||||| ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ----- --- - - - - ------------ ---------------------- ·！ |-： |-|- ---- · · · |-|-|- |-|- |-|- |-· |- |-|- ||-|-|- ----|- | |-： |-* ·|- |- |- ·|-|- …--|- ·|- |- |-|- ·|- · . ·|- ·|- ·|- |-|- |-|- |- ----|- ---- |- |- |----- ·|- ·|- |-|- |- ||-|- |- · . … · |- · - - -- - ~ ！ - - - ----- ~~ -- - - ---- |-|-|-：： - ----|-|- |-|- -*|-|-|- |-|-|-|- |- |-|- - - |-}•| –|-|- |-|-----|-|- ----|-|-|- •|-|- - -|- *|-|-|- |-·|- |- |-|-|- -， ！ |-：， ， - -|-|-|-|-|-|- |-|-|-|-|- |-|-|-|-· |-- -|-|-|-- |-|- |-|- |-|-|-|-|- |-！|- |-|-·|-- - -|- |-|- |- |-，|-|-|-|-|- |-|- ：·---- |- |-|-|-|- ·|-|-| –|- |- |-|-|- |-， ！ |-||- |-|- |-*-|- |-|-|-- |-|-： |-|-|- |-| –|-|- |-|-|-|- . .|-|-|-- |- |-|-·|-|-|-|× |-|- |-|-· |-|- |- ----· · · -|- |-·|-|- |-|- |-|-|-|-|-|-|- |- ， ，|-|-|- |-， ，|-|-|- |-- - |-|-|-·|-|-|-|----- |-|- |-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-， ，·|-|- |-|- |-|-|-|-|-|-|-|- |-|-- |- |-|- |-， ！· · · ·| – |-|-|-|-：|-|-| - |-|-|-|-|-， ！|-|-|-|-|- |-- -|-|-|-|-- . |-·|- |-- ：-|-|- |----- |- -|-|- |-|-- ：|-|- - - -|-|-|-·|-|-|-- - -*|- |-- -|-|- |×|-|-- -|- | –|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|- |-|-|- - |-----|-|-|-|- ----|-|-|-•|- ·|-|- |-|- ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ . - ： *** ; * THE WINNING CLUE BY JAMES HAY, Jr. - Author of “The Man Who Forgot,” “Mrs. Marden's Ordeal,” etc. NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY" 1919 **. TTTTTV- PCA. 2 . L. $6315, Aºto, LI " ", , , , , I LL - N F O J - J.A . . . R 4 ºn 23 I. CopyRIGHT, 1919 Dy DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. - - * - - - -- - * * * - - - * * * . TO GRAHAM B. NICHOL AS A LITTLE TOKEN OF MY ADMIRATION AND AFFECTION CHAPTER II. III. IV. VI. VII. VIII. IX. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. CONTENTS STRANGLED - - e - “SOMETHING BIG IN IT * . THE RUBY RING . - - Two TRAILs . - - - - THE HUSBAND'S STORY . - - MORLEY IS IN A HURRY . MISS FULTON IS HYSTERICAL THE BREATH OF SCANDAL WOMEN'S NERVES EYES OF ACCUSATION . THE $1,000 CHECK - - - THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TOOTH LUCY THOMAS TALKS - THE PAWN BROKER TAKES THE TRAIL - - BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT A MESSAGE FROM MISS FULTON . MISS FULTON'S REVELATION WHAT'S BRACEWAY'S GAME? AT THE ANDERSON NATIONAL BANK - - - - THE DISCOVERY OF THE JEWELS . BRISTOW SOLVES A PROBLEM PAGE 13 22 31 40 52 66 79 91 96 108 119 131 136 150 166 174 183 Wii WIll - - - CONTENTS CHAPTER XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. A CONFESSION . - - - ON THE RACK . MISS FULTON WRITES A LETTER . A MYSTIFYING TELEGRAM WANTED : VENGEANCE THE REVELATION CONFESSION VOLUNTARY THE LAST CARD . - - PAGE 222 232 236 242 252 267 278 289 THE WINNING CLUE CHAPTER I STRANGLED WHEN a woman's voice, pitched to the high note of utter terror, rang out on the late morning quiet of Manniston Road, Lawrence Bristow looked up from his newspaper quickly but vaguely, as if he doubted his own ears. He was reading an account of a murder com- mitted in Waukesha, Wisconsin, and the shrieks he had just heard fitted in so well with the para- graph then before his eyes that his imagination might have been playing him tricks. He was al- lowed, however, little time for speculation or doubt. "Murder! Help!" cried the woman in a stac- cato sharpness that carried the length of many blocks. Bristow sprang to his feet and started down the short flight of stairs leading from his porch to the street. Before he had taken three steps, he saw the frightened girl standing on the porch of No. 5, two doors to his left. Although he was lame, he displayed surprising agility. His left leg, two inehes shorter than the right and supported by a steel brace from foot to thigh, did not prevent his 1 2 THE WINNING CLUE being the first to reach the young woman's side. Late as it was, half-past ten, she was not fully dressed. She wore a kimono of light, sheer ma- terial which, clutched spasmodically about her, re- vealed the slightness and grace of her figure. Her fair hair hung down her back in a long, thick braid. Neighbours across the street and further up Manniston Road were out on their porches now or starting toward No. 5. All of them were women. The girl—she was barely past twenty, he thought —stopped screaming, and, her hands pressed to her throat and cheeks, stared wildly from him toward the front door, which was standing open. He en- tered the living room of the one-story bungalow. A foot within the doorway, he stood stock still. On the sofa against the opposite wall he saw an- other woman. He knew at first glance that she was dead. The body was in a curious position. Apparently, before death had come, the victim had been sitting on the sofa, and, in dying, her body had crumpled over from the waist toward the right, so that now the lower part of her occupied the attitude of sitting while the upper half reclined as if in the posture of natural sleep. One thing which, per- haps, added to the gruesomeness of the sight was that she had on evening dress, a gown of pale blue satin embellished in unerring taste with real old Irish lace. Although the face had been beautiful under its crown of luxuriant black hair, it now was dis- STRANGLED 3 torted. While the eyes were closed, the mouth was open, very wide—an ugly, repulsive gape. He was aware that the woman in the kimono was just behind him—he could feel her hot breath against the back of his neck—and that behind her pressed the neighbours, their number augmented by the arrival of two men. He turned and faced them. "Call a doctor—and the police, somebody, will you? " he said sharply. "They have a telephone back there in the dining room," volunteered one of the women on the porch. Another, a Mrs. Allen who lived in No. G, had put her arms around the terrified girl and was forcing her into an armchair on the porch. The others started into the living room. "Wait a moment," cautioned Bristow. "Don't come in here yet. The police will want to find things undisturbed. It looks like murder." They obeyed him without question. He was about forty years old, of medium height and with good shoulders, but his chest was too flat, and his face showed an unnatural flush. His mere physique was not one to force obedience from others. It was in his eyes, dark-brown and lit with a peculiar flaming intensity, that they read his right to command. "Please go through this room to the telephone and call a doctor," he said, singling out the woman who had spoken. His voice, a deep barytone with a pleasant note, was perfectly steady. He seemed to hold their ex- citement easily within bounds. The woman he had addressed complied with his 4 THE WINNING CLUE suggestion. While she was doing so, he crossed over to the sofa and put his hand to the wrist of the murdered woman. In order to do that, he had to move a fold of the gown which partially con- cealed it. The flesh was cold, and he shivered slightly, readjusting the satin to exactly the fold in which he had found it. "Too late for a doctor to help now/' he threw back over his shoulder. They watched him silently. Low moans were coming constantly from the woman in the chair on the porch. Bristow took the telephone in his turn and called up police headquarters. The chief of police, whom he knew, answered the call. "Hello! Captain Greenleaf?" asked the lame man. "Yes." "There's been a murder at Number Five, Man- niston Road. This is Lawrence Bristow, of Num- ber Nine." "Aw, quit your kiddin'," laughed Greenleaf. "What do you want to do, get me up there to hear another of your theories about" "This is no joke," snapped Bristow. "I tell you one of the women in Number Five has been murdered. Come" But the chief, recognizing the urgency in the summons, had left the telephone and was on his way. As Bristow turned toward the living room, Mrs. Allen and another woman were carrying the hys- STRANGLED 5 terical, moaning girl from the front porch to one of the two bedrooms in the bungalow. Some of the others again started into the living room. "Let's wait," he cautioned once more. "If we get to moving around in here we may destroy any clues that could be used later." When they fell back a little, he joined them on the porch, standing always so that he could watch the body and see that no one changed its attitude or even approached it. His eyes studied keenly all the furniture in the room. Save for one over- turned stiff-backed chair, it apparently had not been disturbed. The doctor arrived and, waiting for no informa- tion, approached the murdered woman. As Bris- tow had done, he touched her wrist, and then slipped his hand beneath her corsage so that it rested above her heart. He straightened up almost immediately^ "Dead," he said to Bristow; " dead for hours.'' The physician became conscious of the hysterical girl's moans, took a step toward the bedrooms and paused. "That's right, doctor," Bristow told him. "They need you back there." The doctor hurried out. "That is—that was Mrs. Withers, wasn't it?" Bristow, looking at the dead body, asked of the group. "Yes; and the other is her sister, Miss Fulton," one of them answered. Bristow had seemed to all of them a peculiar man—too quiet and reserved—ever since he had 6 THE WINNING CLUE come to No. 9 four months before. They remem- bered this now, when he seemed scarcely con- scious of the identity of the two girls who had lived almost next door to him during all that time. Different members of the crowd gave him infor- mation: Miss Maria Fulton, like nearly everybody else on Manniston Koad, had tuberculosis, and Mrs. Withers had been living with her. They had plenty of money—not rich, perhaps, but able to have all the comforts and most of the luxuries of life. They were here in the hope that Furmville's climate would restore Miss Fulton's health. Their coloured cook-and-maid had not come to work that morning, it seemed, and Miss Fulton, who was the younger of the two sisters, was on the "rest" cure, ordered by the doctor to stay in bed day and night. Perhaps that was why she had not discovered Mrs. Withers' body earlier in the day. They gossiped on. It was like a lesson in immortality—the dead body, with distorted face and twisted limbs, just inside the room; and outside, in the lowjtoned phrases of the awed women, swift and vivid pic- tures of what she, when alive, had said and done and seemed. "Everybody liked her. If somebody had come and told me a woman living on Manniston Eoad had been killed, she would have been the last one I'd have thought of as the victim." "All the other beautiful women I ever knew were stupid; she wasn't." "Her husband couldn't come to Furm- STRANGLED 7 ville very often." "Loveliest black hair I ever saw." "She used to be" Then followed quick glimpses of her life as they had seen or heard it: a dance at Maplewood Inn where she had been the undisputed belle; a novel she had liked; a big reception at the White House in Washington when, during the year of her d6but, the French ambassador had called her "the most beautiful American," and the newspapers had made much of it; an emerald ring she had worn; the unfailing good humour she had always shown in the tedious routine of nursing her sister—and so on, a mass of facts and impressions which were, simultaneously, a little biography of her and an un- affected appreciation of the way she had touched and coloured their lives. Captain Greenleaf, with one of the plain-clothes men of his force, came hurrying up the steps. The crowd fell back, gave them passage, and closed in again. "Nothing's been disturbed, captain," said Bris- tow. "Were is she? " asked Greenleaf anxiously. He was not accustomed to murder cases. He caught sight of the body on the sofa. "God!" he said in a low tone, and turned to- ward the plain-clothes man: "Come on in, Jenkins—you, too, Mr. Bristow." The three entered the living room, and Green- leaf, with a muttered word of apology to the on- lookers, closed the door in their faces. He, too, did what Bristow had done—put his fingers on the dead woman's wrist. He was breath- 8 THE WINNING CLUE ing rapidly, and his hand shook. Jenkins stood motionless. He also was overwhelmed by the trag- edy. Besides, he was not cut out for work of this kind. In looking for illicit distillers and boot- leggers, or .negroes charged with theft, he was in his element, but this sort of thing was new to him. He had no idea of where to turn or what to do. "She's dead," Bristow said to the captain. "The doctor says she has been dead a long time—hours." "Where's the doctor?" "Back there. Miss Fulton, the sister, is hys- terical with fright." "Who sent for the doctor?" "I did. I asked one of the women here to tele- phone." "Then I'll call the coroner." He stepped through the open folding doors into the dining room and took down the receiver, look- ing, as he did so, at the body and its surroundings. Bristow stooped down, picked up something from the floor near the sofa and dropped it into his vest pocket. The doctor—Dr. Braley—returned as the captain hung up the telephone receiver. "Miss Fulton is quieter now," he announced. "Doctor," requested Greenleaf, "look at this body, will you? What caused death?" Braley, a thin, quick-moving little man of thirty- five, bent over the dead woman, lifted one of her eyelids, and examined her throat as far as was possible without moving the head. "She was choked to death," he gave his opinion. "Although the eyes are closed, you see the effect STRANGLED 9 they produce of almost starting from their sockets. And the tongue protrudes. Besides, there are the marks on her throat. You can see them there ou the left side." "How long has she heen dead?" "I can't say definitely. I should guess about eight or ten hours anyway." That staggered Greenleaf, the idea of this woman dead here in the front room of a bungalow on Manniston Road for eight or ten hours—and no- body knew anything about it! His agitation grew. He felt the need of doing something, starting some- thing. "How about Miss Fulton?" he asked. "Can I get a statement from her?" "Not just yet. Give her a little more time to get herself together. Besides, she told me some- thing about the—er—affair. Most remarkable statement—most remarkable." "What was it?" "She says," related Braley, "that she only dis- covered the dead body of her sister a few minutes before she was heard crying for help. Her sis- ter, Mrs. Withers, went to a dance, one of the regular Monday night dances at the inn—Maple- wood Inn. She went with Mr. Campbell, Douglas Campbell, the real estate man here. You know him. They left the house at nine o'clock last night. That was the last time Miss Fulton saw Mrs. With- ers alive. "In the meantime, Miss Fulton herself, who is under my orders to stay in bed all the time, was up and dressed so that she might spend the eve- 10 THE WINNING CLUE ning with a friend of hers from Washington. His name is Henry Morley. He left this house a little after eleven o'clock, and he left Furmville on the midnight train for Washington. "Miss Fulton, thoroughly tired out, went to bed and was asleep by half-past eleven. As she has something which she uses when she wants a good sleep, she took some of it last night and did not wake up until after ten this morning. She didn't even hear her sister come in last night. "When she awoke this morning, she called her sister. Amazed by receiving no answer, she got up to investigate. Mrs. Withers' bed had not been occupied. She then came in here and found the body." "You mean to say," put in Bristow, "that this sick girl was here all night and heard nothing?" "That's what she says," confirmed the physician. "Did she give any idea who the murderer might be?" queried Greenleaf. "No; she's not sufficiently clear in her mind to advance any theories yet—naturally." "Let me look around," suggested the captain. He did so, followed by Bristow and the doctor. Save for the overturned chair, between the sofa and the dining room door, the furniture, for the most part the mission stuff generally found in the furnished-for-rent cottages in Furmville, had not been knocked about in a struggle. That was evi- dent. The two rugs on the floor had not been dis- turbed. None of the three men touched the over- turned chair. All the windows of the living room and the dining STRANGLED 11 room were closed but not locked, as there was on the outside of each the usual covering of mosquito wiring. The shades were down. The front door did not have the inside "catch" thrown on. Greenleaf examined the kitchen, the unoccupied bedroom, the bathroom, and the sleeping porch at the back of the house. This last, like the windows, was inclosed in stout wire screens, and nowhere, on either the windows or the sleeping porch, had this screening been broken. The kitchen door was locked. There was no sign of a struggle anywhere. These negative facts were gathered quickly. Mrs. Allen, summoned from the sister's side, re- ported that there were no signs of an entrance hav- ing been made through any of the three windows in the bedroom in which Miss Fulton now lay quiet. They made their way back to the living room. In spite of the most painstaking examination of the floor, walls, and furniture of the entire bun- galow, they were, so far, without a clue. The murderer had left not the slightest trace of his identity or his manner of entrance to the death chamber. "As I see it," said the captain when they re- joined Jenkins, " nobody broke into this house last night. But two men had admission to it. They were Mr. Douglas Campbell, the real estate man, and Mr. Henry Morley, who was calling on Miss Fulton. It's up to those two to tell what they know." "But," objected the doctor, "Miss Fulton says Morley left town last night." 12 THE WINNING CLUE "Humph! Maybe that makes it look all the worse for Morley." "But," suggested Bristow, "if we find that the front door was unlocked all night, the possibilities broaden." "How will we find that out?" "Miss Fulton might remember about it." "She did mention that," put in Braley; "it was unlocked." "All the same," insisted Greenleaf, "Morley's got to come back here. Wouldn't you say so?'" This question was addressed to Bristow. The telephone bell rang in the dining room. The chief went to answer it. "What's that?" Those in the living room heard him. "You? I'm the chief of police. Where are you now? Oh, I see. Come up here, will you? There's been a murder here. Mrs. Withers. Right away? All right; I'll wait for you." He came back to the living room. "That was Mr. Henry Morley," he said, "Didn't leave town last night. What do you think of that?" CHAPTER II "something big in it" BEFORE the question was answered the cor- oner arrived. While Chief Greenleaf told him the circumstances confronting them, Dr. Braley telephoned for a trained nurse for Miss Fulton. In the absence of anybody else to perform the unpleasant task, the doctor went back to take up with the bereaved girl the matter of telegraph ing to her family and the details of preparing the murdered woman's body for burial as soon as would be compatible with the plans of the coroner. "I wonder, Mr. Bristow," suggested Greenleaf, "if I couldn't walk up to your place with you and talk this thing over." "Glad to have you," agreed Bristow. The crowd on the porch and in the street began to disperse slowly after the chief had told them none of them could be admitted. In small groups, they made their way to porches or into houses where they lingered, speculating, wonderiug, ad- vancing impossible theories. Why had death singled her out? Who would ever have suspected that there had been in her life any foothold for tragedy? The secrecy with which she had been struck down, the ease of the mur- derer's coming and going safely, roused their 13 14 THE WINNING CLUE resentment. They sympathized with themselves as well as with the dead woman. Confusedly, but at the same time with striking unanimity, they felt that this was not merely a mystery, but a mystery made ugly and shocking by base motives and despicable agents. In common with all mankind, they resented mystery. It em- phasized their own dependence on chance. They began to guess at the best method for capturing the guilty. The chief of police and the lame man had reached the porch of No. 9. There Bristow picked up from a table a scrapbook and a bundle of news- paper clippings. Following him into the living room, Greenleaf brought a paste pot and a pair of shears which the other evidently had been using in placing the clippings in the big book. He put them down on a table in one corner near Bristow's type- writer. "Still figuring 'em out, I see," he said grimly. He referred to Bristow's habit of reading murder mysteries in the-newspapers and working them out to satisfactory solutions. That was Bristow's way of amusing himself while set down in Furmville for the long struggle to overcome the tuberculosis with which he was afflicted. In fact, as a result of this recreation, he had become known to Greenleaf, who had visited him several times. He had rendered the captain considerable assist- ance in a minor case shortly after his arrival in the town, and Greenleaf was really amazed by the cor- rectness of the lame man's solutions of most of the murder cases chronicled. He knew that Bristow "SOMETHING BIG IN IT" 15 had been right on an average of nine times out of ten, often clearing up the affairs on paper many days or even weeks ahead of the authorities in various parts of the country. Bristow had his records in his scrapbooks to prove his contentions. Under each clipping de- scriptive of a baffling murder he had written a brief outline of his solving of the case and dated it, fol- lowing this with the date of the correct or incorrect solutions by the authorities. "But now," the chief added, as they sat down before the open fire, which earlier had fought against the chill of the cool May morning, "you can work one out right on the ground. And I'll be mighty glad to have your help—if you will help." "Of course," said Bristow. "I'll be more than glad to make any suggestions I can." The chief went out on the porch and called across the yard of No. 7 to one of his men on guard at No. 5: "Simpson, when a young man—name's Morley— gets there and asks for