duck!" he cried, and as I obeyed I heard something whizz over my head
and a hatchet buried itself in the wall ahead of me. I turned sharply
and grappled with a lithe, yellow-clad figure that had sprung at me from
the side of the room.

In tense silence we struggled, each striving to reach the other's
throat, and as we fought I caught a glimpse of some heavy metal object
on a stand near one corner of the room. Warily, inch by inch, I forced
my adversary back until he fell against the stand, losing his balance
and almost carrying me with him. With an effort I kept my feet, freeing
my arm with a sudden movement, and as he swayed clutching at me, I
grasped the metal candlestick and brought it down upon his head. His
fingers loosened from my arm and he went down with a sickening thud.

Then, panting, I turned to look for McKelvie. He was standing in the
opposite corner, shielding Lee's unconscious form, with his gun covering
the old Chinaman whom I had first knocked out and who had succeeded in
joining the fray again, and now stood as stolidly as ever beside a third
Chinaman, who lay prostrate on the floor.

I advanced to McKelvie's side and as I did so I glanced again at the
prostrate Chinaman. To my horror he was not as insensible as I had at
first supposed. One arm was drawn back and he was on the point of
hurling a murderous looking hatchet at McKelvie's head.

"Look out," I yelled, but McKelvie had seen him too.

There was a spat from McKelvie's gun, the hatchet went flying backwards
and the Chinaman rolled over, howling with pain and rage. The momentary
diversion, however, had served the other Chinaman in good stead. Before
I could reach him he had glided to a counter, lifted a clapper and
struck upon a gong. The next moment the Chinks came pouring in about us
like rats from their holes.

I managed somehow to reach McKelvie's side before the onslaught began,
and together we kept our backs to the corner where Lee lay huddled. Then
McKelvie raised his pistol and deliberately shot out the light. After
that, confusion reigned. I could hear the scuffle of feet, an occasional
flash from McKelvie's gun, and a scream of agony as the bullet tore its
way through soft flesh, followed by a quick report from my automatic,
which I had drawn even though he had given me no leave, then again the
shuffle, shuffle of feet, while we warded off blows and tried to keep
our unseen enemies at a distance.

And then into the midst of this turmoil a high pitched voice cut like a
knife. It was not a Chinaman's voice. It was a refined, cultivated, but
distinctly American voice, and it seemed to me that I had heard its
intonation before at some time.

Querulously it demanded a light, and as someone lighted the gas the
Chinamen fell away from before us. We were battered and bruised,
McKelvie and I, but otherwise unhurt, and we still stood with our backs
to Lee Darwin, protecting him from the assault of his foes.

In the flickering light of the one poor burner I could see that the room
was filled with Chinamen, or perhaps I mistook shadows for the reality,
since though they remained inactive they shuffled about in the
background, passing and repassing each other continually. Then a man
stepped forward into the limelight and I saw the owner of that cutting
voice.

With arms folded and head thrust forward, he stood and glared
malevolently at McKelvie, and I beheld with astonishment the bent old
figure and the white hair and beard shining like silver in that light.
Though he took no notice of me, still I could feel his antagonism and
wished for a moment that he would cast aside the heavy blue glasses he
wore and give me a chance to see his eyes.

"So," he said, in that high-pitched voice, sarcastically strident in its
intonation, "you thought to get ahead of me, eh? You thought I was such
a fool that I wouldn't prepare for your visit, eh? There are a few
people still left who have more brains than you think, Mr. McKelvie."

McKelvie returned his empty gun to his pocket very coolly, and then
laughed softly.

"Stand aside and let Hi Ling take that boy. Then I will settle with you,
Mr. Detective," went on the old man, unfolding his arms and thrusting a
hand into the pocket of the long coat he wore.

McKelvie laughed again. "Come and get him, you murderer," he said,
quietly.

With a snarl of rage the man flung out his arm and fired. I saw McKelvie
draw aside quickly and then bite his lips as his left arm fell limply at
his side. With a curse I leaped forward, but McKelvie pulled me back
just as there arose a banging on the outer door and a shrill whistle
sounded clear and loud outside.

There was a cry of "Police, the Police" and with an oath the old man
fired again, at Lee, and then he shot up tall and extinguished the
light. Pandemonium was let loose. There was a scurry of feet, the
banging of a door, yells and execrations, hoarse cries, men's voices
shouting loudly, and then something struck me on the head. I fell
heavily to the ground, and as I did so a flash was thrust into my face
and I heard Jones' voice exclaim as from a great distance, "Mr. Davies,
by all that's holy," and then blackness descended upon me.

I came to myself with the sensation that someone was pouring red-hot
liquid down my throat. I sat up, gasping, to find Jones bending over me
with a brandy flask in his hand.

"All right?" he asked.

Recollection swept over me. "Where's McKelvie?" I managed to reply.

"Yonder." Jones nodded his head toward the chair where McKelvie sat,
grinning like a Cheshire cat.

His clothes were torn, his face was smeared with blood, and his left arm
had been recently bandaged, but he wore the expression of a conqueror,
as he commanded the doctor to cease fussing over him and to look after
Lee, who was still unconscious.

Then I realized that we were no longer in the curio shop, but in
McKelvie's living-room, and that Lee was lying upon a couch, as
motionless and rigid as a corpse.

The doctor ordered that the boy be put to bed, and McKelvie told Jones
to ring for Dinah. When she came in presently, wrapped in an old kimona
and with her woolly wig more belligerent than ever, McKelvie asked her
to get a room ready. Then the doctor and Jones carried Lee from the
room.

"What happened after I went down?" I asked, feeling the lump on my head.
"I remember hearing Jones, and that is all."

"I'm ashamed to acknowledge that when I knew that the police were
actually in the room, I fainted," he replied with a grin. "When I came
to myself, those Chinamen who could get away had vanished, and with them
the old man. I'd have given ten years of my life to get a glimpse of his
eyes behind those glasses. I have a feeling that once having seen them I
should never forget them."

"So he got away," I said.

"Oh, yes, Jones of course knew nothing about him, and when I was in a
condition to explain, the fellow was far away. The police searched for
him, but without avail. So I told them not to bother and ordered Jones
to bring us here." He sat back with a smile, but I could see that his
arm was giving him pain. "It was a great fight and the best part was
that we were able to rescue Lee."

"Yes," I replied. "I should very much like to hear his story. By the
way, that vindictive old man didn't shoot him, did he?"

"No, I don't believe he more than grazed him, if he hit him at all.
Naturally he was trying to prevent us from taking the boy away from
there."

"He had no trouble recognizing you," I continued. "Has he seen you
before?"

"Doubtless. A man of his caliber would acquaint himself with his
adversaries for safety's sake. He saw me the night we chased him in the
study, and what is more, I made no attempt to disguise myself to-night
when he stood there looking at me. That's why he tried to kill me. I
read his purpose though and waited until he had flung out his arm to
fire, and then I moved aside, but not quite out of range, as you saw,"
and he glanced at his arm. "But here is Jones. What does the doctor
say?"

"He'll pull him around. That black woman of yours is certainly a trump.
She's making him some broth. The boy's starved," answered Jones, then he
looked at us and grinned. "It's a good thing for you fellows that I
happened to be at Headquarters to-night, when your man called us, Mr.
Davies. I twigged what was up and had the dope in a second, so I was
able to get to you in time."

"I'm eternally grateful to you, Jones, and so is Mr. Davies," returned
McKelvie, holding out his hand, which Jones accepted with a sheepish
smile. "But for you we might be occupying the river by now."

"Don't say any more," expostulated Jones, as I added my share of
gratitude. "It's all part of the job. Well, doctor?"

"He's coming on fine. He's got a good nurse. I'll be around in the
morning to have another look at him," said the doctor. "And now my
advice to you, sir," turning to McKelvie, "is to get to bed and let that
arm have a chance to recover. That was a nasty flesh wound you got. Come
along, Jones."

"I'll be around again, too," said Jones, "to hear that young man's
story. I don't know what all this has to do with the murder, but his
tale should be interesting, to say the least."

We agreed and then went upstairs, where we got rid of our rags and had a
good wash. Then McKelvie loaned me a pair of pajamas and a bed, which
had never been more welcome to my throbbing head.




CHAPTER XXXII

LEE'S STORY


Despite his arm, which he had redressed himself and which was quite
stiff, McKelvie was up ahead of me, and when I came down at noon attired
in my own garments (McKelvie had phoned Jenkins to bring me my things) I
felt quite like myself again.

"Has the doctor been here?" I asked as we had our luncheon.

"Yes, but he will be back later. Lee is still asleep. We shall hear his
story this afternoon." Then he sighed. "I wish we had been able to catch
that old chap. I am positive he is the murderer. I felt it in my bones
when he looked at me and my bones are quite infallible, I assure you,"
and he smiled whimsically.

"It is a pity," I said, "for then this business would be over."

When we rose from the table and went back to the living-room, McKelvie
moved about restlessly, and then said impatiently, "I wish the doctor
would come. I want to get at the boy's story as soon as possible, for I
think he may help us locate Cora Manning, and we shall have to work fast
now if we expect to catch the criminal. He's too clever to hang around
much longer, now that he knows the game is up as far as Mrs. Darwin is
concerned."

I heartily indorsed McKelvie's words, for I was eager to hear what Lee
had to say, but he did not waken until five o'clock and the doctor, who
had come in some time previous, forbade our disturbing him. When we
finally mounted to his room, Jones, McKelvie and I, we could hardly wait
for the doctor's assurance that he thought it would not harm the young
man to talk. As we gathered about the bed, Lee leaned back against his
pillows, his hollow cheeks flushed and his black eyes glittering
strangely as he looked at us. I heard Jones mutter something about "eyes
like a madman's," which Lee evidently overheard, for he turned to the
doctor with an appealing glance.

"Before I begin," he said, in a weak voice, "I want you, doctor, to
answer me a question. Am I perfectly rational and sane?"

"Yes, perfectly sane," responded the doctor, quietly.

Lee breathed a sigh of relief. "Please remember that, gentlemen," he
continued. "I may look mad but I'm not. No, nor ever have been, though
at times I thought I was pretty near to it."

He paused to gather strength and then he told his tale almost without a
break, for it gripped him too vitally to admit of his stopping, once he
had begun.

"To explain my actions I must go back to the morning of the seventh. I
testified at the inquest that I quarreled with my uncle about Ruth. I
lied. We quarreled about Cora Manning."

At this name Jones leaned closer, a greater interest in his face.

"I met her a year ago when she came to New York to study for the stage.
Three months ago we became engaged and I gave her, as is customary, a
diamond ring. Later I introduced my uncle to her. Instantly he evinced a
great interest in her, cloaking his infatuation (I know it was that now)
under the guise of a desire to aid her in her career. He took her out a
number of times and when I protested she accused me of being jealous of
my uncle, which she said was unworthy of me if I loved her, since my
uncle was an old married man.