me, tell him to come up here to Number Nine." He came back and referred to Bristow's offer of help: "For instance?" "Well," Bristow answered, "as we see it now, there are three possibilities: Campbell, or Morley, or some unknown man or woman, coloured or white, bent on robbery." "So far, though, we haven't found any signs of robbery." "I have." 16 THE WINNING CLUE "What were they?" "The middle, third and little fingers of Mrs. Withers' left hand were scratched, badly scratched, as if rings had been pulled from them by force. And there was a deep line on the back of her neck. It looked black just now, but it was red when it was inflicted. It was too thin to have been made by a finger, but it might have been caused by some- body's having tugged at a chain about her neck until it broke." v "The thunder you say! I didn't notice any of that." "I'll show you the marks when we go back there." "But," objected Greenleaf, "I know Mr. Camp- bell. He's not the sort to steal. And I don't sup- pose Morley is." "They say the same thing about bank presi- dents," Bristow replied with a slight smile, "but some of them get caught at it, nevertheless." "Yes; but this is different—unless the murdered woman had extremely valuable jewelry." "That's true. Besides, if the front door was unlocked all night, or, even if somebody knocked at the door and Mrs. Withers answered it, there is your third possibility, any ordinary robbery and murder." "I believe that's what will come out," Greenleaf said, his troubled face showing his worried con- sciousness of inability to handle the situation; "but how will we—how will I prove it?" "Morley and Campbell can make their own state- ments." "SOMETHING BIG IN IT » 17 Bristow, going to the dining room door, called toward the kitchen: "Mattie!" Replying to his summons, a middle-aged coloured woman appeared. "Mattie, didn't I hear Perry tell you yesterday that he was to go to work this morning for Mrs. Withers, 'making' her garden?" "Yas, suh," answered Mattie, still breathing heavily from her hurried return from No. 5. "Has he been around this morning?" "Naw, suh." "Do you know where Mrs. .Withers' servant lives?" "Yas, suh." "What's her name?" "Lucy Thomas, suh." "Well, I want you to go there right away and find out what's the matter with her, why she didn't show up for work this morning. Take your time. Dinner can wait." When Mattie had gone, Bristow explained: "This Perry—Perry Carpenter—is a young negro who does odd jobs in this section. He's about twenty-five, I guess. Each of these bungalows has a garden back of it, you know. There are no houses behind us. I don't like Perry's looks. He did some gardening for me Saturday and yester- day." "You think he?" "He's got a bad face. If neither Campbell nor Morley killed Mrs. Withers, why shouldn't we find out where Perry and the servant woman of Nuni- 18 THE WINNING CLUE ber Five are now, and where they were all last night?" "I reckon that's right," chimed in Greenleaf. " It looks something like a common darky job at that." "And this," added Bristow, taking something from his vest pocket and handing it to the chief of police, "looks more like it, doesn't it?" Greenleaf examined the object the other had put into his hand. It was a metal button of the kind ordinarily worn on overall jumpers, and clinging to it were a few fragments of the dark blue stuff of which overalls are commonly made. On the back of the button were stamped in white the words: " National Overalls Company." "Where did you get this?" asked the chief. "I picked it up in the room where the dead girl was; and I'd forgotten it until this minute. It was on the floor a few yards from the body. You saw me when I picked it up. You were at the tele- phone." "That's right. I remember now. By cracky! That came off of some darky's working clothes. That's sure!" "The only trouble is," puzzled Bristow, "your negro doesn't wear overalls at night after he has finished work. He dresses up and loafs down town." "That's true on Saturday nights. Other nights they don't take the trouble to change. And last night was Monday night. No, sir! That's our first clue, that button; the first sign we've had of the murderer." "Keep it," Bristow told him. "I'm not as con- "SOMETHING BIG IN IT" 19 fident as you are, but you might have a look at the blouse of Perry's suit of overalls. We can't over- look anything now." Deep in thought he gazed at the fire. Greenleaf got up and walked to the window, which gave a magnificent view of the great Carolina mountains in the distance. He was not admiring the moun- tains, however. He was wondering why Mr. Mor- ley had not arrived. "By the way," he said, "can't I get a drink of water?" He was in the dining room on his way to the kitchen before Bristow roused himself from his reverie. "Wait!" he called to the chief. "Let me get it for you." Greenleaf, however, had gone into the kitchen. Bristow followed him and took a tumbler from a rack on the wall. The chief drew the tumbler full twice from the faucet and gulped down the water. His hand shook. He was very nervous. As they turned to leave the kitchen, he uttered an exclamation and, stooping down swiftly, pulled something from under the stove. When he straight- ened up, he had in his hand another metal button. He turned it about in his fingers, studying it. "It looks like the one you found in Number Five," he said. They compared the two. They were identical. The two men stared at each other. "What do you make of that?" asked Green- leaf. 20 THE WINNING CLUE "I was wondering," Bristow replied, thinking quickly, "when—how that got there." He paused and added: "Mattie doesn't wear overalls." They returned to the living room. "But," he continued, "Perry was working for me yesterday. He was in the kitchen talking to Mattie. I wonder—Well, there's one thing; if Perry's blouse has two buttons missing, he'll be con- fronted with the job of establishing an alibi for all of last night." "By cracky!" The captain slapped his hands together in evident relief. "I believe we've got him! I'm going to send a man after him." He went out to the porch and signalled another of his men. "Drake," he said, "I want you to find a young negro—name's Perry Carpenter--about twenty- five years old. He does odd jobs around here. Any of these other niggers can tell you where he lives. When you find him, take him to headquarters. Keep him there until I come. Get him. Don't lose him!" When he stepped back into the house, Bristow was regarding him with a smile. "I hope you're right," he told the chief, "but I've a hunch you're wrong. I believe this murder is more than an ordinary robbery by a darky. Somehow, I have the impression that there's some- thing big mixed up in it." "Why?" "I can't say exactly. Perhaps it's because I've been thinking of the beauty of the victim. Or it may be that I was impressed by what the women "SOMETHING BIG IN IT" 21 said about her when we were waiting for you on the porch." He thought a while, and decided that he had no explanation of why he had made the remark. He had not meant to say it. It had come from him spontaneously, like an endorsement of what all Manniston Eoad was saying at that very moment: the " the something big in it" loomed up, intangible but demanding notice. Greenleaf himself, for all his apparent certainty about the guilt of the negro Perry, sensed vaguely the possibility, the hint, that this crime was even worse than it appeared to be. But he would not admit it. He preferred to keep before his mind the easier answer to the puzzle. "No," he contradicted Bristow; "I believe Perry's the fellow we want. Here we are dealing with facts, not story-book romances." Just then a young man sprang up the steps of No. 9 and knocked on the door. It was Henry Morley, come to give weight to Bristow's " hunch." CHAPTER III THE RUBY KING ALTHOUGH it was Chief Greenleaf who opened the door, it was to Bristow that Mor- 11 ley turned, as if he instinctively recognized the superiority of the lame man's personality. Greenleaf, of average height and weight, had noth- ing of command or domination about him. With his red, weatherbeaten face and mild, expressionless blue eyes, he looked like a well-to-do farmer. He was suggestive of no acquaintance with Tarde, Lombroso or any other authorities on crime and criminals. "Won't you sit down? " invited Bristow. The new-comer was tall and slender. In spite of a straight, high-bridged nose and thin lips, his face indicated weakness. His dark-gray eyes had in them either a great deal of worry or undisguised fear. As he took the chair pointed out to him, he was being catalogued by Bristow as showing too much uncertainty, even a womanish timidity. Bristow noticed also that his thick, soft blond hair was carefully parted and brushed, and that his fingers were much manicured. He breathed in short, quick gasps. "What is it? How—how did it happen?" he asked, his gaze still on Bristow. THE RUBY RING 23 Greenleaf took a seat so that Morley sat be- tween him and Bristow. "We don't know how it happened," said the chief. "We wanted to know if you could tell us anything." "I didn't see Mrs. Withers late last night," Morley replied, a nervous tremor in his voice. "Nobody said you did," commented Bristow. "No; I know that," Morley agreed in a queer, high voice. "But you were in the house, Number Five, last evening, weren't you?" Bristow inquired. "Yes." "Well, tell us about it." "I came down here from Washington Satur- day," the young man began. "I didn't come to see Mrs. Withers. I came to see Miss Fulton, her sis- ter. Of course, I've seen Mrs. Withers since I've been here; I saw her early last night. You see, last night she went up to the Maplewood Inn for the dinner dance, and, when I called, she was just leaving with a Mr. Campbell. Miss Fulton and I sat on the front porch and in the parlour talking until a little after eleven." "We understood," put in Bristow, "that Miss Fulton was confined to her bed." "She was, that is—er—she was supposed to be; but she got up last evening and dressed to receive me." "I beg your pardon," again interrupted his ques- tioner, "but everything is important here now, and Yithers: the lame man had the faculty of seeming entirely inoffensive in his queries but at the same time putting into his voice an irritating, challenging quality which was bound to work on the feelings of the person to whom he talked. He had begun to have this effect on Miss Ful- ton. "I understood," he informed her, " that you were —er—quite fond of each other." "Not at all! Not at all!" she denied with in- creasing vehemence. "I'm not engaged to him now. Nothing could induce me to marry him!" "Mr. Morlcj^ declared this morning that you and he were to be married." She caught herself up quickly, anger evident in her eyes, and at the same time, also, a look of cau- tion. Bristow decided she wanted to tell nothing, 74 THE WINNING CLUE to give him no advantage, no actual insight into the clouded situation. "I see what you mean," she said. "We were engaged, but I finally decided that our marriage was impossible—because of this—my illness." "And you told him so?" She thought a long moment before she answered: "Yes." "When?" "Yesterday." "Then, when did you give him—let him have Mrs. Withers' ring?" She showed signs of weakening. "Yesterday," she declared. "No! Last night, I've already told you." "And why did he want the ring last night when you had broken with him earlier yesterday?" His subtle irritation of her by his manner and tone had unstrung her at last. "I don't know," she cried, hysterics in her voice. "Oh, I don't know! Why do you ask me all these foolish little questions?" She tore unconsciously at the counterpane, her fingers writhing against one another. "Please, please don't bother me any more! Leave me! Leave me now, won't you?" The high, shrill quality of her tone brought Miss Kelly into the room. "I think," the nurse said, "you gentlemen will have to put off further conversation with Miss Fulton—if you can. The doctor said she was not to be subjected to too much excitement." They already had risen. "We've very much obliged to you, Miss Fulton," MISS FULTON IS HYSTERICAL 75 Bristow said in his pseudo-pleasant way. "It may be useful to us to know about you and Mr. Mor—" He was interrupted by a cry from the girl. With- out the slightest warning, she had lost the last shred of her self-control. She began to beat on the covering of her bed with clenched fists. He could see how her whole body moved and twisted. Greenleaf, startled by the girl's demeanour, moved further from her. Bristow stood his ground, watching her closely. She glared at him with the wild look that fre- quently comes to the hysterical or neurotic woman's eyes. She did not seem to be suffering. She was angry, carried away by her rage, and giving vent to it without any attempt at restraint! In two or three seconds she had become sugges- tive of an animal, her nostrils distended, the upper lip drawn back from her teeth. Bristow, going be- yond surface indications, estimated her at her true worth: "Too much indulged; overshadowed, per- haps, by some older member of the family; but capa- ble of big things, even charm. She's far from be- ing a nonentity. She may help me yet." He regarded her calmly, and smiled. "Don't mention him to me again!" she screamed. "I won't have it! I won't have it, I tell you! I never want to see him again—never! Don't speak the name of Henry Morley in" But Miss Kelly had quickly motioned them out and closed the door. Even on the outside, how- ever, they could hear her shrill, whining protest against any mention of Morley. 76 THE WINNING CLUE "Now!'' said Greenleaf as they went through the living room. "What do you make of that?" They left the house and stood on the sidewalk outside. "Not much," Bristow replied, thinking deeply. "What with Withers throwing a fit, and then this girl having, or shamming, hysterics, it's disappoint- ing. But here's a question: what has Morley done since last evening to make her hate him—at least, to make her look frightened when his name is men- tioned to her?" "What do you think?" "I should say murder, or something just a little short of murder—wouldn't you?" Greenleaf looked his bewilderment. "No,'' he objected. "I don't believe she'd pro- tect him if she knew he'd killed her sister." "Not if she knew, perhaps," Bristow pursued ruminatively. "But if she suspected, merely sus- pected?" The chief did not answer this. He was cling- ing uow to the theory of Perry's guilt. It seemed to him the easiest one to prove. "By the way, Mr. Bristow," he suggested, wouldn't it be a good idea for us to search the yard and garden back of this house?" "What for?" "There's always the chance that the murderer, in running away, dropped something, even a part of the plunder. Then, too, remember the but- tons." "Yes; I see what you mean, but it's getting late now. The light's none too good—and I'm tired, MISS FULTON IS HYSTERICAL 77 chief, tired out. Suppose we let that go until to- morrow—or you do it alone." "No; I'll wait for you tomorrow. We can do it together." "Oh,'' Bristow asked, as if suddenly remember- ing an important item, "what kind of shoes is Perry wearing?" "An old pair of high-topped tennis shoes—black cr.nvas." "Rubber soles?" "Yes." "I'm sorry," observed Bristow. "That's another complication. Morley wore rubbers last night. Either he or Perry might have made that footprint on the porch." "How about Withers?" Greenleaf advanced a new idea. "He didn't tell us anything lie did after seeing Campbell leave here last night." "That's true. You'd better see him tonight. Ask him about that; and find out what time he returned to the Brevord. If you don't get it out of him tonight, you probably never will. By to- morrow, his detective, Craceway, will be on the scene, and the chances are that Withers will talk to him and not to us—that is, if he talks at all." "Then I'll see you in the morning?" "Yes; any time. I'll get up early. But, if you get anything out of Withers tonight, telephone me —or if your man Jenkins reports on his search for the fellow with the gold tooth." "O. K.," agreed the chief, and swung off down the hill. Bristow, whom he had left absorbed in thought, 78 THE WINNING CLUE turned after a few minutes and went back to the door of No. 5. Miss Kelly answered his ring. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, his smile a compliment, " but there's something I'm very anx- ious for you to do for me. Will you clean Miss Fulton's finger nails as soon as you can? And I want you to keep everything you get as a result of that process." "Do her nails!" The nurse was amazed. "Yes; please. I'll explain later. And another thing: don't cut the cuticle. Don't bother with that at all. Just get what's under the nails. You'd better use merely an orange stick, I think. Will you do that for me carefully—very carefully? It's of the greatest importance." Miss Kelly finally said she would. He went back to his own porch and sat a long time watching the last, fading rays of the sun- set. But he was not thinking about the landscape. "This man Withers," he was reflecting, " and his getting this detective, Braceway. Let me think. I mustn't look at these things in the light of my theories only. Too much theorizing is confusing. "I want to get the angle of the ordinary man in the street. How would it look to him? Why, this way: either Withers is on the level and wants to do everything possible to have the murderer caught—or he's smart enough to employ Brace- way in the knowledge that neither Braceway nor anybody else can get anything from him that he doesn't want to tell—I wonder." 80 THE WINNING CLUE per was ready. Before he sat down at the table, he telephoned Greenleaf. "There's something else I want you to send to Charlotte with the Perry package." "Same sort of thing? " inquired the chief. "Yes—Miss Fulton's." "Wow!" barked Greenleaf over the wire. "I never thought of that." "That's all right. I nearly forgot it myself. How will you send for it?" The chief thought a moment. "I'll come after it myself," he said. "I'll be up there as soon as I see Withers. I want to talk to you about the inquest. It will be held at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning." "Come ahead," Bristow invited. "You'll have to be up here in this neighbourhood anyway if you want to see Withers. He came up to Number Five just a few minutes ago. You can catch him there." After supper he went back to the front porch in time to see in the dusk the white uniform and cap of a trained nurse as she came down the hill. He surmised that she was one of the six nurses who lived in No. 7, the house between his and that of the murdered woman. These nurses were em- ployed throughout the day at the big sanitarium located just over the brow of the hill at the end of Manniston Road. Perhaps, she could tell him what he wanted to know. "I beg your pardon," he called to her persua- sively, "but may I trouble you to come up here for a moment?" THE BREATH OF SCANDAL 81 She obeyed the summons with slow, hesitant steps. He pushed forward a chair for her and bowed. "Unfortunately," he apologized, " I don't know your name." She enlightened him: " Rutgers; Miss Emily Rut- gers." In his turn, he told her briefly of his con- nection with the murder. "I was wondering," he began, " whether you had ever heard anything unusual from Number Five." Miss Rutgers, who was blond and too fat, had a heavy, peculiarly hoarse voice. She wanted to be certain that he had authority to " question people" about the case. He made that clear to her. "Well, yes," she finally said. "Mrs. Withers and Miss Fulton quarreled a good deal. We girls had remarked on it. And yesterday they had an awful row. I heard some of it because it was in the middle of the day, and I had run down here from the sanitarium to fix up the laundry we'd forgotten early in the morning." "What did you hear?" "It was something about money. I didn't really try to listen, but I couldn't help hearing some of it, they talked so loud." "Yes?" "I got the idea that Miss Fulton wanted to bor- row some money from Mrs. Withers for a purpose that Mrs. Withers didn't approve of. 'Well,' I heard Mrs. Withers say after Miss Fulton had almost screamed about it, 'you can't have any more. I haven't got it. That's all there is to that. I can't let you have it when I haven't got it!' 82 THE WINNING CLUE "Miss Fulton said something—I think it was about Mr. Withers or about asking him for the money. "' You'd better not do that,' Mrs. Withers warned her. 'I tried that once, and he flew into a perfect rage. He was so worked up that he looked like a crazy man, like a man who would do anything. He looked as if he might kill me, choke me to death, anything!'" "Did Miss Fulton answer that?" "If she did, I didn't hear it. I just got the im- pression that they were both angry and mixed up in a terrific quarrel." "Have you ever heard anything else like that at any other time?" "Oh, we often heard them fussing. Miss Fulton did the fussing. Mrs. Withers was almost always gentle and calm. One other time I did hear Mrs. Withers say she'd lent Miss Fulton all she could afford." "When was that?" "Some time ago—a month or six weeks ago; maybe two months." "Money, always money," the lame man said. He was silent, thoughtful, for several minutes. "I'm ever so much obliged, Miss Rutgers," he said at last. "Every bit of evidence we can get will help us—perhaps." Miss Eutgers had risen. "There's one other thing, Mr. Bristow," she vol- unteered. "There was a man hanging around Number Five last night; rather, it was early this morning." THE BREATH OF SCANDAL 83 "How do you know that?" His voice was at once urgent. "Bessie—Miss Hardesty and I have our beds on the sleeping porch. Hers is the one nearest to Number Five. She told me about it this morning. At about one o'clock—or between one and two— she thought she heard a sloppy footstep near the sleeping porch. At that time it was raining, but not hard—just a fine drizzle. "She went to the wiring that walls the sleeping porch on the end toward Number Five, and she made out the figure of a man coming from the front of Number Five and going toward the back fence. He had just passed the sleeping porch. She turned on the little flashlight we keep out there and saw him." "Who was it? Could she make him out at all?" "She said it was a negro." "Did she see his face?" "Not enough to recognize him, but enough to make her sure he was a black man." "She didn't try to identify him?" "Well, she thought it was the darky Perry who does so much work in this neighbourhood. She said she thought so because the figure of the man she saw in the rain reminded her of Perry's general appearance." "Did"..she call out to him?" "No;,^pd he didn't run. He just walked fast and was §ut of sight in a moment. When I heard of the murder early this afternoon, I was up at the sanitarium, and I went to the matron and told her what I've just told you. It was her ad- 84 THE .WINNING CLUE vice that, as soon as I got off duty, I should come down here and telephone what I knew to the police. She didn't want me to do it from the sanitarium because the patients might have heard it and be- come too much excited." "I see. Where's Miss Hardesty now?" "This is her night on duty at the sanitarium." "I see. Well, she'll have to testify at the in- quest tomorrow. You might tell her that. Never mind, though. The police will notify her." "I know she won't like that much," Miss Rut- gers declared; "but, of course, she's tell what she knows. How about me?" "I can't say yet, but I don't think we'll need you at the inquest. We may need you later." "Very well," she consented. "Let me know when the times comes. Good night, Mr. Bristow." He went inside and picked up a novel. He wanted to "clear his brain" for the talk with the chief of police. Greenleaf came in, looking downcast. "What did you get from Withers?" Bristow asked. "Nothing but a good bawling out," the chief said testily. "We won't get anything more from him for some time. He told me so. He said: 'You fellows have been carrying things with a high hand today, questioning and frightening everybody with your hidden threats and third degrees. Get out! I'll do my talking to Sam Braceway tomorrow.' But I did ask him one question—the thing you wanted to know. I asked him whether he had worn rubber shoes last night." THE BREATH OP SCANDAL 85 "What did he say?" Bristow was inwardly amused by Greenleaf's pertinacity. "He said it was none of my business; and he flew into a rage about it—worse than he was in here this morning. He looked like a crazy man. I watched him gesticulate and get red in the face and foam and splutter. Why, he looked like a man who might commit murder any mo- ment." At that, Bristow started. The chief's words were strikingly like what Miss Rutgers had told him she had heard Mrs. Withers say: "He looked as if he might kill me, choke me to death, any- thing!" "He's going to spend the night in Number Five," Greenleaf concluded; "he and Miss Fulton and the nurse, Miss Kelly." Bristow tossed his novel into a vacant chair and spread out his hands. "Well, chief," he said, "what do you make out of all this? What do you intend to do at the in- quest tomorrow? By the way, here's something you'll need." He related what Miss Rutgers had told him. "I'm willing to take your advice," Greenleaf an- nounced, "but this is my idea: we'll present all we have against Perry, and have him held for the grand jury. We've got enough to do that—the but- tons evidence, his failure to present anything like an alibi, the mark of the rubber sole on the front porch, the inability of the woman, Lucy Thomas, to say whether or not she gave Perry the kitchen key to Number Five." THE BREATH OF SCANDAL 87 "Has he ever registered at any of the hotels here?" "Not that we can find; no, never." "Funny," ruminated Bristow, "very funny. Yes, I think you're right, chief. Put up the case against Perry until we can do something better or prove it on him absolutely. Of course, if the laboratory test shows that he had human flesh— a white person's flesh—under his finger nails, that will settle it in my mind. There couldn't be any other answer." "Will the test show whether it's a white per- son's skin or a nigger's?" "Of course. There's no pigment in a white per- son's skin." "Is that so? That's something I never knew be- fore. Anyway, it certainly will nail him, won't it? But, you don't feel anyways sure Perry's the guilty man, do you?" "No, I can't say I do. I'll tell you what we've got to consider, and it's not a very pretty theory; either that Morley killed Mrs. Withers, and Miss Fulton knows it; or that Morley and Miss Fulton together killed her; or that, although Perry killed her, we, in looking for the murderer, have come pretty near to stumbling on some sort of a nasty family scandal, something in which Maria Fulton, Enid Withers and George Withers, with perhaps another man, all have been mixed up. "I mean a scandal ugly enough for all the rest of them to make desperate attempts to keep it hid- den, even when Mrs. Withers is dead and gone. Frankly, I didn't believe Withers was in on the S8 THE WINNING CLUE murder or that he believes Maria had anything to do with it or knows how it was done. "But Maria Fulton—that's different. How else are we to explain her behaviour with us when we tried to interview her, the fact of her sudden ab- horrence for Morley, the man to whom she was engaged only yesterday? "And how else are we to explain Morley's unex- plained two hours of last night, and his apparent terror today, and his whole connection with the case—the matter of the ring found in his hotel room, and all that? There's something fishy about this thing somehow, something fishy that includes Maria Fulton and Morley. "This fellow with the brown beard and the gold tooth strengthens the theory of some rotten scandal. He must be mixed up in it some way. I'll bet any thing, though, that he had nothing to do with the* murder. That's what we want to get at—this in- side scandal, this something which existed long be- fore the murder but yet may have led indirectly to the murder." Greenleaf sighed and passed his hand wearily across his eyes. He had had a hard day, the hard- est day of his life. "But you think my plan for the inquest is all right?" he asked once more. "Yes; it's the best thing possible. By the way, don't have me summoned to testify. Leave my evidence until the trial. I don't want to wear myself out going down there for merely an in- most." "All right; I'll fix that. We've enough evidence THE BREATH OF SCANDAL 89 without yours—enough for the inquest, anyway." "Thanks." Bristow looked at his watch, and Greenleaf got up to go. "I'll be up here between eight and nine tomorrow morning," he said, "if that suits you." "What for?" "To get a good look at the grounds back of Num- ber Five. If the murderer dropped anything, I want to be the man to pick it up." "Oh, I'd forgotten that," Bristow said in a tone indicating his hopelessness of finding anything worth while. "Yes; I'll be ready for you." Something else was on Greenleaf's mind. "This Braceway," he said sarcastically, "the smartest detective in the South. He'll be here in the morning. What will we do? Work with him?" "Sure," Bristow replied heartily, as if to fore- stall the other's dislike of the new-comer. "Even if he were no good, the best thing we could do would be to work with him. And, as he's something of a world-beater, we'll get the benefit of his ideas. By all means, let's all keep together on this thing." "All right," Greenleaf agreed, his tone a little surly. "Your appointment to my force is O. K. I fixed that this afternoon. Good night." "Good night—and don't forget to send that stuff off to the Charlotte laboratory tonight. If we can find out who scratched somebody last night, if we can determine who had little bits of foreign skin under the finger nails today, we've got the answer to this murder mystery. That's one thing sure." Bristow turned off the lights in the living room 90 THE WINNING CLUE and went to his dressing room to prepare for bed on the sleeping porch. "Money," he was thinking as he undressed; "money and fifteen thousand dollars' worth of jewelry. Where has it all gone? That's the thing that will settle this case, and I think—I think I've a pretty good idea of what will he proved about it." CHAPTER IX women's nebves LUCY THOMAS in a cell in the Furmville jail . sat on the edge of her cot at midnight, staring "into inky darkness while she tried to remem- ber the events of the night before. She was not of the slow-witted, stupid-looking type of negro women. The thing against which she struggled was not poverty of brain but the mist of forget- fulness with which the fumes of liquor had sur- rounded her. Questioned and requestioned by the police during the afternoon and early evening, she had been able to tell them only that she and Perry had been drink- ing together in her little two-room cabin. When he had left her, what he had said, whether he had re- turned—these points were as effectually covered up in her mind as if she had never had cognizance of them. She did remember, however, certain things which she had not imparted to the police. One was that at some time during the night there had been a struggle between herself and Perry. The other was that at some time, far into the night or very early in the morning, she had heard the clank-clank of the iron key falling on the floor of her house, a key which she had worn suspended on a ribbon round her neck. 91 92 THE WINNING CLUE / She rocked herself back and forth on the cot, her head throbbing, her month parched, tears in her eyes. To the white people, she thought, it did not matter much, but to her the fact that she and Perry had intended to get married was the biggest thing in her life. "I don't know; I don't know," her thoughts ran bitterly. "Ef Perry tuk dat key away fum me, he mils' done gawn to dat house—an' he wiiz full uv likker. Ef he ain' done tuk dat key fum me an' den later flung it back on de flo' uv my house, who did do it?" She sobbed afresh. "He is one mean nigger when he gits too much likker in him. Ain' nobody knows dat better'n I does. An' he sayed somethin' las' night 'bout gittin' a whole lot uv money. He—" She moaned and flung herself backward on the cot. "Gawd have mussy! Gawd have mnssy! I done remembuhed. I done remembuhed. He done say somethin' 'bout dat white woman's gol' an' jewelery. Gawd! Dat's whut he done. He done it! Dafc's why he wuz fightin' me. He wuz tryin' to git dat kitchen key. An' he got it! He got it! Ef he done kilt dat woman, de white folks goin' to git him sho'ly—sho'ly. An' him an' me ain' nevuh gwine git married—nevuh. Dey'll kill him or dey'll sen' him to dat pen. Aw, my Gawd! My Gawd!" She sat up again and began to think about Mrs. Withers, how well the slain woman had treated her, how kindly. From that, her thoughts went to ghosts. She fell to trembling and moaning in an WOMEN'S NERVES 93 audible key. It was not long before a warden, awakened by her cries of terror, had to visit her and threaten bodily punishment if she did not keep quiet. After a while, she relapsed into her quiet sob- bing. “I think maybe he done tuk dat key. I knows he done lef" me durin’ de night, an' I b'lieve he done come back. IBut I ain't gwine say nothin'. Maybe I don' know. Maybe I is mistuk. De whole thing done got too mix' up full me. Maybe he kilt her an' maybe he ain' been nigh de place. But I wish I coul' know. My holy Lawd! I wish I done know all dat done happen. “Dat key fallin' on de flo'. Who done drap it dar ef Perry ain' drapped it? I)at's whut I'd like to know. Ef he ain’ had dat key, ain' nobody had it.” She lay down, weeping and sobbing from unhap- piness and terror. Bristow and Greenleaf would have given much to have known her suspicions, sus- picions which amounted to a moral certainty. On the sleeping porch of No. 5, Manniston Road, Maria Fulton lay awake a long time and tortured herself by reviewing again and again the thoughts that had crushed her during the day. Miss Kelly, on a cot at the foot of the girl's bed, heard her stirr- ing restlessly but could not know in the darkness how her long, slender fingers tore at the bed- covering, nor how her face was drawn with pain. “The overturning of that chair,”—her mind whirled the events before her—“the sound of that whisper, that man's whisper, and the sight of that WOMEN'S NERVES 95 "What was it? What was it, Miss Fulton?" she asked soothingly. Maria brushed the back of her hand across her forehead, which was beaded with big, cold drops of perspiration. "Nothing, Miss Kelly; nothing," she half- moaned. "A bad dream, a nightmare, I guess. Give me something to make me sleep." She drank eagerly from a glass the nurse put to her lips. "If I begin to talk in my sleep, Miss Kelly, call me, wake me up, will you?" she begged, the fright still in her voice. "Yes, I will." This reassuringly while Miss Kelly smoothed the pillows and readjusted the tumbled coverings. Maria grasped her arm in a grip that hurt. "But will you?" she demanded sharply. "Promise me!" "Yes; indeed, I will. I promise." Miss Kelly meant what she said. She was not anxious to be the recipient of the sick girl's con- fidences. CHAPTER X EYES OF ACCUSATION BRISTOW, at his early breakfast, devoted him- self, between mouthfiils, to the front page of The Furmville Sentinel. It was given up entirely to the Withers murder. "Murder—murder horrible and mysterious—was committed early yesterday morning," announced the paper in large black-face type, "when the beautiful and charming Mrs. Enid Fulton Withers, wife of George S. Withers, the well-known attorney of Atlanta, was choked to death in the parlour of her home at No. 5 Manniston Road. The most heinous crime that has ever stained the annals of Furmville," etc. The article went on to recite that Chief Green- leaf of the Furmville police force had been for- tunate in securing the assistance of a genius in running down the various clues that seemed to point to the guilty party. Mr. Lawrence Bristow, of Cincinnati, now in town for his health, had worked with him all day in unearthing many cir- cumstances " which, although each of them seemed trivial, led when summed up to the almost irrefut- able conviction that the murder was done by a drunken negro, Perry Carpenter," etc. In spite of this, the paper continued, the dead woman's husband, arriving unexpectedly on the 96 EYES OF ACCUSATION 97 scene, had employed by wire Samuel S. Braceway, the professional detective of Atlanta, who would reach Furmville early this morning and, probably, work with Chief Greenleaf, Mr. Bristow, and the plain-clothes squad in the effort to remove all doubts of the guilt of the accused negro. There followed a sketch of Braceway which was enough to convince the readers that in him Mr. Withers had called into the case the shrewdest man in the South, "very probably the shrewdest man in the entire country." "Evidently," Bristow was thinking when Green- leaf rang the door-bell, "while I'm a ' genius,' Braceway's the man everybody relies on when it c«mes to catching the murderer." The chief was in a hurry, and the two men, going out of Bristow's back door, walked down to the corner of the sleeping porch of No. 7, the nurses' home. The frail wire fences that had served to partition the back lots of Nos. 5, 7, and 9 had either fallen down or been carried away, but there was a tall five-board fence at the rear of the three lots. From this board fence, the hill sloped down toward the southeast, the direction in which the negro set- tlement containing the home of Lucy Thomas was located. Bristow, frankly bored by the belated search, let Greenleaf lead the way. "I went up to the sanitarium late last night," the chief told him, "and had a long talk with Miss Hardesty. She says the man she saw night before last was right here, just a few yards from this Num- ber Seven sleeping porch; and, it seemed to her, 98 THE WINNING CLUE he made straight for the board fence. We'll follow in his footsteps. That will take up to the fence in the middle of the rear line of Number Serai's lot." He was following this route as he talked, Bristow limping a few yards behind him. Greenleaf overlooked nothing. The lot had been cleared of last winter's leaves, and the search was comparatively simple, but, if he saw even so much as a small stick on either side of him, he turned it over. They were soon at the fence, about twenty yards from the sleeping porch. "There's not a trace—not a trace of anything, chief," said Bristow, leaning one elbow on the top board of the fence. Greenleaf, however, was not to be discour- aged. After he had walked around again and again in ever-widening circles, he stopped and thought. "If that nigger was running away and trying to make good time," he exclaimed, suddenly inspired, "he didn't jump the fence in the middle there, where you are. He took a line slanting down toward that negro settlement. The chances are he went over the fence down at that corner." He pointed to the southeastern corner back of No. 5 and, with his eyes on the ground, began to work toward it. Barely a yard from the corner, he stooped down swiftly, picked up something and turned joyfully toward Bristow, who still leaned against the fence. "Look here! Look here, Mr. Bristow," he called, hurrying across to him. EYES OP ACCUSATION 99 Bristow examined the object Greenleaf had found. It consisted of six links of a gold chain, three of the links very small and of plain gold, the other alternating three links being larger and chased with a fine, exquisite design of laurel leaves, the leaves so small as to be barely distinguishable to the naked eye. The lame man shared the chief's excitement. "By George! You've got something worth while. I should say so!" "What do you make of it? asked Greenleaf, eager and pleased. "It must have belonged to Mrs. Withers, don't you think?" "There's one way to find out," Bristow answered, looking at his watch. It was half-past eight o'clock. "Let's go and ask Withers." They went around to the front of No. 5. "One of the end links is broken," Bristow said as they ascended the steps. "My guess it that this is a part of the necklace Mrs. Withers wore when she was killed. You remember the mark on the back of her neck. It might have been made by the jerk that would have been required to break these links." Miss Kelly, answering their ring, told them Mr. Withers had gone to the railroad station to meet Mr. Brace way. "Then, too," she aided, " Miss Fulton's father is due on the nine o'clbck train. Mr. Withers may stop down town to meet him." "I'd forgotten about that," said Bristow. " We'll have to ask your help." He handed her the frag- ment of chain. "Will you be so kind as to take EYES OF ACCUSATION 101 for the grand jury—it's murder in the first degree." Bristow went back to his porch. Looking down to his left and through the trees, he commanded a view of Freeman Avenue. "When I see an automobile flash past that spot," he decided, "I'll hurry down to Number Five. I want to be there to witness the meeting between Miss Fulton and her father. It may be possible that, when this scandal—whatever it was—was about to break concerning Mrs. Withers, this family was lucky enough to have a negro hauled up as the murderer. In any event, it's up to me to keep track of the relations between Fulton, his daughter, Withers, and Morley. The psychology of the situation now is as important as any material evidence." He did not have long to wait. At a quarter past nine he caught a glimpse of a big car speeding out Freeman Avenue. He sprang to his feet, hurried down to No. 5, rang the bell, and was inside the living room by the time the machine had climbed up Manniston Road and deposited in front of the door its one passenger. He was a man of sixty-five or sixty-seven years of age, very white of hair, very erect of figure. Bristow did not have time or need to formulate an excuse for his presence before Mr. Fulton rushed up the steps to meet Maria. As she came from the direction of the bedrooms to greet him, her expression had in it reluctance, timidity even. The father and daughter met in the centre of the 102 THE WINNING CLUE living room. Bristow, stationed near the corner by the door, could see their faces. He watched them with attention strained to the utmost. In the eyes of Maria there was a great fear mingled with a look of pleading. The old man's face was deep-lined; under his eyes were dark pouches; and his lips were tightly compressed, as if he sought to prevent his bursting into condemna- tion. With a little catch in her voice, Maria cried out, "Father!" and stood watching him. For a moment the old man's eyes were dreary with accusation. Bristow had never seen an emo- tion mirrored so clearly, so indisputably, in any- body's eyes. It was a speaking, thundering light, he thought. The father, without opening his mouth, plainly said to the girl: "At last, you've killed her! It's all your fault. You've killed her." Bristow read that as easily as if it had been held before him in printed words. So, apparently, did Miss Fulton. The pleading expression left her face, and, in place of it, was only a flourishing, lively fear. But Fulton put out his arms and gathered her into them, took hold of her mechanically, display- ing neither fondness nor a desire to comfort and soothe. Bristow quietly left the room and returned to his porch. "Her father," he analyzed what he had seen, "blames her for the tragedy—possibly believes her EYES OF ACCUSATION 103 guilty of the actual murder. Why? This is a new angle—brand new." He went in and called up Greenleaf, only to be told that the chief had left word he was to be found at the Brevord Hotel. Telephoning there, he got him on the wire. "Neither Withers nor Braceway came up here with old Mr. Fulton," he began. "I know," put in the chief. "I'm down here to meet Braceway now. He and Withers are in con- ference. Braceway doesn't want to go to the in- quest. I'm to take him by the undertaker's to look at the body, and then he wants to run up to see you. Says he won't learn anything important at the in- quest; he'd rather talk to you." "All right," returned Bristow. "That suits me perfectly. When will he be here?" "In half an hour, I suppose. And I'll run up as soon as the inquest is over." "I wonder," Bristow communed again with him- self, "whether this Braceway is on the level, whether Withers is on the level. What's their game—to find