"To make a long story short, on the morning of the seventh, as I was
leaving the house, my uncle called me back into the study and there
showed me the ring I had given Cora, swearing she had bestowed it upon
him to return it to me, as she no longer cared for me and was coming to
see him there in the study that night. He had the ring on the little
finger of his left hand and he pulled it off with a laugh and held it
toward me. I snatched it from him and flung it in his face, and would
have leaped upon him to strangle him then and there, but he read my
purpose in my face, and like the craven that he was, he called to Orton
to come into the room. Then he ordered me to leave his house and I went
out by the window, vowing vengeance upon him.

"I hurried to Cora's and accused her of treachery, declaring I'd kill my
uncle before he should have her. I was mad, crazy, and refusing to
listen to any explanations I rushed away and bought a pistol. That
evening I hung around the house on Riverside Drive. I would wait her
arrival and then go in and kill them both. I saw my uncle let himself
into the house and about an hour later Mr. Davies arrived, but still no
Cora. I began to think I had been a fool, but determined to wait a while
longer just to make sure. About eleven forty-five, for I looked at my
watch as I reached the gate, I saw her coming down the street with a
suitcase in her hand. Mad with rage, I hid behind some bushes and
followed her as she turned into the grounds. It was very dark and I lost
her as she slipped around the house.

"I decided to enter by the front door and confront them, then I recalled
that Mr. Davies had not yet gone, and determined to try the windows. I
crept to the second window and by means of my flash saw that the shade
did not come level with the bottom of the window. I knelt down and
applied my eye to this space. By looking upward from the extreme corner
of the window I discovered that I could see what my uncle was doing. The
room was dark except for the lamp that threw its rays over the table and
chair, and in the latter my uncle was reclining asleep. Then as I
looked, suddenly Cora appeared beside the table and in her hand she
carried a small pistol. She pointed it at my uncle, and just then the
light went out. I judged that she had shot him, though I heard no sound,
and so paralyzed with horror was I that I remained where I was gazing
into the darkness of the room before me.

"How long I stayed there I don't know. Presently I thought I heard the
sound of a step on the walk. I wrenched myself free from the entangling
ivy and hastened to the gate. There was no one in sight. For a long time
I stood there, debating whether to go back or not, and then I came to
the conclusion that if she had really shot my uncle she needed every
minute to get away. I fled the place and paced the streets in an agony
of suspense. In the morning I returned to the Club, where I slept until
noon. When the steward woke me my first thought was for Cora. I dashed
around to Gramercy Park. She was gone, had been gone since the night
before. Then I rushed up to my uncle's house, thinking she might have
been caught. I found the coroner in possession. Persuaded that Cora had
killed my uncle and not seeing her present, I determined to shield her
by denying all knowledge of her. After my testimony I went upstairs to
my rooms, gathered together a few necessary articles and went back to
Gramercy Park. She was still missing. I thought of advertising for her
and had gone as far as the _Herald_ office when it occurred to me that
by locating her I would only be putting her life in danger.

"Dejectedly I returned to the Club once more and there found a written
message awaiting me. I read and destroyed it, but the words are burned
into my brain:

     'Lee, my darling: I killed him to save my honor. If you love me,
     help me to get away. I could not bear the notoriety of a trial.
     Meet me at the corner of Twenty-third Street and Third Avenue and
     I'll be waiting for you in a brown taxi. CORA.'

"I told the steward to hold my rooms as I was going South on business,
and took a taxi to Twenty-fifth and Third Avenue, where I dismissed the
man and walked rapidly to Twenty-third Street."

Lee paused and drew a gasping breath, whereupon the doctor hastened to
administer a stimulant.

"The car was waiting?" prompted McKelvie.

"Yes, and when I appeared the door opened and a hand beckoned. I entered
the car unsuspectingly, but I was no sooner seated and the door had been
closed (it was dark as pitch inside, since all the shades were drawn)
than I felt a hand on my face and smelled something that made me gasp.
Some instinct warned me not to breathe and I thrust out my hand and my
fingers closed on a man's rough coat. Then I realized I'd been trapped
and flung myself toward my assailant. He grasped my throat and thrust a
handkerchief over my face. The deadly fumes got into my lungs, for I
felt myself suffocating, and drawing a deep involuntary breath I fell
unconscious.

"When I came to I was lying in the room where you found me, and a couple
of ruffians were guarding me. I do not recall much of this part of the
affair, for I was kept in a semi-conscious state most of the time and
left absolutely alone all day, with little or no food. I have an
impression that once every night I was shaken into consciousness by
someone who spoke in a harsh whisper and asked me a lot of questions
about the murder. Fearing for Cora, I refused to answer. Every day I
grew weaker and every day the harsh voice grew more insistent, until the
man, whoever he was, started to torture me as well. The day before you
rescued me I lost all consciousness of what was going on, for my mind
had been partly drugged, I believe. I guess that's all except that I
want to thank you fellows for getting me out of there."

Lee closed his eyes wearily, and Jones scratched his head in perplexity.

"If what he says is true," whispered Jones to me, "where does Mrs.
Darwin come in? He must have dreamed all this. Darwin was shot at
midnight."

"He didn't dream that he had been held a prisoner, at least," I
returned. "As for the rest, I presume it's all true enough," and I
turned toward McKelvie to get his opinion in the matter.

"Mr. Darwin," McKelvie said, as Lee opened his eyes again, "are you
strong enough to answer some questions?"

"Yes," Lee answered.

"Describe the man who questioned you?"

"I never saw him. The room was always dark. I heard his voice, that is
all. It was always a harsh whisper. But wait, once I put out my hand
and felt a beard, long and silky."

McKelvie nodded quickly. "What questions did he ask you?"

"He asked me where I was the night of the murder, and he kept saying
over and over, 'someone you love is in danger and when you tell me what
you know about your uncle's murder, she will be freed.'

"I had a feeling this was another trap," Lee went on, "since if I told
him that she had committed the murder they would send her to prison. I
had no idea what his connection with the affair might be, but I
determined not to be caught napping again."

"There is no connection between him and the murder," responded Jones
authoritatively. "We've got the criminal locked up this minute."

"Oh, have you," returned McKelvie, sarcastically. "Just listen to what I
have since discovered, Jones," and he sketched rapidly the main facts in
the case.

They listened spellbound, as he told of the secret entrance and the
second shot, declaring that Darwin was murdered at eleven-forty by the
man we had seen in the curio shop, that this man was keeping Cora
Manning a prisoner, and had deliberately set about implicating Ruth in
the murder. Jones' eyes grew wide with astonishment as he listened, for
it upset all his preconceived ideas.

"Then she didn't kill him, thank God, thank God," sobbed Lee, quite
overcome by all he had been through.

"No, she didn't kill him," returned McKelvie kindly. "And now we are
going to do our best to find her for you."




CHAPTER XXXIII

THE SECOND BULLET


When we were downstairs again and the doctor had gone, Jones turned to
me. McKelvie was smoking his pipe and pacing the room, his brows knit in
thought, and Jones did not like to disturb him.

"I say, Mr. Davies, can't you give a fellow a few more details?" he
begged. "I seem to have got the dope all wrong in this case. Who is this
mysterious man?"

I glanced at McKelvie, but he was paying no attention to our
conversation. I decided that there was no harm in telling Jones all that
we knew, since McKelvie himself had already disclosed the more vital
points.

So I gave Jones a rapid account of our search for the criminal, how we
had discovered the secret entrance, where the trail of the sachet bags
had led us, how we had interviewed Orton, Mrs. Harmon, and Cunningham,
and how the finding of Dick's ring led to the discovery that he was
still alive.

"But as regards the mysterious man in the curio shop," I ended, "I can't
tell you who he is since I don't know, but my impression is that he was
disguised and that he is not old at all, for one moment he was feeble
and bent, and the next, when he turned off the light, tall and strong."

Jones slapped his hand on his knee. "By George, you're right. What did
he look like, anyway?"

"When I first saw him he was bent and his head was thrust forward, his
hair and beard were silver-white, his eyes protected by blue glasses," I
answered.

"Disguised all right," said Jones with conviction. "It's a remarkable
thing now, Mr. Davies, but when a man runs to disguise he always chooses
the appearance which is his very opposite, the idea being, I suppose, to
look as unlike his former self as possible. He stooped and was old,
therefore he really is young and tall. He wore whiskers and glasses,
therefore he is smooth-shaven and has good eyesight. That's your man."

"And if you add the fact that he is dark, you have a pretty good
description of the murderer," put in McKelvie suddenly.

"Good heavens!" I began, but McKelvie raised his hand.

"Keep your suspicions to yourself," he said, and returned to his
meditation.

"Seems to me you've made pretty good progress so far," Jones continued,
"but what you need is the police on his trail. We'd soon have him where
he belongs."

"Well, I don't know that we have made so much progress after all," I
went on, as McKelvie ignored Jones' insinuation. "We have reduced the
number of suspects by finding Lee, but we really are no further than we
were three days ago. We progress so slowly," I added, impatiently,
"because we discover only unsubstantiated facts. We thought Lee might be
able to help us but he cannot swear to having seen his uncle die, and
without that proof Ruth must stay in jail."

"I'm sorry," returned Jones. "The only thing to do is to catch the
criminal or learn his identity."

"How?" I demanded. Did Jones think he could win out where McKelvie had
been unsuccessful? Then I recalled McKelvie's words before he took the
case, when he had handed me his list of questions. "Find the answers to
those questions and you will have the name of the man who committed the
crime." We ought to be able to answer almost all of them by now.

I pulled out my wallet and opened it, drawing forth the sheets that I
had placed there less than a week ago (it seemed more like years) and
spread them out in front of Jones, explaining their purpose and how I
came by them. He read them through, glanced at McKelvie's back (he was
seeking inspiration from the falling night), and then he grinned.

"Say," he whispered loudly, "we ought to be able to dope it out, you and
I. I'll read you the questions and you give me the answers." He took out
his fountain pen, prepared to fill in my replies, and I humored him.

"Question one. Why was the pistol fired at midnight?" Jones asked.

"To implicate Ruth," I returned.

"Did the murderer also light the lamp?" Jones' pen scratched away as he
spoke.

"Yes. He lighted it from the safe," I said, explaining how we had
ascertained this fact.

"How did he enter and leave the room?"

"He entered by the window and he left by the secret entrance," I
replied, remembering McKelvie's assertion.

"Wrong." McKelvie swung toward us for a moment. "He entered by the
door."

"But I thought you said--" I began.

"I've changed my mind," he retorted, and turned his back on us again.

Jones' eyebrows went up a trifle, and then he asked, "What was the
motive for the murder?"

"I don't know," I said frankly. "It seems to me that answer depends on
who murdered him. Find the murderer and you have the motive, not learn
the motive and you have your man, as in most cases," I added.

"We'll leave number four blank, then. Why did the doctors disagree, and
which was in the right? I recall that fact now. They had quite a tiff
over it and the young doctor was worsted." Jones laughed at the
recollection.