the real murderer or to shut up a family scandal?" The scandal theory bothered him. He saw no way of getting at it. In less than an hour he and Braceway were shak- ing hands on the porch of No. 9. Bristow, studying him rapidly, motioned him to a chair. Here was no ordinary police-detective type. This man had neither square-toed shoes, nor a bull neck, nor coarseness of feature. About thirty-six years old, he was unusually slender, and straight as a 104 THE .WINNING CLUE dart, a peculiar and restless gracefulness charac- terizing all his movements. He seemed fairly to exude energy. He was keyed up to lightning-like motion. He gave the impression of having a brain that worked with the precision and force of some great machine, a machine that never missed fire. From the toes of his highly polished tan shoes to the sheen of his blond hair and the crown of his nobby straw hat, he looked like a well dressed and prosperous professional man. His dark gray suit with a thin thread of pale green in it, his silver- gray necktie, the gloves he carried in his left hand, every detail of his appearance marked him, first as a "snappy dresser,'' and second as a highly ef- ficient man. While they exchanged casual greetings, Braceway lit a cigarette and spun the match, with a droning sound, far out from the porch. He did this, as he did everything else, with a " flaire," with that inde- finable something which marks every man who has a strong personality. There was in all his bearing a dash, an electric emphasis. "What do you think, Mr. Bristow?" He got down to business at once. "Did this negro Perry kill Mrs. Withers?" Braceway blew out a big cloud of smoke and looked intently at his new acquaintance. "I've talked to Greenleaf," he supplemented. "I suppose he gave me all the facts you've collected. But Greenleaf—you know what I mean," he waved his cigarette hand expressively; "I wouldn't say he had extraordinary powers of divination. He's EYES OF ACCUSATION 105 a good fellow, and all that, but—what do you think?" "On the evidence alone, so far," Bristow an- swered with an appreciative, warming smile, "I'd say Perry committed the crime." "Oh; yes, sure." He moved quickly in his chair. "On the evidence, but there are other things, other factors. What do you think?" "I'm afraid that's my trouble," Bristow told him. "I've been thinking so much that I'm some- what muddled. But I believe there may be some- thing more than a negro's greed back of this thing." "Now you're speaking mouthfuls," Braceway said, smiling brightly. "Tell me about it." Bristow told him—about Withers' peculiar be- haviour; the whole case against Perry; the illusive personage with the chestnut beard and gold tooth; Morley's suspicious story and actions; and, lastly, Maria Fulton's highly puzzling narrative of what she had seen and not seen in connection with the murder. Braceway listened with complete absorption, in a way that showed he was photographing each inci- dent and statement on his brain. "Now,'' he began with almost explosive sudden- ness, " let's get this straight. I want to work with you, if you'll let me." He paused long enough for Bristow to nod a pleased assent. "And I believe there's something back of this crime that nobody has yet put his finger on. Mr. Withers believes it. Don't make any mistake about that. Withers is as anxious to get the real criminal as you and I are" "Let me understand," Bristow said in his turn. 106 THE WINNING CLUE "Do you propose that we work on the case with the supposition that Withers is in no way respon- sible for any part of the tragedy?" "Absolutely!" snapped out Braceway, thor- oughly good natured despite his abruptness. "At least, that's my plan. I'm certain Withers had nothing to do with it." For the first time, something far back in Bris- tow's brain stirred uneasily, as if, miles away, somebody had sounded an alarm. Should he trust this man? Would Braceway try to pick up a false scent, try to throw the whole thing out of gear? Although he, Bristow, had expressed to Green- leaf only last night his confidence in Withers' in- nocence, would it be wise to hold to such a belief? The future was too uncertain, too apt to produce entirely unexpected things. At any rate, it would be silly to call himself anything of a criminologist and yet go ahead with a blind, spoken conviction of the innocence of a man who unquestionably had acted in a way to bring suspicion upon himself. He would wait and see. He purposed to throw away no card that might later take a trick. "Very good," he said. "That suits me if you're satisfied. You can answer for him, I don't doubt." "Thoroughly so. In the first place, he and I are close personal friends; went to college together; were fraternity mates; had an office together until I quit practising law and went in for this sort of work. Then, too, I've turned him inside out this morning. He doesn't know a thing. "And, I might as well tell you now, he didn't hang around Manniston Road night before last after EYES OF ACCUSATION 107 his wife got in. As soon as he saw this Douglas Campbell go home he returned to the Brevord and went to bed. "No, sirree! Here's what I work on: either Mor- ley killed her, or the negro killed her, or it was done by the mysterious fellow with the gold tooth. How does that strike you?" "Correctly; I'm with you," agreed Bristow, still with the mental reservation that he would deal with .Withers as he saw fit. "One thing more," added Braceway, and Bris- tow was surprised to see that he looked a trifle em- barrassed; " I want you to handle all the talk that has to be had with Miss Maria Pulton. I'll be frank with you; I have to be. It's this way: I was once in love with her; in fact, engaged to marry her. Do you see?" "Fully." He was glad to know at the outset that Brace- way was a friend of the family. It might be val- uable later. Braeeway threw away his cigarette and sighed with relief. "I'm glad you understand," he said. "Now, about Withers: things have begun to happen to him already—this morning. Since this has hit him, he doesn't know where he'll get off eventually. I'll tell you." CHAPTER XI THE $1,000 CHECK . A FEW minutes after eight o'clock that morn- ing Mr. Illington, president of the Furm- ville National Bank, had called at the Brevord to see Mr. Withers, who, still holding his room there, was waiting for the delayed morning, train. Mr. Illington was of the true banker type, fifty years old, immaculately dressed, thin of lip, hard of eye, slow and precise in his enunciation. He had, apparently, estranged himself from any deep, human feeling. The long handling of money had hardened him. His fingers were long and grasping, and his voice was quite as metallic as the clink of gold coins one upon the other. At Mr. Withers' invitation he took a chair in Mr. Withers' room. He rubbed his dry, slender hands together and cleared his throat, after which he spoke his little set speech of condolence. Mr. Withers, haggard from grief and lack of sleep, waved aside these preliminary remarks. The banker put his hand into his breast pocket and drew forth a bulky envelope, from which he produced a long, rectangular piece of paper. "I knew you would prefer to learn of this at first hand from the bank; indeed, from me, its president. Yesterday, Mr. Withers, a promissory note, a sixty- 108 THE $1,000 CHECK 109 day note, for a thousand dollars fell due in the Furmville National Bank. You might like to see it. Here it is." He handed the piece of paper to Withers, who saw that the note had been signed by Maria Fulton and endorsed by Enid Fulton Withers. The husband of the dead woman was too astonished to comment. "We acted as—as leniently in the matter as we could, perhaps more leniently than was strictly proper in banking circles," Mr. Illington was pleased to explain. "I myself called up Miss Ful- ton on the telephone yesterday, but naturally she was so agitated that she seemed unable to give me any information as to what she intended to do re- garding the—er—liquidation of this indebted- ness." "And," concluded Withers, passing the note back to him, "since my wife was the endorser, it's up to me to make the note good, to pay the bank the thousand dollars." Mr. Illington was glad to see how thoroughly the bereaved husband appreciated the situation. "Quite right, entirely so," he said. "And will you?" "Of course." "Ahem—When? " inquired the banker, assuming an expression of casual interest. "I haven't that much money on deposit in At- lanta, but I can get it. I return to Atlanta thia afternoon. I can send the money to you tomorrow. Will that answer?" "Oh, perfectly, perfectly," assented Mr. Illing- ton, much reassured. "We are always glad, at 110 THE WINNING CLUE the Furmville National, to do the reasonable anil accommodating thing. Yes; that will be thoroughly satisfactory.—Ahem! I have a new note here. You might sign it? To keep things regular, in order." Withers signed the new note. It was for five days. Illington got to his feet with stiff dignity. "Glad to accommodate you, Mr. Withers; very glad. I wish you good morning," he concluded, going toward the door. "Good-bye," replied Withers absently, but looked up suddenly. "By the way, I might like to know something about the disposition of that thousand dollars. Could you tell me anything con- cerning it?" Mr. Illington came back to his chair and reseated himself, again producing the bulky envelope. "I was prepared for just such a request, a per- fectly natural request," he answered Withers' ques- tion, plainly approving of his own forehandedness. He took from the envelope and passed to Withers a canceled check. "This," he said, "gives you the information you desire. You see, I gathered from the newspaper reports this morning and from the gossip of the street yesterday afternoon that there might be more or less of—er—a mystery in this—ah—distressing situation. Consequently, I brought along this check which, curiously enough, had not been called for by the maker of it." Withers, disregarding the banker's remarks, was studying the check. It had been signed by Enid THE $1,000 CHECK 111 Fulton Withers, to whom the $1,000 loan had evi- dently been credited at the Furmville National. It was for $1,000, and it was made payable to Maria Fulton. Maria Fulton had indorsed it, and, below her endorsement, appeared that of Henry Morley, showing that the money had passed directly into the hands of Morley. "That's all I wanted to know," Withers said quietly, giving the check back to Illington. "I'm much obliged." This time Illington departed, taking himself off with a feeling of having done his duty with prompt- itude and according to the best business ethics. His visit had prevented Withers' meeting the train, and Fulton had gone directly to Manniston Koad. Braceway, going to the hotel on the banker's heels, was admitted by Withers, who broke into a storm of futile, highly coloured profanity. "Brace," he said, "you'll get the devil who's caused all this, won't you? You know what my life has been! You'll get him if you have to tear up heaven and earth." "Sure! Sure!" Braceway declared. "Keep yourself together. Let me do the worrying. I'll get him if he's above the sod." "So, you see," Braceway said, in reciting the in- cident to Bristow, "we're getting a little warm on the scent. This Morley, this wooer of Maria, seems to have his head within stinging range of the hor- nets, doesn't he?" "Undoubtedly." 112 THE WINNING CLUE "What do you make of it? " pressed Braceway. Bristow thought a little while. "It might be this," he advanced: "Morley is in trouble with his bank, short in his accounts— probably has been for several months. Two months ago, sixty-one days ago, he confided to Miss Fulton that he stood in great danger of arrest, pointed out that he had made a mistake, asked assistance from her, told her a thousand dollars would arrange things. "But, instead of paying the thousand into the bank, he went to gambling with it in the hope of trebling or quadrupling it and—lost it. In other words, he's been afraid to tell his financee how much he really owed the bank and then played the thousand to win enough to enable him to square himself." "Once more," observed the Atlanta man, "you speak in mouthfuls." "Again and further—of course, all this is on the theory that Morley is a pusillanimous kind of man; but he would have to be just that to be taking money from a woman, any woman, much less the one to whom he is engaged to be married—again and further, when he had lost the thousand and saw ruin just ahead of him again, he ran down here and asked for more money. "Perhaps, Mrs. Withers, at her sister's tearful request, had previously raised more than a thousand for him, had added to that thousand other money obtained from pawning some of her jewelry; and he now insisted that Maria make Mrs. Withers go the limit and pawn all her jewelry. THE |1,000 CHECK 113 "By George!" Bristow concluded. "That may explain the quarrel which Miss Rutgers, the trained nurse in Number Seven, heard the two sisters en- gaged in the day before the murder. Yes; it might. Evidently, Mrs. Withers refused to be bled further. After that, what? What would you say?" "It's plain enough,'' Braceway answered. "There was Morley, crazed by the fear of arrest and conviction for embezzlement. There was Mrs. Withers, still possessing and holding enough jewelry to get him out of trouble, if he had time to convert the jewels into cash and to get back to his bank with the money. "What was the result of that situation? Evi- dently, he never intended to catch that midnight train. He did what he had planned to do, came back to Number Five, confronted Mrs. Withers soon after her escort had left her at the door, de- manded the jewels, was refused; and then, in a blind rage or a panic, killed her and stole the jewels." "There's no use blinking the fact," said Bristow in a quiet, calculating way, trying to keep in his mind all the other peculiar circumstances surround- ing this crime. "From the way we've put it, the thing reads as plainly as a primer. Now, what are we to do? Even now, we haven't the proof on him —any real proof." "Suppose," said Braceway, "we let him leave Furmville, let him go back to Washington, with the hope that he does pawn the stuff he's stolen?" "And suppose," Bristow added, "we get a de- tailed description of all the jewelry Mrs. Withers 114 THE WINNING CLUE owned, and wire that description to the police of the principal towns between here and Washington and between here and Atlanta. We'll make the re- quest, of course, that they watch the pawnshops and nab anybody who shows up with any of the Withers stuff?" "That's it! That's it as sure as you're born!" Braceway struck the arm of his chair and catapul- ted himself into a standing position. "That will get him—provided, of course, he's desperate enough to take the chance of pawning any of it." "One other thing," Bristow supplemented. "You said Withers said something to you this morning about your knowing what his life had been. Just what did he mean?" Braceway reflected a moment. "There's no reason for your not knowing it," he confided. "Withers had rather a trying life with his wife. It was a baffling sort of a situation. She was in love with him. I haven't a doubt of that. And he was in love with her. "She was one of the most fascinating women I ever saw. They used to say in Atlanta that all the women liked her, and that any man who had once shaken hands with her and looked her in the eye was, forever after, her obedient servant. "But she was never entirely frank with Withers. Naturally, that at first made him regretful, and later it made him jealous. You know his type. I'm not sure that I have the whole story, but that's the foundation of it, and it led to bitter disagree- ments and fierce quarrels. "Some of their acquaintances got on to it, and 116 THE WINNING CLUE i "Now that I think of it, yes. Perhaps, both of us needn't go, but one will have to." He went down the steps, saying Withers had by this time arrived at No. 5 and would be waiting there with Mr. Fulton. Both the father and the husband would accompany the body of Mrs. Withers to Atlanta on the four o'clock train that after- noon. Bristow, having caught Greenleaf by telephone at the inquest, gave him their decision about Mor- ley's departure the next day, and announced that he and Braceway would like him to send out by wire the description of the Withers jewels. To both of these propositions Greenleaf agreed. Bristow re- turned to his porch. "So," he thought, "it's got to be Morley or the negro." And yet, he decided, in spite of the theorizing he and Braceway had indulged in, there was small chance now of fixing the crime definitely on Mor- ley. He had none of the jewelry, apparently. The police had searched his baggage and his room at the hotel, without success. Indubitably, it would be more likely that a jury would convict Perry. All the direct evidence was against the negro. Bristow did not deceive himself. It would be a great satisfaction and a morsel to his vanity to prove the negro guilty. He foresaw that the papers sooner or later would get hold of the fact that Braceway was after Morley. And, although they had hinted at mystery and uncertainty this morning, they had printed their stories so as to show that Greenleaf, backed by THE $1,000 CHECK 117 Bristow, would try to get Perry. The duel between himself and Braceway was on. He remembered he had discounted at the beginning the idea of the negro's guilt, but that had been before the discov- ery of the fragment of the lavalliere chain. Now, he was disposed, determined even, to treat everything as if Perry were the guilty man. He would work with that idea always in mind. In the meantime he would go with Braceway as long as the Braceway theories seemed to have any foun- dation at all. He did not want to run the risk of being shown up as a bungler. He was anxious to be "in on " anything that might happen. "So," he concluded, "if Perry is finally con- victed, I get the credit. If Morley is sent up, I'll get some of the credit for that also. I won't lose either way. "Now, about Withers? I've got to handle him by myself. If I were analyzing this case from the newspaper accounts of it, I'd say at first blush that either Withers did the thing or Perry did it. That's what the public's saying now. "But Braceway stands as a fence between Withers and me. He's a friend of Withers and in love with Withers' sister-in-law. And he believes Withers innocent. That's patent, For the present, I can't do anything in that direction. I've got to dig up everything possible on Morley and the negro —and, in spite of the check business, the chances are against the negro." He called to Mattie whom he heard moving about in the dining room. "Lucy Thomas," he said, "is out of jail now. I 118 THE WINNING CLUE wish you'd go look for her right away. The inquest is over by this time, and she'll be at home by the time you get there. Bring her back here with you. Tell her it's by order of the police, and I only want to talk to her a few minutes." "Yas, suh," said Mattie. "I'm not going to hurt her, Mattie," he said. "Be sure to tell her so." "Yas, suh, Mistuh Bristow; I sho' will tell her. I 'spec' dat po' nigger is done had de bre'f skeered outen her already." His eye was caught by the figures of Braceway and Mr. Fulton leaving No. 5. They turned and started up the walk toward No. 9. "Mr. Fulton," Braceway explained, after the in- troduction to Bristow, "wants to tell you some- thing about his—about Mrs. Withers. It brings in further complications—hard ones for us." 120 THE WINNING CLUE congratulate me and yourself. It was quick work." "What do you mean?" queried Bristow. "The inquest is over. The coroner's jury found that Mrs. Withers came to her death at the hands of Perry Carpenter." "And you're satisfied?" "Sure, I'm satisfied! We've found the guilty man, and he's under lock and key. What more do I want? I'll tell you what, I'll be up to have dinner with you in a little while. I invite myself," this with a chuckle. "You and I will have a little celebration dinner. It is a go?" "By all means. I'll be delighted to have you, and I want to hear all about the inquest." Bristow went back to the porch. "That," he told them, "was a message from the chief of police. He says the coroner's jury has held the negro, Perry Carpenter, for the crime." Mr. Fulton moved forward in his chair, his hands clutching the arms of it tightly. "I'll never believe it, never!" he declared, evi- dently indignant. "Nothing will ever persuade me that Enid, Mrs. Withers, met her death at the hands of an ordinary negro burglar." "What makes you so positive of that?" Bristow asked curiously. "Because of what has happened in the past," Fulton replied with emphasis. "I was about to tell you. This man none of you have been able to find, this man with the gold tooth, has been in Enid's life for a good many years. I don't under- stand why you haven't found him; I really don't." "We haven't had two whole days to work on this THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TOOTH 121 case yet," Bristow reminded him politely. "Many developments may arise." "I hope so; I hope so," he said sharply. "That man must be found." "One moment," Braceway put in with character- istic quickness; "how do you know he's been in your daughter's life, Mr. Fulton?" "That goes back to the beginning of my story." He looked out across the trees and roofs of the town toward the mountains. "Enid was always my favourite daughter. I sup- pose it's a mistake to distinguish between one's children, to favour one beyond the other. But she was just that—my favourite daughter—always. She had a dash, a spirit, a joyous soul. Years ago I saw that she would develop into a fascinating womanhood. "Nothing disturbed me until she was nineteen. Then she fell in love. It was white she was spend- ing a summer at Hot Springs, Virginia. The trouble was not in her falling in love. It was that she never told me the name of the man she loved." He leaned back again and sighed. "She never did tell me. I never knew. "I never knew, because, when she was twenty, she came to me with the unexpected announcement that she was going to marry George Withers. I was surprised. She was not the kind to change in her likes and dislikes. And I knew Withers was not the man she had originally loved. Nevertheless, I asked her no questions, and she was married to Withers when she was barely twenty-one. "A year later, approximately four years ago, she 122 THE WINNING CLUE and my other daughter, Maria, spent six weeks at 'Atlantic City in the early spring. It was there that she got into trouble. I could detect it in her letters. Some tremendous sorrow or difficulty had overtaken her, and she was fighting it alone. "Her husband was not with her. I wrote to Maria asking her to investigate quietly, to report to me whether there was anything I could do. "Maria's report was unsatisfactory. She knew Enid was distressed and was giving away or risking in some manner large amounts of money—even pawning her jewelry, jewelry which I had given her and which she prized above everything else. The whole thing was a mystery, Maria wrote. The very next mail I received a letter from Enid asking me to lend her two thousand dollars. "She made no pretence of explaining why she wanted it. She didn't have to explain. I was a rich man at that time, comparatively speaking, and she knew I would give her the money. "I mailed her a check for two thousand, but on the train which carried the check I sent a private detective—not to make any arrests, you understand, not to raise any row or start any scandal. I merely wanted to find out what or who troubled her. Women, you know, particularly good women, are prone to fall into the hands of unscrupulous people. "Four days later the detective reported to me, but it was of no special value. He couldn't tell me where the two thousand had gone. If Enid had paid it to a man or a woman, the fellow had missed seeing the transaction. With the description of the jewels I had given him, however, he made a round THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TOOTH 125 it out the best way I can,' was all the explanation she could bring herself to give me. The one fact she revealed was that the man concerned in the Atlantic City affair had also been responsible for her trouble in Washington." Bristow, absorbed in every word of the story, recollected at once that Mrs. Allen had received the same explanation when she had tried to comfort Mrs. Withers. "By George!" said Braceway, his voice a little husky. "She was game all right—game to the finish." "I think," said Fulton, relaxing suddenly so that his whole form seemed to sag and grow weak, "that's all I wanted to tell you. It's all I can tell —all I know. I wanted to show you that this man with the gold tooth and the brown beard is no myth, as you seem to believe. "Make no mistake about him, gentlemen. He has ability, ability which he uses only for unworthy ends." The old man sucked in his lips and bit on them. "He's elusive, slippery, working always in the dark. "He's low, base. He wouldn't stop at murder. And I'm certain he was the principal figure in my daughter's death. Nothing—no power on earth— nobody can ever make me believe that Enid was murdered by the negro. It doesn't fit in with what has gone before." "If there's any way to find this man, we'll do it," Bristow assured him. Braceway sprang to his feet. "You can bet your last dollar on that, Mr. Ful- 126 THE WINNING CLUE ton," he said heartily. "If he's to be found, we'll get him." The old man got to his feet. The recital of his story had weakened him. His legs were a little unsteady. Braceway took him by the arm, and they started down the steps. "Will I see you again this afternoon?" Bristow called to the Atlanta detective. "I rather think so," Braceway threw back over his shoulder. "As soon as I've had lunch I want to talk to Abrahamson. Chief Greenleaf seems to have neglected him." Bristow hesitated a moment, then limped down the steps. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Fulton," he said, over- taking the two, " but is there nothing more, no hint, no probable clue, you can give us about this mys- terious man?" "Absolutely nothing," Fulton answered wearily. "I've told you all I know." "You gave him—rather, you gave your daughter for him a total of seventeen thousand dollars, counting the loan of two thousand and the cost of redeeming the jewels both times. I beg your pardon for seeming insistent, but is it possible that you passed over that much money without even asking why she had been obliged to use it? Not many peo- ple would credit such a thing." Fulton smiled, and for a moment his grief seemed lightened by the hint of happy memories. "Ah, you didn't know my daughter, sir," he said. "She was irresistible, not to be denied—one of the ardent flames of life. If she had asked me, I THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TOOTH 127 would have given her treble that amount—any- thing, anything, sir." Bristow thought of what had been said of her in Atlanta: that all women liked her and that any man who had shaken hands with her was her unquestion- ing servant. Surely such a woman would have been irresistible in her requests to her father. He ventured another line of inquiry: "When you arrived at Number Five this morn- ing, I was in the living room, and I saw the meeting between you and Miss Maria Fulton. I eame away as soon as I could, but I couldn't help noting your expression as you greeted her. It seemed to me that there was accusation in it." "There was," the old man assented. "Enid had written me that Maria had been pressing her for money, too much money. Naturally, when I heard of the—the tragedy, I coupled it with the old, old thing that had always been a burden on Enid— money. And this time I blamed Maria. Of course, however, that was a mistake." "I see," said Bristow. He returned to his porch and sat down. He went over all that the father of the dead woman had told him. So far as he could see, it had only served the purpose of strengthening the case against Morley. Let it be discovered that Maria had known Morley at the time of the Atlantic City affair, and the case would be fixed, irrefutable. And Braceway would win out. Of course, there was still one chance. There was the bare possibility that Morley had gone to No. 5 to murder Enid if he did not get more money from 128 THE WINNING CLUE her, and that he had been frustrated by the fact that the negro Perry had forestalled him and done the murder first. Having advanced it, Bristow did not care to abandon the theory that Perry was the guilty man. An automobile whirled up Manniston Road and stopped in front of No. 9. His physician, Dr. Mow- bray, sprang from the car and up the steps. "Good morning, doctor!" the patient called out cheerily. "Hello!'' answered Mowbray crustily. "But what's the big idea in your trying to do a Sherlock Holmes in this murder case?" The doctor was overbearing and opinionated. He had many patients, who were in the habit of kno- towing to him and obeying his instructions im- plicitly. It was something which he required. "Sit down," invited Bristow. "I'm not doing any Sherlock Holmes stuff, but I thought I ought to help out if I could." "Well, you can't!'' snapped Mowbray, with quick, nervous gestures. "You'll be in your grave before you know it. You can't stand this." He shot out his hand and produced his watch with the celerity of a sleight-of-hand performer. "Let me feel your pulse." Bristow surrendered his wrist to the professional fingers. "Just what I thought—twenty beats too fast. And your respiration's a crime. Have you had any rest at all, today or yesterday?" "Not much, doctor." Mowbray glowered at him. THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TOOTH 129 "Well, you'll have to have it! You ought to be in bed this minute. If you don't carry out my in- structions, I'll drop the case. You know that." "I'm sorry, doctor, but I can't spend my time in bed now," Bristow said as persuasively as he could. "I'd like to know why! Why? Why?" "I'm going to Washington tomorrow, although that's a secret. I merely confide it to you in a pro- fessional way, and——" "Going to Washington! Man, you're mad—mad! You'll have a hemorrhage or something, and die— die, I tell you!" "Nevertheless," Bristow insisted, " I must go." "About this murder?" "Yes." "Very well!" snorted Mowbray, rising like a jumping-jack. "Go—go to the North Pole if you wish. I'm through! I can't treat a man who defies my orders and advice. Good morning, sir." Bristow gave him no answer, and he ran down the steps and threw himself into his car. "Mistuh Bristow, Lucy's done come," said Mat- tie, at the living room door. Bristow started to leave his chair, but changed his mind. "Tell her to wait a few minutes," he said. He began to think and to determine just what he wanted to find out from Lucy, what she would say and what he wanted her to say. It would not do to question her before he felt sure, of what she knew and what she must confess. He rocked gently in his chair, going over several times the evidence he 130 THE WINNING CLUE desired. His face was hard-set, almost like marble, as he stared at the mountains. He was thinking harder at that moment than he had done at any time since the murder. He had it now. She had given Perry the key to the Withers kitchen—or, better still, Perry had taken it from her—and she remembered every detail of it, his departure from her house and his return with the key. That was what she had to confess. Inevitably, he argued, that would be her story, or else she would have no story at all. He thought of Braceway. He made mow no secret of the fact that a struggle between himself and the Atlanta man was on—not openly, but thor- oughly understood by both of them—a fight for supremacy, a contest in which he sought to convict Perry while Braceway worked for the conviction of Morley. Braceway had the added incentive of wanting to run down the man who had destroyed his friend's home life; and Braceway believed that Morley and Morley's money entanglements had, in some way, caused the tragedy. Well, he, Bristow, would see about that! He knew he had the best of the argument so far—and he looked forward to a double pleasure: the applause that would come to him as the result of Perry's conviction, and his own personal gratifi- cation at besting Braceway at his own game. He went into the unused bedroom and told Mat- tie to send Lucy Thomas to him there. While he waited, he closed the two windows. 132 THE WINNING CLUE "Nothin' 'bout dem neithub," she continued in the same tone. "I don' know nothin' 'cep'n I wuz drunk. I done tole all dat down at de p'lice station." "Listen to me!" he Commanded, a little pale. "You know perfectly well what I want to find out. I want you to tell me everything you remember about Perry Carpenter's actions and words last Monday night—the night before last." She raised and lowered her eyes rapidly, the lids working like the shutter of a camera. "I knows what you wants, an' I knows I don' know nothin' 'tall 'bout it," she objected, her sul- len ness a patent defiance. He stared at her for a full two minutes. She could hear the breath whistling between bis teeth; the sound of it frightened her. "Don't lie to me!" he said, now a trifle hoarse. "It isn't necessary, and it doesn't do anybody any good—you or Perry either." She began to whimper. Looking at her, he was conscious of being ab- sorbed in the attempt to keep his temper instead of eliciting what she had to tell. He smiled. "Stop that sniffling, and tell me what you know about Monday night! Don't you remember that Perry told you be was going to Mrs. Withers' house and steal her jewelry?" "I done tole you I don' remembub nothin'." He took a step toward her and lifted his open hand as if to strike her in the face. Without wait- ing for the blow, she slid from the chair and fell sprawling to the floor, where she lay, moaning. LUCY THOMAS TALKS 133 "Get up!" She obeyed him, her arms held folded over her head as a shield against expected blows. She was still sullen, uncommunicative, her head down. He limped swiftly to the door, left the room and went to the front part of the house. He paced the length of the living room several times, his fists clenched, his protuberant lip grown heavier. He called to Mattie, who was in the kitchen. "I wish," he directed, "you'd go down to Ster- rett's and get a dozen oranges." "Yes, suh. Right now, Mistuh Bristow?" "Yes; hurry. I want some orangeade." He returned to the bedroom and closed the door. Lucy was bent forward on the chair, moaning. "Stop that!" he said, feeling now that he had himself and her under control. "If you don't stop, you'll have something real to sniffle about be- fore I'm through with you! Now begin. What about Perry last Monday night?" "Please, suh," she changed her tone, "lemme go. I ain' got nothin' to say. I feels like I might say somethin' dat ain' so. I'se kinder skeered you might make me say somethin' whut I don' mean to say." Moving deliberately, a fine, little tremor in his fingers, he took off his coat and vest and hung them on the back of a chair. He had just noticed that it was warm and close in the shut-up room. There was a ringing in his ears. He kept repeating to himself that, if he lost his temper, she would never become communicative. He began all over again, patient, persistent—— LUCY THOMAS TALKS 135 please. Mr. Greenleaf ' s late for dinner, and I need a little freshening up." He went to the living room window again and gazed, with thoughtful, slightly sad eyes, out toward the mountains. "These policemen!" he was thinking contempt- uously. "They don't know how to make block- heads tell what they can tell. There are ways—and ways." CHAPTER XIV THE PAWN BROKER TAKES THE TRAIL FRANK ABRAHAMSON, pawn broker and junk dealer, responded at once to Braceway's warm smile. The Jew had his racial respect for keenness and clean-cut ability. He liked this man who, dressed like a dandy, spoke with the air of authority. "The fellow with the gold tooth? " he replied to Braceway's request for information. "Was there anything peculiar about him? Why, yes. He was clothed in peculiarities." The pawn broker, thin, round-shouldered, with a great hook-nose and cavernous, bright eyes, spoke rapidly, without an accent, punctuating his sen- tences with thrusts and dartings and waves, of his two hands. His fifty-five years had not lessened his vitality. "You see, Mr. Braceway, we pawn brokers, we have to observe our customers. We become judges of human nature. At the best, we have a hard time making a living." Somehow, with his smile, he discounted this statement. "And we come to judge men as closely as we examine jewels and precious metals. You see?" Braceway saw. He lit a cigarette and stepped to the door to throw away the match. The Jew 180 THE PAWN BROKER 137 appreciated the thoughtfulness. Trash on the floor made the morning task of sweeping np harder. "Now," continued Abrahamson, expressing with one movement of his arm tolerant ridicule, "this man with the gold tooth and the brown beard—he thought he was disguised. By gracious! it was funny. A fellow like me takes one look at him and sees the disguise. The gold tooth—that was false, fake. When he talked to me, it was all I could do to keep from reaching across the counter and push- ing that tooth more firmly into his jaw. Gold is heavy, you see. I was afraid it might drop down on my showcase and break some glass." Abrahamson laughed. So did Braceway. "And his beard, Mr. Braceway? That was bet- ter. To the ordinary observer, it might have looked natural—but not to me. Oh, yes; he was disguised —too much.—Besides, the other afternoon was not the first time I had seen him—no." "You saw him two months ago, then?" "Yes, sir—two months ago, and one month before that." "In here?" "Yes." "What did he want?" "Money. Money for jewelry. Oh, he had the jewelry. And I gave him the money—a great deal; more, perhaps, than was good for me, when you remember I always try to make a reasonable profit. He argued. He knew about values." This interested Braceway more than anything he had yet heard. "That gave you an idea," he suggested. 138 THE WINNING CLUE "You are quick, Mr. Braceway. It did give me an idea. It made me think: well! This man, he has pawned things before, these very same things. He knew quite well what they should bring." Abrahamson shrugged his shoulders. "And he did know—and I let him have the money. That is, I mean, what happened the first two times. This last time, the three days ago, he was different, in a hurry, and he took only what I offered. He made no argument. I could see he was fright- ened. Yes—he was different this last time." The detective, oblivious of the other for a mo- ment, blew a cloud of smoke across the counter, causing the Jew to dodge and cough. "Let me see," Braceway said. "You saw him three months ago, two months ago, and three days ago. Had you ever seen him before?" Abrahamson laughed, and, reaching over, slapped Braceway on the shoulder gently. "You are so quick, Mr. Braceway! I can't swear I had ever seen him before, .but I think I had—not with the gold tooth and the beard, but with a moustache and bushy eyebrows, eyebrows too bushy." "Where? Where did you see him?" "Here, I think—but I'm not sure, you see. Sometimes I have traveled a little—to Atlanta, to Washington, to New York. I don't know; I can't tell whether I saw him in one of those places, or some other place, or here." Braceway urged him with his eyes. "If you only could! Mr. Abrahamson, if you could remember where you saw him when he wore 140 THE WINNING CLUE son lowered his voice and, leaning low on his el- bow, thrust his face far over the counter toward Braceway. "It is only an idea, but—it is an idea. I bet you I would not tell anybody else. Such things might get a man into trouble. But I like you, Mr. Braceway. I confide in you. Mr. With- ers and that man with the beard and the gold tooth—something in the look of the eyes, some- thing in the build of the shoulders—each reminded me of the other, a little. And they were at no time in here together. Just an idea, I told you. But" He spread out his hands, straightened his back, and smiled. Braceway was, undisguisedly, amazed. "You mean Withers was the" "S—sh—sh!" Abrahamson held up a protest- ing hand. "Not so loud, Mr. Braceway. It is just an idea for you to think over. I study faces, and all that sort of thing, and ideas sometimes are valuable—sometimes not." "By George!" Braceway put into his expres- sion an enthusiasm he was far from feeling. "You've done me a service, a tremendous service, Mr. Abrahamson." He thought rapidly. Three months ago! Where had George Withers been then? Three months ago was the first of February. He started. It was then that Withers had gone to Savannah, At least, he had said he was going to Savannah. And two months ago? He was not certain, but when had George left Atlanta, ostensibly for Mem< phis? THE PAWN BROKER 141 Inwardly, the detective ridiculed himself. He would have sworn to the inuocence of Withers. In fact, he was swearing to it all over again as he stood there in the pawnshop. Abrahamson's "idea" was out of the question. People were often victims of "wild thinking" in the midst of the excitement caused by a murder mystery. He returned to the effort to persuade the Jew to try to remember where he had seen the bearded man without a beard, with only a moustache and bushy eyebrows. u That's the important thing," he urged. "If you can remember that, I'll land the murderer.'' "Maybe—perhaps, I can.'' The pawn broker hes- itated, then made up his mind to confide to Brace way another secret. "I don't promise, but then; is a chance. You see, Mr. Braceway, I'm a thinker." He smiled, deprecating the statement. "Most men do not think. But me, I think. I do this: I want to remember something. Good! I go back into my little room back of the shop, and I practise association of ideas. What does the moustache remind me of? What was in his voice that made me think I had seen him before? What do his eyes bring up in my mind? "So! I go back over the months, over the years. One idea leads to another connected with it. There flash into my mind links and links of thoughts until I have a chain leading to—where? Some- where. It is fun—and it brings the results. I will do so tonight and tomorrow. I will try. I bet you I will be able to tell you—finally. You see?" 142 THE WINNING CLUE "It's a great scheme," said Braceway, encour- aging him. "It ought to work. Now, tell me this: how did this fellow strike you? What did you think of him when he was in here pawning jewels and wearing a disguise?" "I will tell you the truth. I thought at first he was like a lot of other sick people who come here with that disease—tuberculosis. In the be- ginning they have plenty of money. They expect to get well before the money gives out. But they have miscalculated. They are not yet well, and the money is gone. "What next? They must have more money. With this disease, the rich get well, the poor die. Well! I thought this fellow needed money to get well—that was all; and, like a lot of them, he was ashamed of being hard up and didn't want it known." "Tell me this: would the ordinary man in the street have noticed that the gold tooth was a false, clumsy affair?" "I think not. I buy all sorts of old gold and sets of false teeth. There is a market for them. I have studied them. That's why I saw wiiat this fellow's was." "I see. Now, will you show me what he pawned two months ago, and three months ago?" Abrahamson consulted a big book, went to the safe at the back of the shop, and returned with two little packets. In the first were two brace- lets, one studded with emeralds and diamonds, the other set with rubies. In the second envelope THE PAWN BROKER 143 was a gold ring set with one large diamond sur- rounded by small rubies. "I allowed him six hundred dollars on the bracelets," explained Abrahamson; "they are handsome—exquisite; and three hundred and fifty on the ring." Braceway passed the stuff back to him. It was a part of the Withers jewelry. "You see, Mr. Braceway," added the Jew, "all this business, this murder and everything, will cost me money. This jewelry, it is stolen goods. Chief Greenleaf leaves it here for the present, as a de- coy. Perhaps, somebody might try to reclaim it.' That's what he thinks. As for me, I don't