My answer astonished him. "I'd say they disagreed because the coroner's
physician was a pompous old ass," I returned vindictively. I could not
forget that in very truth Ruth's accusal had been the result of this
verdict. "Dr. Haskins was in the right, since Darwin was shot at
eleven-forty."

"Why did Philip Darwin put that ring on his finger and then take it off
again?"

"Cunningham explained that Darwin did it in a moment of sentimentality.
It seemed an idiotic thing to do, after all, and I don't believe he was
addicted to sentiment," I said.

"Well, no, he might have had it in his hand and slipped it on
unthinkingly, and then had trouble taking it off," replied Jones,
reflectively.

I shook my head. "No, I am inclined to believe that he hurt his finger
with Cora's ring. Lee said his uncle was wearing it on his little finger
and that he removed it hastily and handed it to him. It was probably
tight for him, and so he bruised the finger," I said.

"Where's the diamond then?" asked Jones.

"It may have fallen out and the murderer may have found it," I
returned. "Or better yet, Orton may have taken it. You know Lee flung
the ring at his uncle."

"That's plausible, and I never liked the secretary's face, anyway. Whose
was the blood-stained handkerchief?" continued Jones.

"Cora Manning's, because of the perfume which all her male friends seem
to have adopted also," I remarked.

"Where did the second bullet go?"

"By the way, McKelvie, where did it go?" I inquired.

But he pretended not to hear me, so I said to Jones with a laugh,
"Another blank. I have no idea where it went."

"Did McKelvie search the room?"

"With a magnifying glass. It's not there."

"That's queer. It's bound to be somewhere. I'll have to have a look
myself. Why is there so much evidence against Mrs. Darwin?"

I permitted myself a smile at Jones' evident estimate of McKelvie's
abilities as far as searching a room was concerned, then I replied to
his question. "I suppose the criminal believed in being thorough while
he was about it."

"Who and what is Cora Manning?"

"She is, or was, Lee's fiancée. As to what she is, I'll tell you better
when I see her. According to McKelvie she's a beauty," and I smiled.
"Also, if you can believe what he says, the criminal is in love with
this girl, so she is not the one who fired the shot."

"So McKelvie says, but if the criminal loves her, how do we know she
wasn't his tool. Even the boy upstairs thought she had killed his
uncle," remarked Jones.

"Don't be an idiot, Jones," said McKelvie's voice. "She wasn't likely to
shoot a man who was already dying when she entered the room. She got
there at eleven-forty-five, or later."

"Oh, yes. I forgot that fact. But the boy's watch may have been fast at
that," replied Jones, unabashed. "She pointed a pistol at him, you know."

"Yes, and I presume she kept the man she loves in duress all this time?
But have it your own way," returned McKelvie, dryly. Then I heard him
add to himself, "Where can she be? If I could only lay my finger on her
hiding-place, I'd have him in my toils."

"What has become of Darwin's securities?" Jones returned to the paper
before him.

"Cunningham says Darwin lost his fortune in Wall Street," I answered.

"What is Lee Darwin's connection with the affair?"

"Like Ruth he is a victim of circumstances and the criminal's
machinations," I said.

"Why did Richard Trenton come to New York and then commit suicide?"
Jones went on.

"He came to New York at Darwin's request to see him. This we know to be
a fact," and I told Jones the gist of Gilmore's story. "Also we know
that he did not commit suicide although he tried to give the world that
impression."

"That looks very bad. What's Cunningham's relation to the murdered man?"

"Just his friend since Cunningham is not a lawyer."

"That looks bad, too," said Jones. "He acted as counsel at the inquest
illegally then."

"He says not. That he did not see Mrs. Darwin and gave her no advice.
You can prosecute him when the case is over. We have no time for that
now," I added.

"Which one of those having sufficient motive for killing Darwin answers
to the description: Clever, unprincipled, absolutely cold-blooded?"

"There's an immense amount of latitude in that question. There might be
any number of men of that type, since we do not know how many may have
had sufficient motive for killing him. I expect that we haven't met all
the men who have grudges against him, not by a long shot. And now, Mr.
Jones, having doped it out, as you expressed it, would you mind telling
me who committed that murder?" I asked quizzically.

Jones grinned. "I'll be hanged if I know," he replied. "But then we have
not answered all the questions, you know. There's the motive and that
second bullet. Oh, I say, McKelvie, what about letting me get busy on
the trail of the revolver that made that second shot? There's a good
substantial clue for you, though I know your preference for deductions."

McKelvie turned away from the window laughing at Jones' irony, then said
quietly, "I won't trouble you to locate it as it might inconvenience you
sadly. You see, I know where it is."

"You do?" Jones looked incredulous. "You know where it is and you
haven't produced it?"

"How could I when you have had it under lock and key at Headquarters
right from the start," returned McKelvie, his eyes twinkling.

"I? Oh, no, you're wrong there. I have only Darwin's pistol," replied
Jones.

"That's the one I refer to."

"But, man, there's only one shot fired from that, the shot that killed
Darwin," expostulated Jones.

"Use your imagination, Jones. Did you never hear of a man's cleaning his
pistol and recharging it?" inquired McKelvie sarcastically.

"By Jove," said Jones, then added quickly, "What about the second
bullet, then? I don't happen to possess that, too, do I?"

"No, for there was no second bullet."

"No second bullet!" I exclaimed, remembering the stress he had laid on
that fact.

"No," he returned coolly, "there was no second bullet because--he took
the trouble to remove it before he fired the cartridge."




CHAPTER XXXIV

THE WOMAN IN THE CASE


My mind remained appalled before the contemplation of the devilish
ingenuity of this man, who could plan the murder with such diabolical
cunning. No wonder we were finding it a difficult matter to secure proof
against him! Who was he? Was he someone I knew or a stranger who had
hitherto remained unsuspected by us? Did McKelvie have any idea of the
man's identity, or was he also groping in the dark? Persistently I
discarded the thought of Dick, even though the ring was his, and Jones'
description of the criminal fitted the boy, for I could not believe that
he could have become such a fiend, unless indeed he had suddenly lost
all sense of proportion and balance.

It was at this point in my meditations that Jones arose and declared
that he must be going, but McKelvie refused to listen to him. He liked
Jones, even though the two were so often on opposite sides of the case
they were investigating.

"Stay for dinner," McKelvie urged. "I owe you that much anyhow. Also, I
may need you. And now I wish you fellows would cease worrying about the
criminal's identity and put your faculties to work on a more pressing
subject. Where do you suppose he has hidden Cora Manning?"

Where, indeed, with the whole of New York to choose from.

We were enjoying our after-dinner cigars when McKelvie suddenly gave a
shout. "Eureka!" he cried. "I've got it. She's at Riverside Drive. What
an idiot I was not to think of it before."

"How do you make that out?" asked Jones.

"Lee thought he heard a step on the walk and assumed that it was the
girl leaving the grounds. He hurried to the gate, but when he looked
around there was no one in sight. If she had really left the place he
would have been in time to see her as she walked down the block. There
would be no place for her to disappear to unless she jumped in the
river, which would hardly be likely."

"She may have hidden in the grounds and have waited for Lee to go away
first," I objected.

"She did not know he was there and would have no reason then for hiding.
No, no, she's at the Darwin house. It was the easiest place to hide her
in, safe and secure, and it would not involve his having to take anyone
into his confidence. The house, doubtless, has more than one secret
room. We'll go out there now, and in an hour we'll have her free."

"Do you want a taxi?" asked Jones.

"No, we'll use the subway this time," replied McKelvie.

We walked to Union Square and took the Broadway Subway to Dyckman
Street, walking from there to Riverside Drive. As we entered the Darwin
grounds I paused to admire the brilliancy of the stars, and noticed how
the reflection of the lights from the river craft twinkled in the waters
of the Hudson as if in friendly rivalry.

But my companions did not wait to look at the scenery, and I had to
hurry to catch up with them.

"We'll go in the back entrance again," said McKelvie. "I want to
question Mason."

After a slight delay the old man admitted us and McKelvie asked him if
he ever took occasion to go into the main wing of the house.

"Yes, sir. I have been in twice, sir, to open the windows and air the
place against Mrs. Darwin's coming home," he replied.

"And while you were there did you hear any sounds, a person walking, for
instance?" continued McKelvie.

Mason looked at him in great surprise. "Oh, no, sir. There is no one in
the house now, sir."

"Is there an attic to the house?"

"Yes, sir; but I'm sure there's no one there. I went in yesterday
morning to put away Mr. Darwin's things, sir."

"Have you any provisions in the house?" was the next question.

"Yes, sir, for myself."

"Prepare some broth for me, please. I'll send for it when I want it."

"Yes, sir."

"What's the idea? Do you think she's starving, too?" asked Jones, as we
crossed the passageway and entered the main hall.

"Does he strike you as the kind that would be gentle with his prisoners?
We'll ransack the whole house from attic to cellar, despite Mason's
assertions."

We ascended the broad staircase to the second floor. McKelvie then
apportioned the back rooms to Jones, the front ones to me, and reserved
for himself the whole third floor, which was mostly the attic. My part
comprised the sleeping apartments of Ruth as well as Darwin's suite.

I entered Ruth's rooms first, but did not remain in them long, since
every article spoke to me of the girl I loved and who was at this moment
enduring the hardness of a narrow cot in a barred and grated cell
instead of enjoying the comforts to which she had been always
accustomed, and all this because she had been accused of a crime that
she was utterly incapable of committing.

Darwin's suite of dressing-room, bedroom, and bath were also
unproductive of any clues to Cora Manning's whereabouts, although once I
thought I detected a faint odor of rose jacqueminot and wondered idly
whether Darwin, too, had caught the epidemic.

Out in the hall I encountered Jones.

"Nothing doing," he said. "Besides, she wouldn't be lying around loose,
or that old butler would have come across her, unless he was lying. For
my own part, I think this is a wild goose chase."

Before I could reply McKelvie descended from the attic. "Would you mind
talking in a lower key," he remarked in a whisper. "I could hear you
distinctly upstairs, Jones, and if the criminal should come here, we
would frighten him off for good."

"You don't mean to tell me he'd have the nerve to come here!" exclaimed
Jones.

"He's come here more than once, as Mr. Davies and I can prove," he
returned, drawing us into a room and closing the door. "Don't you
suppose he comes here to see the girl? It's my opinion he is trying to
break her into going away with him, though I can't see what is to stop
him from drugging her and carrying her away."

He walked to the window and looked out into the night. "She's not in the
attic. There's no secret room up there; yet I'm positive she's in the
house. He wouldn't come back for anything less important, though I did
think once that he had a hiding-place in the room behind the safe. You
remember that I was looking for it the night we found Dick's ring," he
continued, more to himself than to us. Then he turned away from the
window, his eyes shining, "Lord, I'm growing dull! Do you recall, Mr.
Davies, that we heard steps on the stone staircase and that when I
opened the door and turned my flash on the stairs they were empty and
the door below locked?"

I nodded, and he went on quickly, "It never occurred to me before, but
he must have vanished into a second secret room off those stairs. Come
on, I'll bet that's where he's got her hidden."

At the door, however, he paused to issue final instructions. "Go softly
and obey me implicitly. Also don't talk, and have your gun handy, Jones,
in case of need."

We tiptoed down the stairs and crossed the hall to the study door, which
McKelvie opened slowly and silently. The room was dark. With the aid of
his flash we walked down the length of the room to the safe, our
footfalls deadened by the thickness of the carpet. Then McKelvie
manipulated the dial and opened the safe. It was Jones' first initiation
into the mysteries of the entrance, and I pulled him down to a stooping
position as we passed through to the secret room. Then we crossed to the
door at the head of the stairs and McKelvie listened intently before he
inserted his key in the lock. Then he turned to us.

"Stay here," he whispered. "When I locate the room I'll call to you. If
anyone comes in that lower door, don't hesitate to shoot, Jones."

Jones and I obeyed and stood together in the darkness, watching the disk
of light from McKelvie's flash dart here and there along the walls as
McKelvie descended the stairs. Then the ray of light rested upon the
wall into which the staircase had been built and which extended about
three feet beyond the lowest step, that is, extended the length of the
distance between the bottom of the staircase and the outer door, which,
being but two feet in width, had plenty of margin with which to swing
inwards. On this three feet of wall space the light danced up and down
as McKelvie hunted for indications of a second secret room. Then we
heard him calling to us softly.

We descended the stairs cautiously, and when we neared the bottom
McKelvie pressed a depression which he pointed out to us. We saw a
section of the wall disappear from view and the ray of light rested on
the interior of a dark room. McKelvie stepped through first and called:

"Miss Manning, are you there?" he asked.

There was no answer, and telling us not to advance further, he
disappeared into the darkness. We strained forward to look, and I
distinctly smelled a musty, damp odor, as though the room or cell, or
whatever it was, had been used as a vault, or maybe a tomb.

Then McKelvie came out again and swung the panel into place. He shivered
slightly. "It's empty, but there are indications of a trap door in the
ceiling. What is the room directly above this end of the study?"

"Darwin's dressing-room," I replied.

"Any windows on this side?"

"No."

"Just as I thought. There is a room above that vault. We'll try the
second floor. I trust we are not too late," he added as we returned to
the study. There we waited while McKelvie relocked the entrance, and
when he was ready to lead the way upstairs again, Jones spoke in a
troubled whisper.

"What's the idea of building a house with holes in the wall? It's a
regular rat-trap," he said.

"I have a book at home that I'll have to lend you, Jones. The man who
built this house was a nut on old-fashioned ideas. He copied an
ancestral home, secret rooms and all. Not that he meant to use them, of
course, but because it suited him to put them in. The one I just
examined was used in ancient times, I think, to receive the bodies of
those who fell through the trap door from the room above. A convenient
way of getting rid of your enemy, that is all."

"This criminal of yours seems very familiar with this house," said
Jones.

"Yes, he had been here many times before the murder, and he took pains
to learn all he could about the place," returned McKelvie.

"I thought he only learned of the entrance on the night of the murder,"
I objected.

"Well, what of it. He is clever enough to have deduced what I did. He
probably stumbled across the lower room in opening the outer door and
then it was mere child's play to discover the room above."

Yes, that part was easy enough, but it was another matter to find the
hidden spring that worked the panel. We turned on the light in the room,
and divided the wall into three parts, each of us fingering a third
carefully and painstakingly from top to bottom. It was Jones finally who
stumbled on the spring. He had pressed the center of one of the
mahogany flowers that formed the carved border of the dash-board and
silently the panel slid back.

Never shall I forget the sight revealed to my eyes as the light from the
dressing-room dispelled slightly the gloom of that interior.

In the center of the narrow room kneeled a young girl, with her dark
hair streaming about her shoulders and her pale face raised to heaven as
she pressed the barrel of an automatic to her heart. In that attitude of
utter renunciation, she was very beautiful, so beautiful that she took
away our breath and held us motionless.

That at least was her effect upon Jones and myself, but McKelvie was
less susceptible, or perhaps his quick eyes noted a motion that we did
not observe. At any rate, he sprang forward and knocked up the pistol.
There was a sharp report, and the girl fell forward into his arms in a
dead faint.

He carried her into Darwin's bedroom and laid her on the bed. While he
worked over her, I descended to the kitchen where Mason was watching the
broth McKelvie had ordered him to make.

When I returned she was sitting up, and as she sipped the broth I looked
at her again and felt my pulses stirring as I looked into her face. I'm
not much of a hand at describing beauty in a woman, and perhaps the
greatest compliment I can pay her is to say that though she had suffered
and her lustrous black eyes were dull and her face wan and pale, she was
beautiful still, and her voice held all the haunting quality of the
South in its depths as she told us her story, a story so unusual that it
was almost unbelievable.




CHAPTER XXXV

A STRANGE ACCOUNT


"I come of a race whose blood is hot and easily provoked," she began in
a low voice, "and who consider honor a thing to be cherished and
guarded. A year ago I came to New York to study for the stage, which had
always been my ambition, and before I left New Orleans my dear old
teacher told me to beware of the pitfalls of that great metropolis,
which I intended to make my home. In the beginning I followed his advice
and was wary, receiving no visitors, although I made many acquaintances.
But when one is alone one becomes lonely, and so I permitted two young
men to call upon me, since I knew that both of them came from good
families. I was playing with fire without realizing it, for the elder of
the two, and he was hardly more than a boy, proposed to me when I had
known him a month. I did not love him, and I told him so. In a burst of
jealousy he accused me of being in love with his rival, and declared
that since I would not marry him he cared not what became of him. He
would go straight to the devil, he said. I tried to be kind and to
reason with him, but he was spoiled and wanted only his own way, so I
told him he must not try to see me again, and he never did, for six
months ago he left the city for good."

As she paused in her recital, I realized with a shock that she was
speaking of Dick Trenton. It was she who had given him the sachet then,
and it was she who had been responsible, through the fault of that
beauty with which nature had endowed her, for the attitude of
devil-may-care, which had made the boy an easy prey to Darwin's
fascinations. What a mixed up mess life really was!

"Three months ago I became engaged to Lee Darwin," she continued, "and
in an evil hour for both of us, Lee introduced his uncle Philip to me. I
knew Mr. Darwin was recently married, and so I deemed his interest in me
what he said it was, a natural desire to aid me in my career. He took me
to see the best actors and introduced me to one or two managers. Of
course, Lee was jealous, but as I was never out with Mr. Darwin alone,
and as Lee generally accompanied us, I felt I was doing no wrong, and
that he was very inconsiderate to feel that way.

"The real trouble started on the sixth of October when I broke the
setting of my engagement ring. I was afraid Lee would think I had been
very careless, and I decided to have the ring mended and to say nothing
about it. When Mr. Darwin came in unexpectedly that evening with plans
for introducing me to an eminent playwright, he noticed that I wasn't
wearing the ring, and asked why. I explained the circumstances and asked
him to give me the name of a reliable jeweler, whereupon he offered to
take it himself to Tiffany's.

"I had no suspicions of him," she said with an appealing glance for her
indiscretion. "I gave him the ring."

She rested her voice as she sipped some more of the broth, which I
brought up at McKelvie's request.

"The next morning about ten o'clock Lee came to Gramercy Park. His face
was pale and his eyes gleaming wildly. He called me names and accused me
of a liaison with his uncle, telling me that I might have saved myself
the trouble of returning the ring, as he did not want it. Then vowing he
would kill his uncle before the day was over, he dashed out, leaving me
terrified, cowed.

"But not for long. When I realized Philip Darwin's perfidy I determined
to avenge myself for the aspersions he had cast upon my honor. I
recalled that Lee had declared that one of Mr. Darwin's assertions had
been that I was going to the house on Riverside Drive that night. Very
well. I would keep the appointment, and I would tell him I was coming,
meeting guile with guile.

"I phoned his office and asked him whether my ring was ready for me. In
a voice as false as his heart he apologized for not having taken it as
yet to Tiffany's, but said he would return it to me, if I so desired, at
dinner time, when he hoped to have the privilege of taking me to the
Ritz. I pleaded a previous engagement, and asked him to let me come out
to the house that afternoon to get the ring.

"He debated a while and then said that it was locked up in his study,
and as he would not be home until late it would be impossible for me to
come for it. I said that the lateness of the hour didn't matter, that I
must have the ring, for if Lee should learn where it was he would break
off the engagement. He inquired if I had seen Lee, and I said, 'Not
to-day, but he was asking for it last night, and I put him off with an
excuse.'

"Then he said all right, that I could come to the house at quarter to
eleven. I wanted to know if there wasn't a window or some other way for
me to enter, because I didn't want his wife and servants to know of my
call. He laughed and said that I had only to use the secret entrance
and no one would be the wiser. He explained how to find it and said he'd
leave the doors unlocked for me.

"I had fully intended being at the Darwin house at ten-forty-five, but in
thinking the matter over I became frightened. My anger had exhausted
itself and I was horrified at my own thoughts. I decided not to go. When
ten-thirty struck, however, the memory of all my wrongs swept over me
again, coupled with the thought that Lee had threatened to kill his
uncle, also. I must get there before my lover, since it was all my fault
that he was planning murder. Yet even in my haste I took occasion to lay
my plans with care. I would kill Darwin and myself since Lee no longer
cared for me. I wrote a confession and put it in my pocket, that I might
leave it in Darwin's study, so that no one else need suffer for the
crime. It was eleven when I came downstairs, and meeting my landlady I
informed her that I was going on a journey and should anyone inquire for
me to say that she had no idea where I had gone.

"I took the Subway to Dyckman Street and walked from there to the Darwin
home. I slipped into the grounds and around the house to the place where
Mr. Darwin had told me there was a door in the masonry. I pushed against
the wall, the door gave way, and I found myself at the bottom of a
flight of stairs. I closed the door and then climbed the steps, feeling
my way in the darkness until my hand came in contact with another door
that yielded at my touch. I felt a carpet under my feet and knew I was
in a room. I groped my way along until I reached an open space, and
collided with what I thought was a bar. I remembered that he had told
me to stoop when I passed through the safe. When I straightened up I saw
that I was in his study and that the lamp on his table was lighted. At
the head of the table sat Philip Darwin asleep. I advanced toward him,
taking out my automatic as I walked. When I was close to him I pointed
the pistol at him, then staggered back in horror, just as the lamp went
out. There was a blood-stain on his shirt-front! Someone had reached him
ahead of me!

"In the darkness I fled from him in a panic of fear, thrusting my pistol
into the bosom of my dress. Then realizing that I had gone in the wrong
direction, I ran back again--straight into the arms of a man! Before I
could scream he had flung a cloth over my head and carried me to a
couch. How long I remained thus I don't know, but just when I thought I
must suffocate, someone removed the cloth, a glass was held to my lips,
and Lee said, gently:

"'Drink this and you'll feel better, dear.'