think so. It is a dead loss." He sighed and rearranged the articles in their envelopes. "Yes," agreed the detective; "it's hard luck. You've got every reason to be interested in run- ning down the truth in this mix-up. I wish you could tell me where you think you saw this man— the time he had neither the gold tooth nor the brown beard." "Be patient, my friend—Mr. Braceway. By to- morrow I may remember. I shall work hard— the association of ideas! It is a great system." Braceway thanked him and was about to leave the shop. He had already formed a new plan. He turned back to the pawn broker. ■" By the way," he said, "I'm going to Wash- ington tomorrow. If you should remember, if the association of ideas produces anything, I wonder if you'd wire me?" 144 THE WINNING CLUE "Certainly. Certainly." The detective wrote on a slip of paper: S. S. Braceway, Willard Hotel. He handed it to Abra- hamson. "Wire me that address, collect," he directed. Abrahamson promised, smiling. He was pleased with the idea of helping to solve the prob- lem which convulsed Furmville. "Oh," added Braceway, "another thing. How would you describe this fellow in addition to the fact that he wore the beard and the gold tooth?" "Very thin lips," replied Abrahamson slowly, "and high, straight, aquiline nose, and blond hair, and—and, I should say, rather thin, high voice." "Good!" Braceway exclaimed. "Good! Mr. Abrahamson, you've just described the man who, I believe, committed the murder. And I know where he is." Morley had been pointed out to him in the hotel earlier in the day, and Abrahamson's memory sketched a fairly good likeness of the young man as he remembered him. Why not make certain of it at once? "You've been very obliging," he continued, "and, I suppose, that's why I feel I can impose on you further. I confide in you, as you did in me. I'm going back to the Brevord now. Could you follow me and take a look^at a man who'll be with me there?" The Jew's eyes sparkled. "Yes, Mr. Braceway," he said and added: u It may cost me money, closing up the shop, you un- derstand. But if I can help" THE PAWN BROKER 145 "Don't misunderstand me," the detective cau- tioned. "There's no charge of murder. Nothing like that. This fellow may be the gold-tooth man, and still not be the guilty man." "I see; I see," Abrahamson's tone was one of importance. "You go on, Mr. Braceway. I'll fol- low in three minutes." "If the man I'm with is the one who wore the disguise, if he looks more like it than Mr. Withers did, make no sign. If he's not the fellow com- municate with me later—as soon as you can." Morley was the first person Braceway saw when he entered the lobby of the hotel. He lost no time, but crossed over to the leather settee on which the young man sat. Morley looked haggard and frightened, and, although he held a newspaper in front of him, was gazing into space. Braceway decided to " take a chance." He had a great respect for his intuitions. These "hunches," he had found, were sometimes of no value, but they had helped him often enough to make the ideas that came to him in this way worth trying. He introduced himself. "I was wondering," he said, sitting down beside Morley, "if you couldn't help me out in a little matter." Morley sighed and put down his paper before he answered: "What is it?" "Something about make-ups—facial make-up." Morley looked at him and felt that the detec- tive's eyes bored into him. "What about make-up?" 146 THE WINNING CLUE "I had the idea—perhaps I got it from George Withers—that you used to be interested in a mat- ter of theatricals." Morley coloured. "Yes. That is," he qualified, "I was a mem- ber of the dramatic club when I was in college,. University of Pennsylvania. But I didn't know Withers knew anything about it." Braceway's demeanour now was casual. His eyes were no longer on Morley. He was watching Abra- hamson, who was at the news-stand near the main entrance. "I thought George had mentioned it to me, but I may be mistaken. Did you ever ' make up' with a beard?" The morning papers had got hold of the sus- picion of some of the authorities that a man wear- ing a brown beard and a gold tooth was wanted because of the murder of Mrs. Withers. Although Chief Greenleaf had tried to keep it quiet, it had leaked out as a result of Jenkins' search for traces of the man. Morley had read all this, and Brace- way's question upset him. "No," he answered; "I never did. I played women's parts." Abrahamson was shaking his head in negation. He made it plain that he saw in Morley no re- semblance to the man who had come disguised to the pawnshop. Braceway did not press Morley for further in- formation. "Then you can't help me," he laughed lightly. "Women don't wear beards." THE PAWN BROKER 147 He got up with a careless word about the hot weather and passed on to the clerk's desk. He was thinking: "He was lying. Any college an- nual prints the cast of the important 'show' given by the dramatic club that year. I'll wire Philadelphia." He found the manager of the Brevord and in- quired: "How about the bellboy who was on duty all Monday night, Mr. Keene?" "He's in the house now," Keene informed him. "Roddy is his name." "Send him up to my room, will you?" Braceway stepped into the elevator. Five min- utes after he had disappeared, Morley went into the writing room. His hand trembled a little as he picked up a pen. He put two or three lines on several sheets of paper, one after the other, and tore up all of them. The communication which he finally completed he put into an envelope and addressed to Brace- way. It read: "Dear Mr. Braceway: When you asked me about the make-up, 1 was thinking of something else and was not quite clear as to what you were saying or what you wanted to know. I remember now that, on onc occasion, I did have a part as a man who wore a beard in a play given by my college dramatic club. However, I don't remember enough about it to pass as an expert on such make-ups. "Yours truly, "Henry Morley." 148 THE WINNING CLUE Going to the desk, he left the note for the de- tective. "I'm a fool," he reflected, as he went to the door and looked out at the traffic in the street. "I believe I'll get a lawyer." He considered this for a while. "Oh, what's the use? He'll ask me a lot of questions, and" He shuddered and turned back into the lobby, hesitant and wretched. "My God!" he thought miserably. "I've got to get back to Washington! I've got to! After that, I can think—think!" But he believed he could not go until the chief of police gave him permission. If he had con- sulted a lawyer, he might have found out differ- ently. As it was, he stayed on, thinking more and more disconnectedly, eating nothing, his nerves wearing to raw ends. Upstairs Braceway was strengthening the net he had already woven around Henry Morley. "I was right." He reviewed what he had learned from Abrahamson. "It's still up to Mor- ley. That pawn broker's off, 'way off. He thinks George Withers resembles the man with the beard, and, although he gave me the description that fitted Morley exactly, he takes a look at him and denies emphatically that Morley resembles at all the fellow with the disguise." Abrahamson, however, was not satisfied with what he had seen. Back in front of his shop, he opened the door, took down the sign he had left hanging on the knob, "Back in ten minutes," sub- THE PAWN BROKER 149 stituted another, "Closed for the day," relocked the door, and started off in the direction of Casey's department store. He had decided to devote the whole afternoon to detective work. Of course, it would cost him money, having the shop closed half a day. "But," he consoled himself, " I'm worth seventy thousand dollars. I bet I am entitled to a little holiday." BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 151 "Didn't you tell the chief of police you were awake all of Monday night when you were on duty in the lobby and didn't you say the only thing you did was to carry up Mr. Morley's bags?" "Yas, suh, boss; an' dat was de truth—nothin' but de truth, boss. Gawd knows" Braceway took from his pocket a crisp, new one-dollar bill and smoothed it out on his knee. "Now, listen to me, Roddy," he said, this time unsmiling. "Mr. Keene has just told me he wouldn't fire you, even if you did go to sleep Mon- day night. There's nothing for you to be afraid of; and this dollar note is yours as soon as you tell me the truth, the real truth, about what you saw and what you missed seeing Monday night. If you don't tell me, I'll have you arrested." Roddy's eyes, which had shone with a rather greasy glitter at the sight of the money, rolled rapidly and whitely in their sockets at the men- tion of arrest. "' Deed, boss, you am' gwine to, have no cause to 'res' me, no cause whatsomever. You knows how 'tis, boss. Us coloured folks, we got a gif, jes' a natchel gif', foh nappin' an' sleepin'. Boss, dar ain' no nigger in dis town whut would have kep' wide awake—icide—all dat Monday night nor any yuther night." "Very well. Think now. Try to remember. Were you asleep at all before midnight?" "Naw, suh, boss. Naw, suh!" "Not at all?" Roddy began to wilt again. "Well, it might uv been dis way, boss, possi- 152 THE WINNING CLUE billy. 'Long 'bout 'leven I kinder remembuhs jes' a sort uv nap, mo' like a slip, boss." He coughed and spoke desperately: "You see, boss, when it gits a little quiet at night, seems to me, why, right den, ev'y nigger I knows is got a hinge in his neek. 'Pears like he jes' gotter let his liaid drap furward. Dar ain' no use talkin', boss, dat hinge wuks ovuh- time. I 'spec' mine done it, too, jes' like you say, 'long 'bout 'leven. Yas, sub, I reckon dat's right." "How about the time between midnight and two in the morning? Was the hinge working then?" "Aw, boss," replied Roddy with something like reproach, "you knows 'tain' no queshun uv a hinge arftuh midnight. Arftuh midnight, boss, de screws drap right outen' de hinge, an' dar ain' no mo' hinge. You jes' natchelly keeps your haid down an' don' lif ' it no mo'. Naw, sub, dar ain' no hinge to he'p you dat late, onless—cmless somebody hit you or stab you." Braceway became stern. His eyes snapped. "Didn't you carry Mr. Morley's grips up to his room for him that night, room number four hun- dred and twenty-one?" "Yas, suh." "What time was that?" "Dat wuz jes' five minutes arftuh two, boss." "Had you been asleep during the two hours be- fore that?" "I hates to say it, boss, but I wuz, almos' com- pletely." "Then, how did you wake yourself up thoroughly enough to know that it was exactly five minutes past two?" 154 THE WINNING CLUE lobby was the one you had seen going into the post-office?" "Dey wuz de same, boss; dat's all. Had de same buil', same long raincoat on, an' same thick beard. He had done pass' me by an' wuz on his way up de stairs 'stead uv waitin' foh me to run de ele- vatuh. I wonldn' nevuh seed his beard dat time, but he turn' 'roun' when he wuz nigh to de top uv de stairs an' look back at me. Den I seed fob a fac' dat he wuz de same as de yuther man I jes' done seed." Braceway gave no sign of how highly he valued the negro's words. Seated by the window, the dol- lar bill still on his knee, he kept his gaze on Roddy, holding him to his narrative. "You want me to believe that, when you saw this man two blocks away at half-past one in the morning, you noticed he wore a beard? Wasn't it too dark?" "Naw, suh. Dem post-office lights is pow'ful, boss. I seed de beard all right, an' I seed it once mo'e when he wuz on de stairs." "What did he do after he had looked back at you while he was going upstairs?'' "Nothin', boss. He seed I wuz lookin' at him, an' he jes' went on up an' out uv sight, in a hurry, like." "What time was that?" "Dat wuz twenty-six minutes uv two." "How do you know that? You'd gone back to sleep, hadn't you?" "Yas, suh, a little niggerin'. But, when I woke up dat way widout no reason, I kinder jumped. I BKACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 155 wuz afeer'd dat clock might be goin' to jar me ag'in, an' I took a look at it. Dat wuz how I seed de time. It wuz twenty-six minutes uv two." "What did you do then?" "Nothin', boss; jes' went on niggerin' it. Dat is, I went on till de night clerk giv' me a kick on de shins an' tole me to take Mistuh Morley's bags up to fo'-twenty-one. I done tole you dat was five minutes arftuh two. Den, when we got up 'to de room, I says to him: 'I thought you wuz in dis hotel half-hour ago, boss, when you had a beard.' "An' right off de bat I wuz sorry I said dat. He look' at me kinder mad an' he said: ' Whut you talkin' 'bout, boy? You mus' be talkin' in yore sleep!' "I come on back downstairs. He didn' have to say no mo*e. I tell you, boss, when a white man tell me I been talkin' in my sleep, I is been talkin' in my sleep—dar ain' no argufyin' 'bout it—I is been doin' dat ve'y thing." "But you thought Mr. Morley, the man with the grips, was the one you had seen going up the stairs and, also, the one you had seen going into the post-office—and, when you saw him on the stairs and on the street, he wore a beard? Is that it?" "I ain' thought nothin' 'bout it, boss. I knowed it." "What did you think about his shaving off the beard at that time in the morning?" Braceway urged, fingering the dollar bill. "Didn't you think it was queer?" 156 THE WINNING CLUE "I tryin' to tell you, sub, I ain' done no thinkin' 'bout dat. He done said I wuz talkin' in my sleep, an' I is a prudent nigger." "Did be have a gold tooth, Roddy?" "Naw, sub," said Roddy, "but he did look ricb 'nough to have one. Leastways I ain' seen he had one." "Have you seen the man with the beard since?" "Naw, suh. I jes' tole you, boss, he done shave it off." "And Mr. Morley?" "Yas, suh, I done seen him. He's in de hotel now. He's de same man." "Did he wear rubber overshoes when he had the beard, and when be didn't have it?" "Yas, suh—bofe times." "Has he said anything to you since Monday night?" "Naw, suh." "Did you see anybody else that night—Monday night?" "Naw, suh." "Do you remember anything else about how the bearded man looked?" "Naw, sub, 'cep' he look' jes' like dis Mistuh Morley; dat's all I know, boss." Braceway got to his feet. "All right, Roddy," he said heartily; "you're a good boy. Here's your dollar." Roddy rolled his white eyeballs toward the ceil- ing and bent his black face floorward. "Gawd bless you, boss! You is one good" "And here's another dollar, if you can keep your BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 157 mouth shut about this until I tell you to open it. Can you do that?" Roddy conveyed the assurance of his ability to remain dumb until a considerable time after the sounding of Gabriel's trump. "See that you do. If you don't, I might have to arrest you after all." When the negro had gone, Braceway stood at the window and, with glance turned toward the street, saw nothing of what was passing there. He was reviewing the facts—or possible facts—that had just come to him. Restlessness took hold of him. He fell to pacing the length of the room with long, quick strides. It seemed that, in the labour of forcing his brain to its highest activity, he called on every fibre and muscle of his physique. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes, hard and brilliant, snapped. He was thinking—thinking, going over every particle of the evidence he had drawn from Roddy, trying to estimate its value when compared with everything else he had learned about the case. His stride grew more rapid; his breathing was faster. The murder, the men and women connected with it, the stories they had told, all these flashed on the screen of his mind and hung there until he had judged them to their smallest detail. What could Abrahamson have meant by indi- cating a belief that the man with the gold tooth looked like George Withers? Was the boy Roddy wide enough awake that night to have formed any real opinion as to the BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 159 dictory clues. The rest would be comparatively plain sailing. Some of Braceway's friends were in the habit of laughing at him because, when he was sure of having solved a criminal puzzle, he always could be seen carrying a cane. The appearance of the cane invariably foretold the arrest of a guilty man. He went now to the corner near the bureau and picked up the light walking-stick he had brought to Furmville strapped to his suitcase. He lin- gered, twirling the cane in his right hand. His thoughts went to the interview he and Bristow had had that morning with Fulton, whose white hair and deep-lined face were very clear before him. He recalled the old man's words: "She wept bitterly. I can hear her weeping now. She had a dash, a spirit, a joyous soul. This man none of you has been able to find has been in Enid's life for a good many years." Braceway's eyes softened. Well, there was no need to worry now. Things were coming his way. The old man would have his revenge. He put on his hat, deciding to go down for a late lunch. When he looked at his watch, he whistled. He had promised to be at the railroad station to see the funeral party off for Atlanta on the four o'clock train; and it was now half-past three. He hurried out. For the first time in his life, he had been guilty of taking a course which might lead to serious results, or to no results at all. He had permitted 160 THE WINNING CLUE personal considerations to make "blind spots" in his brain. Because of a warm friendship for George With- ers, he had rushed to conclusions which took no ac- count of the dead woman's husband. He had for- gotten that the faces of Morley and Withers were shaped on similar lines. If any other detective had done that, B raceway would have been the first to censure him. As he had expected, he found Withers and Mr. Fulton far ahead of train time. They had been passed through the gates and were standing on the platform. Braceway noticed that, of the two, the father was standing the ordeal with greater fortitude and calmness. Withers was nervous, fidgety, and seemed to find it impossible to stand in any one place. He drew Braceway to one side. "I've got something to tell you, Brace," he said in a low tone, his voice tremulous. "I didn't want to tell you for—for her sake. I thought it might cause useless talk, scandal. But you're working your head off for me, and you've a right to know about it." "Don't worry, George," Braceway reassured him. "Things are coming out all right. Don't talk if you don't feel like it." He said this because he was suddenly aware of the quality of suffering he saw in the man's eyes. It was so evident, so striking, that he' felt sur- prised. Perhaps, he thought, he might have ex- aggerated things when he had told Bristow that Enid had subjected her husband to incessant dis- appointments and regrets. Withers now was BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 161 mourning; in fact, he appeared overwhelmed, crushed. "It's this," Withers hurried on: "I was up there that night in front of the house until— until after one o'clock. You know I told you I was on the porch just across the road and went back to the hotel as soon as Campbell had turned his machine and gone home. That wasn't quite correct. I waited, because Enid didn't turn out the lights in the living room. It struck me as strange. "I waited, and I fell asleep. That seems funny —a husband infuriated with his wife and trying to find out what she is doing to deceive him goes to sleep while he's watching! But that's exactly what I did. "When I awoke, the lights were still on in the living room. I looked at my watch, and, although I couldn't see very well, I made out it was after one. I suppose I'd been asleep for half an hour at least. You see, I had had a hard night on the sleeper and a terrific day, and" "Sure. I understand that," Braceway consoled him. "Did you see anything, George?" "Yes; I saw something all right," he struggled with the words. "As I looked up, a figure was silhouetted against the yellow window shade. It was a man's figure. It was after one in the morn- ing, and a man was there with" His voice failed him altogether. Braceway, a perplexed look in his eyes, studied him uneasily. "The silhouette was quite plain. There was the clear-cut shadow of him from the waist up. 162 THE WINNING CLUE It was so plain that I could see he was wearing a cap. I could see the visor of it, you know; a long visor. He was a well-built man, good shoul- ders, and so on. "As I got to my feet, the lights were turned off. I went across the street. I don't think I ran. It was raining. I was going to kill him. That was all I was thinking about. I was going to kill him, and I wanted to catch him unawares. I wasn't armed, and I was going to choke him to death." The train gates were opened, and passengers be- gan to stream past them toward the train. With- ers lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. Brace- way noticed the unpleasant sound of it. "He did what I expected; came down the steps without a sound. I didn't even hear him close the door. I can't say I saw him. It was pitch dark, and I sensed where he was. I was con- scious of all his movements. When he reached the bottom step, I closed with him. I couldn't trust to hitting at him. It was too dark. "I put out my hands to get his throat, but I misjudged things. I caught him by the waist. He had on a raincoat. I could tell it by the feel of the cloth. And I couldn't get a good hold of him. While I struggled with him, he got me by the throat. He was a powerful man, a dozen times stronger than I am. "We swayed around there for a few minutes, a few seconds—I don't know which. We didn't make any noise. I couldn't do a thing. He choked me until I thought my head would burst open. BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 163 "When he realized I was all in, he gave me a shove that made me reel down the walk a dozen steps. He didn't stop to see what I did. He ran. That is, I suppose he ran. I didn't hear him, and I didn't see him again. He disappeared —completely." Braceway looked at his watch. It was five min- utes before train time. "What did you do then?" "Nothing." * "Where did you go, then? What did you think? Speed up, George! I want to get all this before you go." "Yes," said Withers, a little catch in