"I thought he had rescued me. I drained the glass. Then I tried to ask
where I was, but my head began to feel queer and heavy and my tongue
refused its office. I closed my eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.
When I awoke I could still feel the couch beneath me. I got up and
groped my way around until I encountered the light switch. Then I saw
that I was in a small carpeted room, which was furnished only with a
divan and a smoking-stand. At either end of the room were doors. One of
these was locked but the other had been left partly open and gave egress
on the stairs that I had climbed.

"I thought of going down again, but felt too shaky to risk it, and
returned again to the divan, deciding that I was in the room I had
crossed to enter the study by the safe. There was a beautiful Persian
cover on the couch and idly I examined it, lifting it clear of the
floor. Then it was that I saw something bright shining where the fringe
of the cover had swept the floor. I picked up the object and saw that it
was a ring, Dick Trenton's ring.

"I knew it was his," she added, her pale cheeks flushing, "because when
he proposed to me he wanted to take it off and put it on my finger.

"I gazed on the ring for a long time, trying to solve the mystery into
which I had stumbled. Philip Darwin was dead, I was evidently a
prisoner, and Dick's ring was in this room. If he had killed Mr. Darwin
it was only right that he should pay the penalty. I would keep the ring
and when the police found me, if someone else was in prison for the
crime I would give them the ring and tell them what I knew.

"I still felt very drowsy, so I put out the light and as I lay down
again the thought occurred to me that if Dick should come back while I
slept and found the ring in my possession, he would take it away from
me. Hastily I conceived a plan. I tied the ring to the fringe of the
cover, where it would remain hidden until I could make use of it.

"I was dozing off when a step on the stairs aroused me. Someone came
into the room.

"'Dick?' I asked, tentatively.

"He laughed oddly and replied, 'No, not Dick. Lee,' and I felt his arms
around me and his kisses on my face.

"I was bewildered. Lee! Why had he drugged me then?

"'Lee,' I cried, 'why am I here?'

"'It's all right, dear. Uncle Phil was murdered and they think you did
it.'

"'But I didn't kill him,' I protested, sitting up and pushing him away.
'He was dead when I entered the room!'

"'I know,' he answered. 'But just the same the police are hunting you.
That's why I hid you away.'

"I heard him moving around the room, then he came back to me and said,
'You must be thirsty. Drink this.'

"But I was not going to be drugged a second time if I could help it,
police or no police, so I said, 'I'm not thirsty, Lee.'

"'That doesn't matter. Drink, I tell you. I'm in a hurry.'

"His voice took on a sinister note as he held the glass forcibly to my
lips. I gave his hand a shove, spilling the contents of the glass over
him.

"'You she-devil,' he said, and crushed me to him.

"Then he flung the cloth over my head again and almost strangled me. I
felt him lift me in his arms and carry me up a flight of steps. He
placed me on the floor of a room and went away. I was in that room a
long, long time before he came again. I was thirsty and hungry and
heartsore to think that he would treat me so, for the room was narrow
and bare and I hadn't even a bed to lie upon. My only comfort lay in the
fact that my revolver still reposed where I had placed it. I took it out
and held it in my hand, for I no longer trusted him.

"The second time he came to see me he opened the panel that formed the
door to my cell and I could see his figure silhouetted against the dim
light in the further room.

"'Lee!' I exclaimed. 'Why, oh why, have you done this! Is it because you
killed your uncle and are afraid that I will tell what I know?'

"He did not answer and I went on: 'Why didn't you listen to my
explanation that morning? You would have known then that your uncle only
took the ring to have it mended. I do not know what he told you, but
whatever it was, he lied.'

"'Did he lie about your coming to see him?' he replied then, in a hard
voice. 'Did he? Answer me that, when I saw you enter his study!'

"'Yes, he lied,' I returned. 'I came to kill him and myself for his
perfidy. Only you had already shot him. Oh, Lee, Lee, why didn't you
listen to my explanation!'

"'I don't believe you. You came because he asked you to, but I got him
first. And now your turn has come.'

"He made as if to step toward me and I put the pistol to my breast.

"'If you come any nearer, Lee, I'll kill myself,' I said steadily. 'Oh,
to think that I could ever have loved you, you murderer!'

"He drew back. 'You'll pay for this. When you have starved for a couple
of weeks you'll be more amenable, I guess,' and he went away laughing.

"I was horrified and I lay and wept for hours. Then as I moved about I
discovered a jug of water. For a long time I was afraid to touch it,
fearing it was a trap to catch me, but when my thirst got the better of
my judgment I drank just enough to satisfy my worst craving. I waited
to learn the results, and as I remained clear-headed, I decided the
water was pure and hoarded it with care.

"I came to the conclusion that jealousy and its consequences had made
Lee mad and that he was not responsible for his actions. Instead of
horror, pity filled my heart for I loved him still.

"He did not come near me again until to-night, and then he was more
fiendish than ever. He said he must leave the city, that he would come
for me to-morrow night, and I could then make my choice between going
with him and death. He pressed a button and showed me a yawning hole in
the middle of the floor, telling me that he would throw me down into the
pit below before he would let me go free to relate to the police what
had happened to me. Oh, it was dreadful! I was glad when he was gone.

"I knew that nothing on earth could induce me to go with him, but the
thought of falling through that black hole was more than I could bear.
As long as I had to die I would choose a less harrowing way. I took out
my pistol and was just going to kill myself when you flung up the barrel
and rescued me."

She gave McKelvie a tremulous smile and burst into tears.




CHAPTER XXXVI

THE TRAP


For a space there was silence in the room while McKelvie paced the
floor, a worried crease between his brows. As for Jones and myself, we
looked from the girl to one another in undisguised perplexity.

How was it possible for Lee Darwin, whom we had rescued from the hands
of the criminal at Hi Ling's shop, to be the same person who had kept
Cora Manning a prisoner? Or had the boy been merely pretending to be
unconscious, and the old man had been a confederate in the game which
they were playing to trap McKelvie? Yet, the doctor had said that Lee
was really ill, and the doctor could not possibly have any motive for
lying, since he had been called in by Jones and was a stranger to us.
Again, Cora had said that Lee had come to see her just previous to our
rescue of her, and at that time I can swear to it that he was upstairs
in one of the rooms in McKelvie's house.

Of course there was always the chance that the young man we had saved
was not Lee Darwin at all (though who else he could be I had no idea),
for I had only seen him once the day of the inquest, and the others had
never laid eyes on him before. To counterbalance that hypothesis,
however, was the straightforward story he had told, which tallied point
for point with Cora's account. There was some deep mystery here which I
for one could not fathom.

"My dear child," said McKelvie presently (from his tone one would have
judged him old enough to be her father), "are you sure that you did not
dream this tale?"

"Dream it? Oh, no, it was too horribly real for me to have dreamt it,"
she answered, astonished that he should doubt her.

"I was not referring to the treatment you had received, but to Lee
Darwin's connection with your incarceration," he explained. "At the time
of which you speak, Lee was himself a prisoner in Chinatown. And
to-night he is at my home, ill in bed, too ill to have been able to come
here at all."

"Lee--a prisoner? Lee--at your house ill? How can that be?" she asked in
wondering tones.

"Miss Manning, did you see this man's face so that you could swear to
it?" continued McKelvie earnestly.

"No. It was dark when he spoke to me in the little room, and up here the
light behind him was always dim. But I heard his voice, Mr. McKelvie. I
could swear it was Lee's," she insisted.

"Voices are easily imitated. He did not talk to you for any great length
of time and he was careful that you should not see his face too closely.
If he had been Lee he would not have cared how much you saw his
features." McKelvie laid a hand on the girl's arm, as he added: "I want
you to believe that Lee had nothing to do with this affair. On the
contrary, he has done his best to protect you, almost giving his life
for your sake. Let me tell you his story briefly. He can fill in the
details for you later," and he told her of our trip to Hi Ling's shop.

"I'm so glad," she said, raising tear-filled eyes to his face as he
ended. "You see I love him still, even though I thought him--all that
was bad. May I see him soon?"

"Yes, but I'm going to ask you to remain in this house to-night. You are
not strong enough yet to take a journey in the Subway and I have no
desire to use the phone to call a taxi. The criminal may have a means of
tapping the wire, for all we know. Now, Miss Manning, are you sure he is
coming back to-morrow?"

"Yes, he told me he would return to-morrow night. He said he had to get
money enough for our trip in case I should go with him, and that a woman
always needed plenty of spare cash. Besides, he'd be sure to come, if
only to give me my choice. He would not leave me here alive for someone
to discover. He made that very plain to me," she returned, with a
shudder.

"Very well, then, we will meet him in your place. I'm going to guard you
to-night myself, in case he should change his mind and come again
unexpectedly. In the meantime, I wish that you, Mr. Davies, would spend
the night at my house to protect Lee. And if you will come around to
Stuyvesant Square at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, Jones, I'll give you
the other details necessary to catch the murderer in his own little
trap."

"Do you want a taxi for to-morrow, then?" asked Jones, as we were
leaving.

"Yes, send one around about nine o'clock. Tell him to wait at the corner
of Dyckman and Broadway. Or, better yet, send one of your own men with
the car, in order that there may be no hitch in our plans."

Jones promised and we returned to town via the Subway, and parted
company at Union Square. When I reached McKelvie's house I stopped at
Lee's room and found that he was awake. He called to me to know whether
I had any news, so I told him the latest developments, watching his face
while I talked. He listened eagerly to what I had to say, was
unaffectedly glad of the girl's release and thankful to learn that she
was safe. His face darkened when I spoke of the impersonation, and he
was just as much at a loss as myself to account for it.

When I turned in I had come to one conclusion at least, and that was
that Lee had had no hand in the murder, either as principal or as
confederate.

At ten o'clock the next morning Jones put in an appearance, but McKelvie
had not yet returned, so we occupied ourselves with a discussion of the
events of the previous night. Finally we came to the conclusion that
Cora Manning in her dazed state had, perhaps, mistaken Dick for Lee,
since both were more or less of a height. But in that event, Dick
purposely misled her. Why? What reason could he have for such an action,
unless indeed, his love for her, coupled with the crime committed in a
moment of passionate anger against the man who had injured him, had
turned his brain.

When McKelvie arrived he brought Cora Manning with him and asked me to
conduct her to Lee. I helped her up the stairs and to the room where Lee
was sitting, and as he rose and held out his arms to her I turned away
and went back downstairs, where McKelvie was issuing his orders to
Jones.

"I want you to bring three men to the house with you, Jones. Be out
there at five o'clock and get Mason to let you in the back way. Wait in
the passageway for me. Get Grenville to accompany you. Tell him it's
important."

"You think you'll be able to catch him?" inquired Jones, as he picked up
his hat.