his throat; "I thought you ought to know about it. I—I stood there a moment, there in the rain, dazed, trying to get my breath. I'd intended going in to have it out with Enid. But I didn't. I sup- pose I knew, if I did, I'd kill her. And I guess now I would have. "You see, I hadn't the faintest notion that any- thing had happened to her; had hurt her, I mean. I got myself in hand. I didn't do anything. I went back to the hotel. I planned to have a last talk with her later in the day." "Tell me," Braceway asked with undisguised eagerness, "did this man wear a beard?" "I think so. I've been thinking about that all day. I think he did, but I'm not sure." "But you saw the plain silhouette, the outline of his head and body!" "Yes. He might have had a beard, and again he might not. He was heavily built, with a short, 164 THE .WINNING CLUE thick neck, and, in the attitude he was in, fore- shortened by the light being above him, a strong chin might have been magnified, might have cast a shadow like that of a beard." "And when you were struggling with him? How about that? Didn't you get close to his face?" "Yes; but he was taller than I was—I don't know—I can't remember. But I think he had the beard, all right." "He didn't make any noise on the steps, you say. Did he have rubber shoes?" "I don't know. My guess would be that he did." The conductor began to shout, "All aboard!" They started toward the Atlanta pullman. "I wouldn't have told you—I can't see that any of this could affect the final result—but for the fact that something might have come up to embarrass you," Withers explained, still with the unpleasant, rattling whisper. "It might have led you to think I hadn't been frank with you." He had his foot on the first step of the car. The porter was evidently anxious to get aboard and close the vestibule door. "What do you mean?" Braceway caught him by the sleeve. "Somehow," Withers leaned down to whisper, "in the struggle, I think, I dropped—I lost my watch. Somebody must have picked it up, you know." BRACEWAY SEES A LIGHT 165 "Damn!" exploded Braceway angrily. "Why didn't" The train began to move. The porter put his hand to Withers' elbow and hurried him up the steps. CHAPTER XVI A MESSAGE FROM MISS FULTON IT was a little after three o'clock when Chief Greenleaf and Lawrence Bristow finished, their "celebration dinner" and took their seats on the porch of No. 9. The host, accomplish- ing the impossible in a prohibition state, had pro- duced a bottle of champagne, explaining: "Just for you, chief; I never touch it; and the chief had enjoyed it, unmistakably. At Bristow's suggestion they refrained from dis- cussing any phase of the murder during the meal. "All we have to do now," he said, "is to see that the knot in Perry's rope is artistically tied— and that's not appetizing." "I've got something new," Greenleaf contrib- uted; "but you're right. We'll wait until after dinner." They were greatly pleased with what they had accomplished; and each one, without giving it voice, knew the other's pleasure was increased by the thought that they had got the better of Brace- way. They saw from the porch that an automobile was standing in front of No. 5. As they settled back in their chairs, Fulton and George Withers left the bungalow and got into the machine. lea A MESSAGE FEOM MISS FULTON 167 "They're going to take the body to Atlanta on the four o'clock," said Greenleaf. For a moment they watched the receding auto- mobile. Then Bristow inquired, " What's the new thing you've dug up?" "The report from the Charlotte laboratories." "Oh, you got that—by wire?" The lame man seemed indifferent about it. "Yes; by wire," Greenleaf paused, as if he en- joyed whetting the other's curiosity. Bristow made no comment. He gave the im- pression of being confident that the report could contain nothing of value. "You ain't very anxious to know what it is," the chief complained. "I nearly had a fit until it came." "Oh, it doesn't matter much, one way or the other," Bristow said, conscious of Greenleaf s petu- lance. "The thing's settled anyway." "That may be true; but it don't do any harm to get everything we can. The laboratory re- ported what you thought they'd report. Nothing under Miss Fulton's nails; particles of a white person's skin, epidermis, under Perry's." Bristow laughed pleasantly, his eyes suddenly more alight. "I beg your pardon, chief; I was having a lit- tle fun with you—by pretending indifference. But it's great—better than I'd really dared expect. It's the only direct, first-hand evidence we can, offer showing that the negro, beyond any dispute, did attack her." He laughed again. "Let's see the wire." A MESSAGE FROM MISS FULTON 169 cursed me and hit me. I had two keys on the ribbon, one to Number Five, Manniston Road, and one to the house where I worked before I went to Mrs. Withers. He had taken the wrong one. When he hit me, he said: ' You think you're damn smart, giving me the wrong key; but that didn't stop me.' He seemed to be drunker then than he was when he went out earlier in the night. (Signed) "Lucy Thomas." The chief whistled. "How in thunder did you get this out of the woman?" "Sent for her and had a talk with her. She told so many stories and contradicted herself so much that, at last, she broke down and let me have the real facts." "Will she stick to what she says in this paper?" "Oh, yes. There won't be any trouble about that." Greenleaf offered him the signed confession. "No; keep it," he said. "It's your property, not mine." The chief folded it and put it carefully into his breast pocket. "I wonder," he speculated, " what Mr. Braceway will say to this." "He'll realize that the case is settled. But I don't think he'll quit work." "Why won't he, if he sees we've got the guilty man?" "That's what I'd like to know. I believe—this is between you and me—I believe he's working more 170 THE WINNING CLUE for George Withers now than he is for the state. You see, as I've already told you, there may be some family scandal in this, something the hus- band wants to keep quiet. Braceway will be satis- fied as soon as we show him that the only thing we want is to present the evidence against the negro; that we take no interest in private scandals. But there's one thing, however, chief, I wish you'd do: let Morley go to Washington on the midnight train tonight instead of making him wait until to- morrow." "Why?" "If Braceway won't let matters drop as they are now, he'll insist on following Morley to Washing- ton. If he does, I'm going, too; and we might as well get it over." "You're not afraid our case won't hold water, are you?" "No. The case stands on its own feet. There's no power on earth that could break it down." "Well, then, why" "I'll tell you why, chief. I've been set down here with this tuberculosis. You know what that means, at least, several years of convalescence. Why shouldn't I make use of those years, develop a business in which I can engage while I'm here? This murder case has opened the door for me, and I'm going to take advantage of it. Lawrence Bris- tow, consulting detective and criminologist. How does that strike you?" "Fine!" said Greenleaf heartily. "And you're right. Your reputation's made; and, even if you had to be away from Furmville a few days at a time A MESSAGE FROM MISS FULTON 171 now and then, it wouldn't hurt jour health." The chief's tendency to claim credit for Carpen- ter's arrest had disappeared. He liked Bristow, was impressed by his quiet effectiveness. "I'm glad you think I can get away with it," the lame man said, much pleased. "Now, you see why I want to go to Washington with Braceway. It's merely to keep my hold on this case. If you say I'm entitled to the credit for reading the riddle, I'm going to see that I get the credit." "All right. I'll let Morley know he can go to- night, and he needn't worry about our troubling him." "Thanks. The sooner we gather up every little strand of evidence, the better it will be." Greenleaf prepared to leave. As he stood up, he caught sight of a young man coming up Man- niston Boad. "A stranger," he announced. "Another detec- tive?" Bristow glanced down the street. "No. It's a newspaper correspondent. That's my guess. The Washington and New York papers have had time to send special men here by now for feature stories." The young man went briskly up the steps of No. 5. "I was right," concluded Bristow. "If you run into him, chief, do the talking for the two of us. Just tell him I refuse to be interviewed." "Why?" demanded Greenleaf. "An interview would give you good advertising." "There's just one sort of publicity that's better 172 THE WINNING CLUE than talking," said Bristow laconically; " aloofness, mystery. It makes people wonder, keeps them talking." It happened as Bristow had thought. Greenleaf, going down the walk, met the stranger, special correspondent of a New York paper. They had a short colloquy, the newspaper man looking fre- quently toward No. 9, and finally they turned and went down Manniston Road. Bristow, leaving his chair to go back to the sleeping porch, saw Miss Kelly come out of No. 5 and hurry in his direction. He waited for her. "Miss Fulton wants to see you, Mr. Bristow," said the nurse. "She asked me to tell you it's very important." He was frankly surprised. "Wants to see me, Miss Kelly?" "Yes; at once, if you can come." "Why, certainly." He stepped into the house and got his hat. "How is Miss Fulton?" he inquired, descending the steps with Miss Kelly. "Much better. In fact, she seemed in good spirits and fairly strong as soon as her father and Mr. Withers left. That was about half an hour ago." "Perhaps, their departure helped her," he sug- gested, smiling. "Often one's family is annoying —we may love them, but we want them at a lovable distance." She gave him an approving smile. "What about the medicine?" he asked as they A MESSAGE FROM MISS FULTON 173 reached the door. "Has she had much bromide— stuff like that?" "No; not today. Her mind's perfectly clear." He put one more question: "Do you happen to know why she wishes to see me?" "I think it's something about her brother-in- law, Mr. Withers." "Ah! I wonder whether" He did not finish the sentence, but, stepping into the living room, waited for Miss Kelly to announce his arrival. The quick mechanism of his mind informed him that he was about to be confronted with some totally unexpected situation. CHAPTER XVII MISS FULTON'S REVELATION PREPARED as he was for surprise, his emo- tion, when he was ushered into Miss Fulton's room, was little short of amazement. The girl was transformed. Instead of a spoiled child, with petulant expression, he beheld a calm, well controlled woman who greeted him cordially with a smile. Overnight, it seemed, she had developed into maturity. Wearing a simple, pale blue negligee, and propped up in bed, as she had been the day before, she had now in her attitude nothing of the weakness she had shown during his former interview with her. For the first time, he saw that she was a handsome woman, and it was no longer hard for him to realize why Braceway had been in love with her. He waited for her to explain why he had been summoned. "I've taken affairs into my own hands—that is, my affairs,'' she said. "There's something you should know." "If there is anything "he began the polite formula. "First," she told him, "I'd better explain that father ordered me to discuss the—my sister's death with nobody except Judge Rogers. You know who he is, the attorney here. Father and 174 MISS FULTON'S REVELATION 175 George have retained him. I haven't seen him yet. I wanted to give you certain facts. I know you'll make the just, proper use of them." "Then I was right? You do know" "Yes," she said, exhibiting, so far as he could observe, no excitement whatever; " I was not asleep the whole of Monday night. I narrowly escaped seeing my sister die—seeing her murdered." Her lips trembled momentarily, but she took hold of herself remarkably. A trifle incredulous, he watched her closely. "I heard a noise in the living room. It wasn't a loud noise. The fact that it was guarded, or cautious, waked me up, I think. Before I got out of bed, I looked at my watch. It was somewhere in the neighbourhood of one o'clock—I'm not sure how many minutes after one. As I reached the little hallway opening into the dining room, I heard a man's voice. "He was not talking aloud. It was a hurried sort of whisper. It seemed as if the voice, when at its natural pitch, would have been high or thin, more of a tenor than anything else. It gave me the impression of terriflic anger, anger and threat com- bined. The only thing I heard from my sister was a stifled sound, as if she had tried to cry out and been prevented by—by choking." She looked out the window, her breast rising and falling while she compelled herself to calmness. Bristow was looking at her with hawk-like keen- ness. "And what did you do? " he asked, his voice low and cool. 176 THE WINNING CLUE "I pulled the dining room door open. From where I stood, looking across the dining room into the living room, I could see the edge of my sister's skirt and—and a man's leg, the right leg. "That is, I didn't see much of his leg. What I did see was his foot, the sole of his shoe, a large shoe. He was in such a position that the foot was resting on its toes, perpendicular to the floor, so that I saw the whole sole of the rubber shoe." She put both hands to her face and closed her eyes, holding the attitude for several minutes. When she looked at him again, there were no tears in her eyes, but the traces of fear. "It seemed to me that he was leaning far for- ward, putting most of his weight on his left foot and balancing himself with the right thrust out behind him. There was something in the position of that leg which suggested great strength. "All that came to me in a minute, in a second. When I realized what I saw, the danger to Enid, I fainted, just crumpled up and slid to the floor, and everything went black before me. I don't think I had made a sound since leaving the sleeping porch." Bristow spoke quickly. "Miss Fulton, who was the man?" She overcame a momentary reluctance. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I am not sure. I thought it was either Henry Morley or George Withers." She turned away. A tremor shook her from head to foot. "Why?" he asked. 178 THE WINNING CLUE fused to consider anything tending to obscure hia own theory. "Are you still sure it was Mr. Morley or Mr. Withers?" "I think now," she answered, her voice hardly above a whisper, "it was George Withers." "Why?" "Let me explain again. I lay there, where I had fainted, for hours, until just a few minutes before you answered my call for help. I must have had a terriflic shook. When I recovered consciousness, I stumbled into the living room and saw—saw Enid. Her—oh, Mr. Bristow!—the sight of her face, of her mouth, paralyzed my voice. "I stood on the porch and tried to scream, but at first I couldn't. I only gasped and choked. I started down the steps, reached the bottom, and then found I could make myself heard. I ran back up the steps and stood there shrieking until I saw you coming. I suppose nobody had seen me go down the steps." "But that hasn't anything to do with Mr. Withers?" "Yes—yes, it has. When I went down the porch steps, I saw something lying in the grass, on the upper side of the steps, the side toward your house." She slipped her hand under one of the pillows. "It was this." She handed to Bristow an open-faced gold watch. He read on the back of it the initials, " G. S. W." "It's George Withers' watch," she said, "and, when I found it, he had not been on this side of MISS FULTON'S REVELATION 179 Manniston Eoad, according to the story he told you and the chief of police." Bristow was thinking intently, a frown creasing his forehead. He was wishing that she had not found the watch. He reminded himself of the hys- terical condition she had been in the day before. Perhaps, after all, this story was nothing but an unconscious invention—a fantasy which she thought to be the truth. "Why did you refuse yesterday to tell me this; and why do you volunteer it now?" he inquired, holding her glance with a cold, level look. "I'm afraid you won't understand," she an- swered, a little smile lifting the corners of her mouth, a smile which, somehow, still had in it a great deal of sorrow. "Yesterday I was still under the influence of the way I had lived all my life, subjugated, as it were, by the fact that my older sister was my father's favourite and by the further fact that my sister's personality was stronger than mine—at least, I had been taught to think so. "I don't want you to think I didn't love my sis- ter. I did; but it made a cry-baby out of me. I always relied on others—do you see? But now, that influence is gone. I'm my own mistress; and I know it. I can and must do what strikes me as right." Bristow, close student of human nature that he was, did understand. There flashed across his mind a passage he had read in something by George Bernard Shaw: that nobody ever loses a friend or relative by death without experiencing some measure of relief. 180 THE WINNING CLUE "Yes; I see what you mean," he assented; " its an instance of submerged personality—something of that sort." "Mr. Braceway is working with you, isn't he?" she asked suddenly. "Why, yes," he replied, surprised. "I thought," she continued, "that what I had seen would be of service to you and him. And I can't understand why father and George want all this secrecy. One would think they were afraid of finding out something—something to make them ashamed! What I want is to see the guilty man punished—that's all." He recalled Braceway's statement that he had been engaged to marry Maria Fulton. Could it be that she still loved him, and that the engagement to Morley, her helping him financially, had been all a pretense, the pitiful product of pique toward Braceway to show him she cared nothing for him? And now she wanted to help Braceway, not Bris- tow? He decided to ignore that part of the situation. The obvious incrimination of Withers gave him enough to think about. He was sorry it had hap- pened. He did not believe there was the shadow of a case against him. He rose and handed the watch to Miss Fulton. "No," she objected; " I don't want it. You and Mr. Braceway, perhaps, will make use of it." He hesitated before putting it into his pocket. "Why did you send for me, Miss Fulton?" he asked, after thanking her for doing so. "Why me instead of your lawyer, Judge Rogers?" WHAT'S BRACEWAY'S GAME? 185 toward Withers had subsided. When Bristow handed him the watch Maria Fulton had found, he said laughingly: "It's a good thing George told me about it, isn't it? Otherwise, we might have had to devote a lot of time to showing that he had nothing to do with the crime itself." "And yet," qualified Bristow, "he said nothing to explain why the watch should have been so far back in the grass and to the side of the steps in this direction. According to his story, he must have dropped it on the other side, the down side." "What do you mean?" "I don't see how it could have fallen where Miss Fulton found it unless somebody had actually picked it up and thrown it there. He told you he was all the time down on the sidewalk, and, when the other man flung him off, he reeled down-hill, not up." "That's hair-splitting," Braceway objected good- humouredly. "Nothing could make me think George responsible for the murder." Bristow repeated then everything Maria Fulton had said that afternoon, and gave a fair, clear idea of her strong suspicion that the murder had act- ually been done by either Withers or Morley. It had no effect on Braceway. "Miss Fulton," he said, "told you, of course, what she had seen and heard and, in addition, what she had guessed. But I don't see that is changes anything. I can't let it make me suspect Withers any more than I can accept as valuable Abraham- son's quite positive opinion that the man wearing 186 THE WINNING CLUE the disguise was Withers. Things don't fit in. That's all. They don't fit into such a theory." "Have you ever thought," persisted Bristow, "why Withers told Greenleaf and me yesterday morning that he was in the pawnshop when the man with the gold tooth was in there? Why should he say that when Abrahamson contradicts it at once by telling you they were at no time in the shop simultaneously?" "Did Withers say to you outright, flat and un- mistakably, that he saw the fellow inside the shop?" Braceway's voice had in it the ring of combativeness. Bristow tried to remember the exact words Withers had used. Also, his harping on Withers' possible guilt struck him as absurd when he considered the strength of the case against Perry. "I can't swear he did," he admitted at last; " but there's no doubt about the impression he gave us. Why, Abrahamson himself told you Greenleaf was posiMve Withers and the other man were there at the same time." "Oh," Braceway said, obviously a little bored, "That's one of the things we have to watch for in these cases—wild impressions, the construing of words in a different way by everybody who heard them. It's a minor detail anyway." "I don't get you at all," Bristow said, eyeing him intently. "What do you mean?" "Your conviction that Morley's the guilty man, your refusal to accept the case against Perry Car- 188 THE WINNING CLUE else relating, in a way, to the case—relating to it and yet not necessarily tied to it directly." "What kind of something? " Braceway retorted. "Say, for instance, something ugly, something painful to Fulton and Withers—terrific scandal, perhaps." Braceway thought a moment. "You've a keen mind, Mr. Bristow," he said finally. "I can't discuss that phase of it now, but you're partially right; although I'll say frankly, if Morley wasn't going to Washington, I wouldn't go either." "Thanks; I appreciate your telling me that much. Now, let me ask one more question: why, exactly are you following Morley?" "I'll tell you," Braceway replied with spirit. "It's a fair question, and I'll answer it. I'm going there on a hunch. I can't persuade myself that Perry's guilty, and I've a hunch that I'm now on the trail of the right man. And, as long as I'm in the business as a professional detective, I