"He has no suspicion of our visit last night. Our rescue of Lee,
although in a measure it proves that Mrs. Darwin had nothing to do with
the crime, does not in his opinion help us to locate Cora. He only kept
Lee at Hi Ling's to prevent him from giving evidence in Mrs. Darwin's
behalf. He will come to the house to-night without the least suspicion
that there will be anyone there to greet him as he deserves," and
McKelvie laughed.

"Then you know who he is?" I inquired, as Jones left the house.

"I still suspect. I shall not know positively until to-night. And now
I'm going to get some sleep. Then we will go over to the Darwin bank. I
have a mind to see whether that one hundred and fifty thousand dollars
is still there."

Taking advantage of the respite, I went back to my own apartments for
luncheon, and returned to Stuyvesant Square in my car. Evidently in
McKelvie's mind Cunningham was still under suspicion, yet I could hardly
credit that it was Cunningham who had kept the girl a prisoner. He did
not resemble Lee.

When we arrived at the bank Mr. Trenton turned us over to Raines, who
conducted us to the safe-deposit vault.

"Do you know whether Cunningham was in to-day?" asked McKelvie.

"No, I don't. One of the tellers might be able to tell you," responded
Raines.

"Never mind. The strong box will tell me all I want to know," McKelvie
answered.

We approached Cunningham's box and Raines inserted his key in the lock.
As he pulled it open I leaned closer to look at the interior. Then I
gave an exclamation of astonishment. The box was empty! The one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars in bills was gone!

It was two days ago that we had interviewed Cunningham and he did not
then contemplate removing the money from the bank. What had occasioned
this sudden need for so much cash? I could think of only one reason. His
must be the master mind that had conceived the crime and struck the blow
against Darwin, even though he had since hired confederates to aid him
in his scheme of holding Cora, as he had done in the case of Lee.

I spoke my thought to McKelvie as we drove back to his home, but he
shook his head.

"The criminal had no confederates to aid him against the girl. He has
played a lone hand all through with one exception, that is, in the case
of Lee."

"Then why did he remove that money from the bank?" I asked.

"Perhaps he is going on that trip he was telling us about the other
night," responded McKelvie cynically, and I knew by his tone that he
himself did not believe any such thing.

"A trip which will end before it has begun, since it's very apparent his
only reason for flight must be that he killed Philip Darwin," I said
with a laugh.

"Oh, no," responded McKelvie, coolly, "he is clever and unprincipled,
and all kinds of a blackguard, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if he
had a couple of murders to his name, but this I do know. He did not
murder Philip Darwin."




CHAPTER XXXVII

M'KELVIE'S TRIUMPH


When we drove into the grounds of the Darwin home at five o'clock that
night, McKelvie ordered me to hide my car behind the garage and then to
join him in the passageway. As I obeyed I saw him helping Lee, with
Cora's aid, to mount the steps to the back door, for he wanted the two
of them for purposes of identification, since both had been victims of
the unprincipled man we had come there to-night to try to trap.

I parked my car where it could not be seen by anyone approaching the
house and then returned to the servants' wing and entered the
passageway, where McKelvie was disposing of his forces. The three burly
policemen that Jones had brought with him McKelvie ordered to remain
where they were until it grew dark, when they were to hide themselves in
the grounds, toward the side of the house. When they saw a light in the
study they were then to group themselves around the door to the secret
entrance, which he had already pointed out to one of their number while
I was parking my car. If anyone came out through this door they were to
arrest that person, and under no circumstances to let him get away, even
if they had to shoot him. The men saluted and I could see by the
determination written on their faces that the criminal would have small
chance of escaping their vigilance.

Then McKelvie opened the door into the main wing and asked Cora and Lee
to remain in Orton's workroom until they were needed.

"And under no circumstances show a light of any kind," he added. They
did not need to promise, for they preferred a darkened room in which to
tell each other the sweet nothings that lovers are fond of murmuring,
and I envied them their happiness as I thought of Ruth shut away where
even my loving care could not reach her.

In the fading daylight the study was dim, but we managed to make out the
outlines of the furniture, and so were able to move about without
turning on the lamp. McKelvie grouped some chairs around the table and
told us to seat ourselves, since at that distance we could not be seen
by the criminal as he stepped from the safe. Then McKelvie arranged the
shades, drawing them so that they did not quite reach the bottom of the
windows, thus allowing the light to gleam through later, as a signal to
the waiting policemen.

When everything was ready McKelvie spoke to us in an undertone. "I do
not know how long we shall have to wait for him. He will come when it is
dark, perhaps, and again he may not turn up until midnight. In any
event, whether our vigil be long or short, I want to impress upon you
the necessity for absolute silence. A false move and we may lose every
advantage and the criminal as well."

We declared ourselves ready to obey his instructions, however long we
might have to wait, and he crossed the room and took up his position
beside the safe door with the metal handcuffs in his hand, prepared to
snap them on the wrists of the man who should come forth from the
entrance.

I glanced at Jones and Grenville and saw to my amusement that the police
detective was sound asleep. He reminded me of a watchdog that though he
might doze would yet be instantly on the alert at the least hint of
danger. The District Attorney caught my look and smiled, then he leaned
back in his chair and set himself to wait with what patience he might
possess.

I turned to my thoughts, thankful that McKelvie had spared Mr. Trenton
this ordeal, for now that Cunningham was exonerated, the burden of the
crime must fall upon Dick, who, after all, was the only one well enough
acquainted with circumstances to have attempted the schemes which
McKelvie had foiled. Yet it seemed such a mad thing to do, to put his
head in the noose a second time when he had just been cleared of his
first crime, unless James Gilmore's story was all of a piece with the
other deceptions Dick had practised upon us. Who was Gilmore any way?
Had we any proof that his story was true? He may have been paid to put
us off the scent by making us believe that Dick could not commit another
crime since he was innocent of the first one. But, again, there was
McKelvie's statement that with the exception of the Chinamen and those
two ruffians, the criminal had steered clear of confederates. I could
not divine Dick's motive for the deed, since the murder was not and
never had been, one of impulse.

I wished heartily that the whole thing was over and this suspense ended,
yet when the lamp suddenly lighted on the table and I knew that the hour
was at hand, since it must have been the criminal's hand that had
pressed the switch in the safe, I closed my eyes. I did not want to see
the door swing open and Dick step out of that safe.

I heard a metallic click as McKelvie snapped on the handcuffs, and I
opened my eyes with a start as I realized by the snarl of rage that had
come from the murderer's lips that we had caught the man as neatly as
one traps a wild and dangerous animal.

McKelvie laughed as he slammed the door of the safe, and the three of us
rose precipitately (Jones had wakened when the lamp went on), for we
could make out the criminal's figure as he came rapidly toward us. When
he stood within the circle of light, confronting the muzzle of Jones'
gun, I looked into his face, then I gasped audibly.

The man before me was not Dick, but the lawyer--Cunningham!

"This is an outrage!" he exclaimed furiously. "What do you mean by
putting such an indignity upon me?" and he glared at McKelvie.

McKelvie smiled in an exasperating manner. "I was expecting the criminal
to come through that entrance, since he alone possesses a key to it. I
saw a man appear and clapped on the bracelets. It happened to be you.
How do you explain the circumstance?" he inquired politely.

"Very easily," retorted Cunningham coolly, recovering his poise, "I was
going over a lot of old papers and came across a sealed envelope
addressed to me in Darwin's hand. Wondering what it could portend I
opened it. Inside I found a small key and the explanation of the secret
of the entrance. Darwin also went on to say that he was taking me into
his confidence in case anything should ever happen to him. Having a
fondness for amateur detective work, like yourself, Mr. McKelvie," here
he bowed ironically to McKelvie, "I decided to use the opportunity which
fate had bestowed upon me to do a little investigating on my own
account."

"Very ingenious, but it won't do," returned McKelvie, adding with a
sarcastic inflection, "I suppose he also told you the six-letter
combination that I used to lock the safe--after he was dead?"

Cunningham flushed and bit his lip, but before he could think of an
appropriate retort, McKelvie had turned to Jones.

"You won't need to use that gun, Jones," he said with a twinkle. "Our
prisoner is too valuable to shoot--as yet. Call in the others, please,
and light the room as you pass the switch."

Jones pocketed his gun, and departed on his errand, lighting the study,
as we had agreed to do, for the guidance of the men outside. In a second
he was back again with Lee and Cora. As Cunningham's eyes rested on the
girl, who had her arm around Lee and was helping him tenderly to a
chair, the man's face darkened and his eyes blazed upon her.

"Miss Manning, have you ever seen this man before?" asked McKelvie when
Lee was seated and Cora had turned toward us.

The girl looked Cunningham up and down, from the sole of his patent
leather shoes to the crown of his gray-streaked red hair, then she shook
her head and answered simply, "No, Mr. McKelvie, I have never seen him
before."

"Now I trust that you are satisfied?" demanded Cunningham, insolently,
a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "You will oblige me by removing these
things."

Though he held out his manacled hands to McKelvie, his eyes remained on
Cora's face with a look impossible to mistake. The man was in love with
her, though how that was possible when she did not know him, I was at a
loss to decide. McKelvie took a step forward and I thought he was going
to comply with Cunningham's request, but he made no move to release his
prisoner.

"Sorry to have to refuse a gentleman of your standing, but you are far
safer to me with the bracelets on," returned McKelvie imperturbably.
"You are undoubtedly clever or you could not have evaded me so long, but
the trouble with you, as it is with all clever criminals, is that you
are egotistical. You commit a crime and get away with it and then you
immediately think yourself a genius, so much more wonderful than your
fellows who have paid the penalty for their deeds, so infinitely
superior to the police and the detectives that you have no fear of being
caught. But like all your class, there is a weak joint in your armor.
There is no such thing as an infallible criminal and a perfect crime.
You may get away once, or perhaps a score of times, but in the end your
weakness trips you and you fall into the hands of the authorities. In
your case the thing that tripped you and delivered you to us was--love
for a woman. A dangerous game to play, the woman game, Mr. Cunningham,
but love knows no reason. You were so desperately infatuated with Cora
Manning that the thought of going away and leaving her to a more
successful rival was agony to you, and so you remained to persuade her
to go with you. That is why you are here now, facing arrest under an
accusation of murder."

In wondering silence we listened to McKelvie's words and Cora said
quickly, "In love with me? But I never saw him before."

Cunningham only smiled coolly. "You have no proof, my dear sir, no proof
at all."

"Haven't I? I am not as amateurish as I look," said McKelvie, dryly.
Then he faced the man before him squarely and addressed him in a tone of
grim earnestness from which all hint of banter had fled. "You demand
proofs. I will give them to you. I know why the murder was committed,
why Mrs. Darwin was implicated, because I know exactly what took place
in this room on the night of October seventh, from the moment when
Richard Trenton stepped through that French window to the moment when
the murderer left the room by the secret entrance. In other words, the
game is up--Mr. Philip Darwin!" and McKelvie's hand shot out toward his
prisoner's face.

I heard Lee's wondering, "Uncle Phil?" and unable to believe my ears I
took a second look. Then, "Good God!" I cried, for the red hair and
beard were gone and the man standing where Cunningham had been was
indeed Ruth's husband, for whose murder she was even now enduring the
horrors of prison life, Philip Darwin, but Philip Darwin without his
eyeglasses and without his beard!

Who, then, was the man we had found dead in this room, the man we had
buried under Darwin's name? A sudden conviction borne of McKelvie's
last words flashed across my mind.

"Was it--?" I began.

"Yes," replied McKelvie, "the man who was so foully murdered in this
room that night was--Richard Trenton!"

Cora cried cut, "Dick, oh, not Dick!" and I put my hand to my head, for
my brain was in a whirl. Yet I was conscious of a feeling of
thankfulness that he was the victim rather than the perpetrator of the
crime.

With a snarl of rage Darwin broke from McKelvie's hand and fled toward
the safe. Jones started to follow, but McKelvie checked him with a
laugh.

"Let him go, Jones. Have you forgotten that there are three men guarding
the outer door?" he said.

Darwin paused abruptly and turned a hate-distorted face toward us, then
he recovered his cool manner and walked back calmly to where we stood.

"You win," he said to McKelvie with a shrug. "What do you want of me?"

"If you will kindly be seated I should like to explain, with your
corroboration, just exactly what did take place in this room that
night," answered McKelvie.

"No," returned Darwin, "let me tell the story, for you would bungle the
tale. I'll accept your word that you know what happened, since otherwise
you could not have unmasked me. Kindly take off those bracelets, they
annoy me, and give me a cigar. I swear to you that I shall make no
attempt to leave this room."

For a long minute the two men looked into one another's eyes, then
McKelvie stepped forward and removed the handcuffs. He bestowed them in
his pocket, took out a cigar, and offered it to Darwin.

The man accepted the cigar with a bow, lighted it, and then drawing a
chair into the center of the circle which we had formed, he leaned back
nonchalantly and began his tale.




CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE MOTIVE


"You must know, then," said Philip Darwin, "that I was the child of a
second marriage contracted between my father and a young woman who had
just begun to earn a name for herself upon the stage. She endured two
years of walking the straight and narrow path as his wife, and then she
eloped with an actor friend. My father hushed the scandal and withdrew
from social life, becoming morose and bitter and narrower than ever,
watching over me with a zealous eye as I grew older, and endeavoring to
eradicate the talents which I had inherited from her, looking with
particular disfavor on my ability to act and mimic the speech of those
about me.

"Knowing my inherited love of pleasures of all kinds he strove to curb
me by refusing to let me go out in the evenings with my young
companions. This I considered an indignity since I was then old enough
to be my own master, and so I took matters into my own hand, retiring
early and then sneaking away from my rooms to join my friends. This
practice I continued until by an unforeseen chance I was among those
arrested in a raid upon a gambling-house. I would have given a false
name but unfortunately the Sergeant knew me, and of course the affair
came to the ears of my father.

"He was exceedingly wroth and threatened to disinherit me if I ever
disobeyed him again. I did not want to lose my chance to secure his
fortune, which would come to me intact since Robert, my older brother,
was dead, and my sister, Leila, had run away from home, so I remained at
home on my best behavior. It was just at this time that I came across an
old book in the study that gave the history of the house from which ours
had been copied. I investigated and found the door in the masonry, took
an impression of the lock, had a key made, and so discovered the secret
room. That room gave me an idea. I knew that it was next the study
although it had never been cut through, but this fact did not trouble
me. My father had planned to take me to Europe with him, but I told him
that I preferred to remain at home and look after the business, into
which I had been taken as junior partner on my twenty-first birthday.
Thinking that I had reformed he gave his permission for me to have a
safe built in the study, since I had pointed out to him that now that I
was a man of affairs I needed such a contrivance for my personal papers.
But though he left for Europe without me he did not altogether trust me,
for I discovered that his lawyer had orders to telegraph my father if at
any time he learned that I had deviated from the rule of conduct laid
down for me to follow.

"I determined to outwit him. I sent Mason away, hired some workmen, had
a door cut between the study and the secret room and had a safe built
into the wall as a blind. Then I spent the rest of the year in evolving
the character of Cunningham. He should be a young law student,
red-haired, red-bearded, fastidious. Also as Darwin, I adopted glasses
to make myself and Cunningham as opposite as possible in appearance.

"When my father returned he heard no scandal of me for Cunningham had
taken young Darwin's place in the beaumonde. Thereafter I had no
difficulty in getting away, retiring early and then leaving the house by
the secret entrance, after changing to Cunningham in the little room.

"After my father's death Cunningham was of no further value to me, but I
was too clever to utterly destroy him, since I had no idea when I might
need him again. So he told his friends that a relative had died abroad,
leaving him a fortune, and that he was going on a trip around the world.
Then Darwin came back and took his place in the social world.

"I pass over the next few years, in which I played the fool and
speculated beyond my means. Eight months ago I was in desperate need of
money, although none knew of it, and I saw that my only course lay in
marrying some wealthy woman.

"I looked around me and decided that Arthur Trenton's daughter would
serve my purpose. I made friends with her brother and discovered to my
annoyance that the young lady in question had just engaged herself to a
young broker by the name of Carlton Davies and that the wedding was
scheduled to take place in a very short time. This was something of a
set-back, since I knew that Miss Trenton was not likely to jilt her
lover for a man she was barely acquainted with. But once I make up my
mind to obtain a thing I never give up until that thing is mine. I cast
about for a way to make her marry me, and having cultivated her brother,
Dick, for a month, I laid my plans accordingly.

"I enticed the boy, who was inclined to be wild, to a gambling-den,
after I had taken the trouble to get him fairly intoxicated. I had hired
a jail-bird to quarrel with Dick and when the man pretended to go for
the boy, I shot and killed him, telling Dick that he had done it. He
became frightened and I took him to his home, where his father was told
my version of the tale, and Dick was dispatched to Chicago. Then I
forced Ruth to marry me to save her brother from going to the chair for
something he had never done!"

Darwin paused in his narrative to puff his cigar and to let us
sufficiently admire the cleverness that had conceived such a plan.
Admire! I could only shudder at the thought that there could be in
existence a man who could carry out such diabolical schemes in
cold-blood, and actually pride himself on his accomplishment.

"After the marriage I made Ruth sign away her dower rights as well as
her dowry, all to save her brother. Then I took up my old way of living
again. But now there was a fly in my ointment. People began to talk, and
I had enough of my father in me to make gossip distasteful to me. Yet
marriage was a bore, I discovered, and so I resurrected the lawyer,
Cunningham. If as Darwin I must endure life with Ruth, as Cunningham I
would be as gay as I chose. I hired an apartment and began my double
life.

"When Darwin was bored to distraction by prosaic affairs, he would take
a business trip and Cunningham would have his fling. When pleasures
cloyed, Cunningham would be off to see his out-of-town clients and
Darwin would return to the city. The excitement and the danger of
detection that this sort of existence afforded fascinated me and I
should have kept it up indefinitely if fate in the person of a former
teller of the Darwin Bank had not intervened.

"This man, James Gilmore, who had been my dupe ten years before, and had
since been in jail, was at the gambling-den the night I shot Coombs, and
he realized the trick I had played upon Dick. I thought at the time when
Gilmore fell that I had killed him also (I did not know him at the time.
I merely shot at him on the principle that dead men tell no awkward
tales), but by some freak of chance he escaped unhurt and became
acquainted with Richard Trenton.

"The first intimation I had that my plans had gone awry was in a letter
from Dick explaining the circumstances. I thought the matter over and
finally made up my mind to go to Chicago as Cunningham, to kill Dick,
and then return as Darwin, abolishing forever the character of the
lawyer.

"When I reached Chicago, however, and saw Dick, a new plan, more daring,
more subtle, more pleasing in every way leapt fully matured into my
mind, since by means of it Darwin would disappear and Cunningham would
remain, free to live his life unhampered by the marriage tie.

"Dick had grown a beard. Trim it as mine was trimmed, give him a pair of
gold eyeglasses, and he could pass superficially for myself. I marveled
at the likeness then. Now I know it was only natural, since it seems he
was my nephew as well as my brother-in-law.

"I pretended as the lawyer to be on his side, returned to New York, and
wrote him a letter in which I declared that as Ruth refused to divorce
me, which was one of the terms of reparation Dick insisted upon, he had
better call upon me and talk things over. He walked into the trap I had
laid for him, and telegraphed that he would come to see me."

Again Darwin paused and eyed us in that strange exultant manner.

"You will think, perhaps, that it was a daring thing to do, this that I
had in mind, but its very audacity would serve to carry it through, I
knew. Have you ever studied psychology? I commend it to you, for my
knowledge of that subject was the foundation stone upon which I built.

"When a man is found shot in his own study, remaking his own will,
looking like himself to all outward appearance, the conclusion is
naturally that the dead man is the one whom the world believes him to
be, that is, the master of the house. Also I had no fear that the
deception would be remarked. Orton was near-sighted, Mr. Davies (for as
I shall show you presently, I intended to bring him into this affair
also), knew me only slightly, had not seen Dick for six months, and
never with a beard, besides being under the belief that the boy was in
Chicago, and Ruth would be too overwrought to notice anything amiss. The
only one I really feared was Lee, as he knew me thoroughly. I determined
to get rid of him. The question was, how? and the answer was supplied by
the girl, Cora Manning.

"I had been intrigued by her beauty, but had no thought, despite my
nephew's assertions, beyond being allowed to gaze upon her occasionally,
but the night of the sixth as she told me of her broken ring I knew I
loved her and wanted her for my own. I saw a way ahead of me and seized
the opportunity presented to me.

"I inveigled her into giving me the ring and the next morning I gave Lee
to understand that the girl had been false to him. He believed me and I
knew him well enough to guess that he would break off the engagement,
leaving the way free for me later. I also ordered him to leave my house
for his insolence to me, thus getting him out of the way for that night.

"It was at this point in the game that a new element was introduced. I
had meant merely to leave Ruth a supposed widow, but when Orton showed
me the letter she had written to her former lover, I determined to make
her pay for my crime. I told him to piece the letter together and bring
it to me, and then I left for the office.

"And now I was guilty of my first error. I permitted my infatuation for
Cora to get the better of my discretion, and told her to come to the
house at ten-forty-five, knowing I would have time to see her in the
secret entrance and get rid of her before Dick was scheduled to arrive.
I should have known better, for it was too dangerous a game to play.

"At ten-thirty that night I called Ruth to the study and upbraided her,
threatening Mr. Davies in such terms that she took fright and declared
she would send for him to warn him. I only laughed and thoroughly roused
she left me to call her lover to her, as I hoped she would.

"Then I locked the study door, opened the secret entrance as I had
promised, and waited for Cora. She did not come, and when eleven struck
I gave her up and was on the point of leaving the study to relock the
entrance when Dick suddenly stepped in through the window, one half-hour
before he was due. We talked for twenty-five minutes, while I waited for
Mr. Davies' arrival. Dick insisted upon seeing Ruth at once. I told him
she had gone out with friends and would not return until eleven-thirty.

"At eleven-twenty-five I heard a motor drive up, and guessing it must be
Mr. Davies who had come, I set to work to carry out my plan. I told Dick
Ruth had come, and he sprang up and went to the door. I followed him and
as I did so I soaked a handkerchief with chloroform from a bottle I had
in my pocket, and as he fumbled with the key I came up behind him and
pressed the handkerchief over his face. As he sagged into my arms I
switched off the light and carried him to the secret room, depositing
him on the couch.

"Then I returned to the study, unlocked the door, and called in Orton
that he might take away with him a mental image of myself seated in my
chair, as I later intended that Dick should sit. When Orton was gone I
relocked the door, and returned to Dick. I exchanged clothing with him,
and it was no easy task, for he lay an inert mass. Then I trimmed his
beard and placed my eyeglasses on his nose. Finally, I took out my
revolver and shot him through the heart as I supposed, but he had come
out from under the influence of the anesthetic and as I fired he moved
so that the bullet only penetrated his lung. I knew that he was done for
in any case and as I bent down to pick him up I noticed the ring on his
finger. I never wore rings, and that one was too familiar to Ruth to
risk leaving it. I was removing it with care when I heard a step on the
stairs of the entrance. I remembered Cora and dared not let her guess
the truth. Hastily I snatched off the ring, slipped it in my pocket and
carried Dick into the study, setting him down in my chair. Then I hid
behind the curtains of the window, which was nearest the safe. I saw her
enter, and as she advanced toward the table where only the lamp was
lighted, I slipped into the safe and switched it off.

"I took off my coat and as she fell against me in the dark I flung it
over her head, and carried her to the divan in the secret room. Then I
went about my other business, for I had much to do. I cleaned my gun,
and recharged it, removing the bullet from the cartridge I intended to
fire later. I returned to the study, pushed back the chair so that it
would look as though Darwin had been shot when he rose to meet someone,
arranged the matter of the wills, and left a word half finished upon the
testament I was supposed to have been making, burning the old one which
I had torn up when I recalled it was in Lee's favor and not Ruth's.

"When I saw that I had bruised Dick's finger I flung Cora's ring, from
which the stone had dropped that morning, on the top shelf of the safe
in order to explain the abrasion with some degree of plausibility, since
I knew that Lee had seen the ring on my finger in the morning. Then when
everything was as perfect as human ingenuity could make it, I went to
the door and unlocked it, that Ruth might find no obstacle to her
entrance. I switched on the lights for a moment for a last survey and
saw a handkerchief lying near the door. When I picked it up I saw that
it was Ruth's, but caution prevailed and I smelled it to make sure,
knowing well that Cora used Rose Jacqueminot, since I had adopted it
myself after becoming acquainted with her. The handkerchief was
unscented and I decided to add it to the evidence against Ruth. I put
out the light, stained the handkerchief with blood, arranged it in
Dick's hand, turned out the lamp, and waited for Ruth.

"How did I know she would come to the study? Because I had decoyed Mr.
Davies to the house to bring about that very result. He was a man and he
loved her and he feared what I might do to her if I remained in
possession of that letter. I had purposely told her I was going out and
had let her see me throw the letter in the table-drawer. Mr. Davies, I
knew, would urge her to get the letter.

"When she came in and I heard her fumbling with the contents of the
drawer I fired my revolver. I knew it would startle her, and that she
would move away from the table, so I slung the gun along the carpet,
trusting that it would carry as far as her feet. Then I hastened to the
safe and turned on the lamp, closing the door to behind me, but
remaining where I could hear what occurred in the study.

"I heard Mr. Davies' order to Orton, and locking the safe I hastened
through the entrance to the front door, letting myself in just as they
disappeared into Ruth's apartments. I went into the dining-room and
opened a bottle of wine, into which I mixed a sleeping potion. While I
was there I heard the doctor arrive and go upstairs, then I returned the
way I had come, poured out a glass of the wine and gave it to Cora. Then
I locked the entrance doors and left her there to sleep while I returned
to the Corinth as Dick, so that there would be no undue search made for
him. The next morning I went back to my apartments as Cunningham, and
from there to the inquest.

"When Ruth had been adjudged guilty, I determined to get rid of Lee,
since his actions told me plainly he knew something of Cora's visit. I
decoyed him from the club with a fake message and had him kidnapped, but
could get nothing from him. I decided to keep him a prisoner until after
Ruth had paid the penalty for the crime.

"My thought now reverted to Cora, but I dared not return to the house
that night, as the police were still in charge. I waited until they had
left about nine o'clock the next morning, and went to the secret room,
where I found Cora awake. It was too risky a matter to take her to my
other apartments, besides she knew too much to suit me, so I
impersonated Lee to kill her love for him. Then as Cunningham I would
rescue her and through her gratitude I could earn her love. I did not
guess she had a revolver or things might have taken a different turn.

"The afternoon of the ninth I carried out the plans for the suicide of
Richard Trenton. It was necessary to account for his disappearance,
since two men were gone and there was only one body which could be
produced. It was I who jumped in the river. It was an unpleasant duty,
but I had to make some sacrifice to attain my ends. I swam down the
shore and made my way to Chinatown to my refuge at Hi Ling's.

"From then on I faced the world as Cunningham, and in the end I should
have triumphed but for one thing. Mr. Davies' refusal to believe Ruth
guilty brought a new element into the case, a man with brains as keen as
my own, who was not to be duped as I had fooled the police. He was
suspicious of Cunningham from the first, but I did not think that even
he could uncover the truth, so in the end I lost."

Darwin ceased speaking and there was silence in the room for a moment,
then unexpectedly he rose and turned to McKelvie. "You are clever, but
you haven't got me yet. You think to try me. The man doesn't live who
can put me in a cell."

Even as he spoke, before we could grasp the meaning of his rapidly
uttered words, he sprang down the room toward the door, wrenching it
open as Jones fired. We saw Darwin make for the stairs and we were after
him in a second. On the floor above he rushed into his dressing-room,
and as we entered we saw him disappear into the secret closet. There was
a whirring sound and a cry of dismay, then silence, horror-filled.




CHAPTER XXXIX

CONCLUSION


Leaving Jones in charge of the house and its gruesome burden, McKelvie,
Grenville and I drove to Center Street to secure Ruth's release. On the
way Grenville asked McKelvie whether he would mind explaining how he
first divined the truth. McKelvie obligingly complied.

"I owe my success to Miss Manning's quick-wittedness in leaving us that
clue in the secret room. But for that the case might still be hanging
fire. Until we discovered the ring I had no suspicions of the real truth
of the matter. I merely mistrusted Cunningham, because he was the only
clever unprincipled person connected with the case, but I could conceive
of no plausible motive which would cause him to commit the crime.

"I had never swallowed that neat account of how Darwin's finger came to
be bruised. The reason was deeper than mere sentiment, I felt. When we
stumbled on the ring, the truth flashed across my mind. The ring had to
be removed because the dead man was Dick, not Darwin. If that were so,
then Dick could not have committed suicide. I determined to test my
theory.

"I took with me to Water Street a photograph of Darwin taken when he was
Dick's age (I had seen it in an old album in the den upstairs when I
first examined the house on Riverside Drive). Both Mrs. Bates and Ben
Kite recognized it as the picture of the man who had jumped into the
river. So far, so good. Dick had been murdered and Darwin was alive.
What was the motive? James Gilmore supplied the answer and the case was
simplified. With Darwin as the murderer every fact fell into place with
the ease of a carefully pieced puzzle.

"Darwin wanted to rid himself of his wife, Darwin knew she had written a
love-letter, Darwin knew that Mr. Davies was in the house and would urge
Mrs. Darwin to secure the epistle. Also the quarrel with Lee took on a
new phase, a scheme for ridding himself of a pair of keen eyes.

"The only question to be solved was the one, Where was Darwin? Was he
still in the city or had he left the country? I could not rid myself of
the idea that Cunningham had some share in the affair. He was too keenly
interested to be a mere on-looker. Could it be that Cunningham was
Darwin, I asked myself. I investigated and discovered that the two men
were never in the city at the same time, that they had never been seen
together, although they were more than lawyer and client. The finding of
the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in Cunningham's strong box
clinched the matter for me. I knew that Darwin was not likely to give
another man the money which he would need himself with which to get
away."

McKelvie paused and turned to me. "Do you remember the night he told us
that pleasant fiction about the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?
I was positive then that he was Darwin, but I had no way of proving it
and I had no desire to put him on his guard. That is why I advertised
for Lee. I wanted to frighten him into thinking I was on to him and so
catch him with the goods, which we were able to do, thanks to his own
folly."

"And thanks to you, Mrs. Darwin's life has been saved," I said, as he
ceased speaking. "I can never repay you for what you have done," and I
held out my hand.

He grasped it with an embarrassed laugh. "Don't thank me. I enjoyed
running him to earth. I'm glad he got his deserts."

"Did he really mean to kill himself?" I asked presently.

"No. I examined that closet. It had a double purpose. There was a
trapdoor in the ceiling as well, and when you pressed a button in the
wall a ladder was let down and you could escape over the roof. That was
Darwin's plan, but in his haste he touched the wrong spring, for they
were near together and it was dark, and so he fell to his death. Thus is
evil punished in the end."

"How did Cunningham happen to have a sachet bag embroidered with his
initials when Cora did not know him as Cunningham?" I inquired.

"He had foolishly preserved the one she had given him as Darwin. The
initials on it were P. D."

"You told me that when I learned the answers to those questions that I
should know who committed the crime. Why was it then that Jones and I
did not guess the truth the night we heard Lee's story?"

"Because you had no idea of the motive for the crime. Also you answered
some of the questions wrong," he replied with a smile.

"Wasn't it odd that Ruth failed to recognize Cunningham as her husband
when he spoke to her at the inquest?" I asked.

"No. He kept his voice disguised. Didn't he say he had a bad cold or
something of the sort? When I was positive that Cunningham was Darwin I
had a second interview with Mrs. Darwin. She told me then that when
Cunningham spoke to her she had an impression that she was hearing the
voice of her husband, but as she was persuaded that Darwin was dead she
thought it must be her own foolish fancy, and so said nothing about it."

I nodded, recalling the puzzled look on Ruth's face when she glanced at
Cunningham at the inquest, for which I had at the time been unable to
account, and while I waited McKelvie's return in the reception room of
the Tombs, I pondered upon the kindness of Fate in having disposed of
the man who had stood so long between me and the one desire of my heart.
I wondered how I would tell Ruth the actual facts in the case, and was
debating the wisdom of enlightening her when McKelvie returned with a
beaming smile.

"She'll be here in just a minute," he said, adding quizzically, "You
won't need my help in solving this problem, I'll wager," and he waved
his hand toward the door.

The next moment Ruth was in my arms.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of the Hidden Room, by Marion Harvey