don't propose to disregard one scintilla of evidence, one smallest clue. I'll run down every tip and any hunch before I'll quit a case, saying virtually: 'Well, that man, or this man, seems guilty; go ahead and string him up.' "No innocent man's going to his death as long as I feel there's a chance of the guilty fellow being around and laughing up his sleeve. That's the whole thing in a nutshell. That's why I'm after Morley! That's why I'm going to Washington." Bristow, responding warmly to the other's voice and mood, leaned forward and grasped his hand. WHAT'S BRACEWAY'S GAME? 189 "Good!" he said. "That's fine—and I'm with" you." "It's the only way to look at this work. Without the proper ideals, it's a rotten business. But, with the right viewpoint, it's great, at times far more valuable than the work of lawyers and judges." "I'm glad you said that," Bristow declared; "very glad, because I'm thinking of going into it myself." "You are?" Braceway appeared surprised; or his emotion might have been sympathy for a man driven to the choice of a new profession in life. "Yes. I was talking about it to Greenleaf this afternoon. I realize—I'd be foolish if I didn't— that this case has given me a lot of publicity. It has put me where I can say I know something about crime and criminals, although, up until this murder, the knowledge has been mostly on paper." "Yes; I know." "But now, since I'm stuck down here for this long convalescence, it's the best thing I can do; in fact, it's the only thing. I've drifted through life fooling with real estate and writing now and then a little, a very little, poor fiction. Neither occupation would support me in Furmville; and I think I could make good as a sort of consulting detective and criminologist. There's money in it, isn't there?" "Yes; good money," Braceway replied without much enthusiasm. "But there are times when it's heart-breaking work, this thing of running down the guilty, the scum of the earth, the failures, the rotters, and the rats, It isn't all a Fourth of July; WHAT'S BRACEWAY'S GAME? 191 wouldn't you? Walking would bother that leg. I'll send the machine up for you." "Thanks," Bristow accepted appreciatively. "That will be best." "All right. I'll have it up here in an hour or so. You can pick me up, and we'll run out to Larrimore." He went down Manniston Road, his heels strik- ing hard against the concrete. Under the light at the far corner he flashed into Bristow's vision, twirling his cane on his thumb; his erect, alert figure giving little evidence of the weariness he had felt a few minutes before. The lame man lingered on the porch, consid- ering Braceway's confident assertion that he did not "propose to disregard one scintilla of evi- dence, one smallest clue." But, he reflected, that was exactly what Braceway was doing: not only disregarding one scintilla, but keeping himself blind to a great many clues, the evidence against George Withers and that against the negro. "I can't make out his game," he concluded. What's his idea about scandal, I wonder? The only possible scandal lies in the fact that Mrs. Withers paid blackmail for years. And the only way to make the fact public is to keep on deny- ing that Perry's guilty. He seems to be trying to dig up scandal instead of hiding it." Suddenly, with his characteristic quickness of thought, he realized that he disliked Braceway, definitely felt an aversion for him. When he was in Braceway's presence, influenced by his vitality and magnetism and listening to his conversation, 192 THE WINNING CLUE he lost sight of his real feeling; but, left to him- self, it came to the surface strongly. He wished he had never met the man. He knew he would never get close to him. And yet, he thought, why dislike him? "Oh, he isn't my kind. J don't know. Yes, I know. He's just an edition de luxe of the ordin- ary four-flusher, a lot of biff-bang talk and bluff." He laughed, perhaps ridiculing himself. "Why waste mental energy on him? I've worked this case out. He hasn't." And public opinion was with him. It conceded that he had the right answer to the puzzle. At that very moment the " star " reporter of The Sen- tinel was hammering out on his typewriter the following paragraph for publication in the morn- ing: "While it is generally recognized that Chief Greenleaf deserves great praise for the prompt- ness with which the guilty man was discovered, the chief himself called attention this evening to the invaluable assistance he had received from Mr. Lawrence Bristow, already a well-known authority on crime. It was Bristow who, in addition to other brilliant work, forged the last and most impressive link in the chain of evidence against Carpenter. He did this by suggesting that the tests be made to determine whether or not the negro's finger nails showed traces of a white person's skin." Later on in his story, the reporter wrote: "Not a clue has yet been uncovered leading to the location of the stolen jewelry." N If Braceway could have read that, he would have CHAPTER XIX AT THE ANDERSON NATIONAL BANK WHEN the train pulled into Washington at eleven o'clock, Henry Morley, the first passenger to alight, shook off the red-cap porters who grabbed at his grips, and hurried to- ward the gates. Braceway, well hidden by shadows just inside the big side-door of one of the baggage coaches, observed how pale and haggard he looked under the strong glare of the arc-lights. "Hardly more than a kid!" thought the detec- tive, with involuntary sympathy. "Why is it that most of the criminals are merely children? If they were all hardened and abandoned old thugs this work would be easier." Nevertheless, he kept his eyes on Morley and, a moment later, moved a step forward. This made him visible to a well-dressed, sleek-looking man who up to that time had been standing on the dark side of the great steel pillar directly across the platform from the baggage car. Braceway, with a quick gesture, indicated the identity of Mor- ley, and the sleek-looking man, suddenly coming to life, fell into the stream of street-bound passengers. Braceway went back to the Pullman and rejoined Bristow, who was waiting for him in the state- room. 194 196 THE WINNING CLUE "Very good. Did your man pick him up at the train?'' "Oh, yes. Platt's always on the job. He and his partner, Delaney, generally deliver." "Who are they?" Bristow asked, interested. "How do they happen to be working for you?" "They belong to a private bureau here, Golson's. Golson and I have worked together before." In the elevator Bristow was thinking that the matter of becoming a professional detective was not as simple as it had appeared to him. The work required colleagues, assistants, "shadowers," and reciprocal arrangements with bureaus in other cities. It was like any other profitable business, complicated, demanding constant attention. When they met at breakfast, Braceway had al- ready received Platt's report. "Nothing developed last night," he told Bris- tow. "Platt followed Morley, who went straight to his home. He and his mother live in a little house far out on R Street northwest. Morley took the street car and was home by a little after half- past eleven. The lights were all out by a quarter past twelve. This morning at six-thirty, when Delaney relieved Platt, our man hadn't left the house." "What's your guess about today?" "Either he'll go to the bank on time this morn- ing, to throw off suspicion," said Braceway, "or, if he mailed the jewelry to himself here the night of the murder, he'll try to pawn them in Balti- more or at a pawnshop in Virginia, just across the AT ANDERSON NATIONAL BANK 197 river. There are no pawnshops in Washington. There's a law that interferes." "Delaney won't lose him?" "Not a chance." During the meal he saw that Bristow was com- pletely worn out. As a matter of fact, he looked actually sick. "See here," Braceway said as they were ready to leave the table; "you look all in, done out." Bristow did not deny it. "I didn't sleep very well last night. It was close in my room, and this morning the humidity's oppressive. You know what that does to us of the T. B. tribe." "Suppose you get some more rest. It's going to be a sweltering day." "Oh, I can stand it. I want to go with you. I'm not going to feel any worse than I do now." But the other was insistent. Bristow at last gave in. He would take the rest if Braceway would report progress to him at noon. Returning to his room, the sick man swore sav- agely. "Friday!" he said aloud. "Damn it all any- way!" Braceway lingered several minutes on the steps outside the Anderson National Bank. He felt re- luctant to go inside and start the machinery that would ruin Morley. It -wasn't absolutely neces- sary, he argued, with something like weakness; he could, perhaps, find out all he wanted to know without 198 THE WINNING CLUE He thought suddenly of the bizarre performances of the thing men call Fate. Because a woman is murdered under mysterious circumstances in a lit- tle southern city, evidence is uncovered showing that a panic-stricken boy has been stealing money from a bank hundreds of miles away; a detective is employed by the dead woman's husband; the de- tective is thrown again into contact with the vic- tim's sister and realizes more clearly than ever that he loves her. What would be the result of it all—the result for him? He remembered the gown she had worn to a ball, something of the palest yellow—how the blue of her eyes and the gleam of her hair had been emphasized by the simple perfection of the gown. What would she say if he went back to He forced himself down to reality. He entered the bank and discovered that Mor- ley had not reported for work. Having presented his card to a chilly, monosyllabic little man, he was shown, after a short wait, into a private office where, surrounded by several tons of mahogany, Mr. Joseph Beale reigned supreme. Mr. Beale struck him as a fattened duplicate of Mr. Illington, thin of lip, hard of eye, slow and precise in enunciation. In spite of his stoutness, he had the same long, slender fingers, easy to grasp with, and the same mechanical Punch-and-Judy smile. When he greeted the detective, his voice was like a slow, thin stream that had run over ice. "I'm not on a pleasant mission, Mr. Beale," AT ANDERSON NATIONAL BANK 199 Braceway began. "It's something in the line of duty.'' The bank president looked at the card which had been handed to him. "Ahem!" he said, with a lip smile. "You're a detective?" "Yes." "Well, Mr. Braceway, what is it? Let's see whether I can do anything for you. At least, I assume you want" This ruffled Braceway. "I want nothing," he said crisply; "and I'm afraid I'm going to do something for you." The banker stiffened. "What is it?" "It's one of your employes; in fact, it's your receiving teller." "What! Henry Morley! Impossible, sir! Out- rageous! Preposterous!" "Just a moment, if you please," put in Brace- way. "I was going to say that I was positive about nothing. I've been compelled to suspect, however, that Mr. Morley might be short in his accounts. There are unexplained circumstances which seem to connect Mr. Morley with the murder of a woman. Therefore" "One of the—one of my employe's a thief and a murderer!" Mr. Beale pushed back his chair and fell to patting his knees with his fists. "Great God, Mr. "He looked at the card again. "Why, Mr. Braceway, I can't believe it. It would be treason to this bank, treason to all its tradi- tions!" He had not suffered such an attack of 200 THE WINNING CLUE garrulity for the past twenty years. "And Mor- ley, his family, his birth! By George, sir, his blood! Are we to lose all faith in blood?" "As I wanted to say,'' Braceway managed to break in, "the murder of Mrs. George S. Withers in Furmville, North Carolina, led" This was the crowning blow. Mr. Beale gasped several times in rapid succession, not entirely hid- ing his slight, cold resemblance to a fish. "Mrs. Withers!" he got out at last. "The daughter of my old friend, Will Fulton! Fulton, one of our depositors!" He was reduced to silent horror. Braceway took advantage of his condition and outlined the circumstances in considerable detail. "If he's short in his accounts," he concluded, "the motive for the murder is established. And, if he's been stealing from the bank, you want to know it." Mr. Beale pushed a bell-button. "Charles," he said to the chilly little man, " tell Mr. Jones I want to speak to him. Our first vice- president," he explained to Braceway. Mr. Jones, evidently dressed and ready for the part of president of the bank whenever Mr. Beale should see fit to die, came in and, with frowns, "dear-dears" and tongue-clucking, heard from the president the story of what had befallen the Ander- son National. "How soon," inquired Beale, " can we give this— er—gentleman an answer, a definite answer, as to whether Morley, the unspeakable scoundrel, is a thief?" 'AT ANDERSON NATIONAL BANK 201 Mr. Jones considered sadly. "Perhaps, very soon; two o'clock or something like that—and again it may take time to find any- thing. Suppose we say five or half-past five this afternoon; to be safe, you understand. Half-past five?" "Very well," agreed Beale, and turned to Brace- way: "Will that be satisfactory?" "Perfectly." Braceway left them, their mask-like faces plainly damaged by anxiety; their cool, slow utterance slightly humanized by the realization that they must act at once. In fact, as the detective closed the door of the private office, Mr. Jones was reach- ing with long, slender fingers for the telephone. They would need the best accountant they could find for the quick work they had promised Brace- way. CHAPTER XX THE DISCOVERY OP THE JEWELS B RACEWAY returned to the lobby of his hotel, and, having bought half a dozen New York newspapers, settled down to wait for a re- port from Golson's bureau concerning Morley's movements. A little after eleven he was called to the telephone. "Your man caught the eight o'clock train for Baltimore." Golson himself gave the information. "Delaney also caught it. They got to Baltimore at nine. Your man took a taxi straight to the shop of an old fellow named Eidstein, reaching there at twenty minutes past nine. He and Eid- stein went into Eidstein's private office back of the shop and stayed there for over an hour, in fact until about half-past ten. Your man came out and went to a down-town hotel. He was there when Delaney, still sticking to him, managed to get a wire to me telling me what I've just told you." "Fine!" said Braceway. "What was he doing in the hotel? Did he meet anybody, or write any- thing?" "Delaney didn't say." "Who's this Eidstein, a pawn broker?" "No; he's a dealer in antiques: furniture, old gold, old jewels, anything old. He stands well 803 THE DISCOVERY OP THE JEWELS 203 over there. He's all right. I know all about him." "That's funny, isn't it?" "What's funny?" "That he didn't go to a pawnshop." "Keep your shirt on," laughed Golson. "The day's not over yet." "No doubt about that. What about Corning, the loan-shark in Virginia?" "pVe got a man over there, just as you asked. Shall I keep him on?" "Sure!" snapped Braceway. "Suppose Morley gives Delaney the slip in Baltimore and doubles back to Coming's! Keep him there all day." He left the telephone and went up to Bristow's room, No. 717. When he knocked, the door was opened by a young woman in the uniform and cap of a trained nurse. "I beg your pardon," he began. "I got the wrong room, I'm afraid. I" "This is Mr. Bristow's room," she said in a low tone. "Are you Mr. Braceway?" "Yes." "Come in, then, please." She stepped back a'nd held open the door. "Mr. Bristow's still very weak, but he told me to let you in. He said he must see you as soon as you arrived." Braceway saw that there was no bed in the room, and asked where the sick man was. The nurse pointed to a closed door leading into the adjoin- ing room. "What's the matter with him?" he asked. "By George! He hasn't had a hemorrhage, has he?" "Yes, sir. That's exactly what he has had. The THE DISCOVERY OF THE JEWELS 205 way instinctively drew his chair closer to the bed so as to catch all of the scarcely audible words. "Just occurred to me," the sick man struggled on, "just—before I had this hemor—Ought to have somebody, extra man, working with Platt and Delaney. Tell you why: if Morley mailed the jewelry that—night of the murder, he wasn't fool —enough to mail it to himself or to his own— house. If he visits anybody today—we ought to have an extra man with Delaney. Delaney can keep on Morley's trail—extra man can watch and —if necessary, question anybody Morley visits or consults with. Then" "Correct!" exclaimed Braceway. "Right you are! Who says you're sick? Why, your bean's working fine. Don't try to talk any more. I'm going out to get busy on that very suggestion." "Another thing," Bristow said, lifting a feeble hand to detain his visitor. "Come up here at six —this evening, will you? I'll have my strength back by that time. Don't laugh. I will. I know I will. I've had hemorrhages before this." "What do you want to do at six?" "Help you—be with you when you question Mor- ley. Promise me. I'll be in shape by that time." Braceway promised, and went into the outer room. "Do you think," he asked Miss Martin, "there's the slightest chance of his getting up this evening, or tonight?" "I really don't know," she smiled. "There may be. It all depends on his courage, his nerve. Any- 206 THE WINNING CLUE way, he won't be able to do much, to exert him- self." "He's got the nerve," Braceway said admiringly; "got plenty of it. By the way, how did it happen? How do you happen to be here?" "It seems that at about a quarter to ten Mr. Bristow called the downstairs operator and asked her to send a bellboy to his room, number seven- seventeen. When the boy came in here, Mr. Bris- tow was lying across the foot of his bed, pressing to his mouth a towel that was half-saturated with blood. "He had dropped his saturated handkerchief on the bathroom floor. And he evidently had been bleeding when he was at the telephone. He was awfully weak, so weak that the boy thought he was dying. He couldn't speak. The boy remembered having seen the house physician, Dr. Carey, at n late breakfast in the caf£, and got him up here at once. Dr. Carey called me to take the case as soon as he had seen Mr. Bristow. "I think that's all. Of course, the bed that was in here and all the other soiled things had been re- moved by the time I came in; and the management insisted on his taking the extra room." "Thank you," said Braceway. "I'm glad to get the details. You'll see that he has everything he needs, won't you?" A few minutes later, when Miss Martin entered the bedroom to lower the window shade, Bristow told her: "I think I'll sleep now. Shut the door and, on no account, let—anybody, doctor or anybody else— THE DISCOVERY OF THE JEWELS 207 wake me up. You call me at six, please. What time is it now? Twelve-fifteen? Remember, you'll let me sleep?" Braceway went to his own room to brush up for lunch. Although he had not taken the trouble to tell Bristow, he had already arranged with Golson to have the " extra man" on the job. He was tak- ing no chances. He smiled when he thought of the sick man's eagerness to give him advice. It occurred to him that he should have communi- cated with George Withers. The funeral was over; had been set for yesterday. He would send him a wire as soon as he went downstairs. "By George!" Braceway communed with him- self. "If I hadn't been his friend, I probably would have worried him. Even if Morley has embezzled from the bank, how closely have I coupled him with the crime? Not very closely unless he tries to pawn, or produces, some of the stolen stuff—not any more closely than George has coupled himself with it! George acted like such an ass!" He was about to leave the room when, for the first time, he looked the situation squarely in the face and made an important acknowledgment to himself. There had been in his mind, ever since that train had pulled out of Furmville with George's rattling whisper still sounding in his ear, the desire and the plan to safeguard George. He had felt, on this trip, that, if his theory about the case broke down, it might be advisable, even neces- sary, to produce all the evidence possible to shield his friend either from ugly gossip or from the down- 208 THE WINNING CLUE right charge of murder. He did not believe for a moment that Withers was guilty. If things went wrong in the next eight or ten hours, if it was proved that Morley had nothing to do with the murder, the thing he wanted above all else was a story from Morley that he, Morley, had seen the struggle in front of No. 5 as Withers had described it. Somehow, that story about the strug- gle had struck him as the weakest link in George's whole story. He had resolutely refused to consider it up to now, but he no longer could dodge it. He had come to Washington to catch the criminal. But he also had come with the subconscious plan of getting at anything that would help Withers. He stood for an instant, jangling the room key in his hand. A frown drew his brows together. The frown deepened. He unlocked the door, went back into the room, and put down his cane, leaning it against the wall near the bureau. He reached the lobby in time to hear a callboy paging him. There was a telegram for him. It read: "Mr. S. S. Braceway, Willard Hotel, Washing- ton, D. C. « Here. (Signed) "Frank Abrahamson." "What the devil does he mean?" he asked him- self several times. "What's this 'here' about?" He thought a long time before he remembered having asked the Furmville pawn broker to try to THE DISCOVERY OF THE JEWELS 209 recall where he had seen the bearded man in another disguise, a disguise which, apparently, had consisted of nothing but a black moustache and bushy eyebrows. And Abrahamson had promised to wire him if he did remember. The " here " meant it was in Furmville that he had seen the moustached man. He went to the telegraph desk and wrote out a message: "Mr. Frank Abrahamson, 329 College Street, Furmville, N. C. "Silence. (Signed) "Braceway." "One-word telegrams!" he smiled grimly. "Thrifty fellows, these chosen people." He found the telephone booths and called up Golson. "Got anything from Baltimore?" he inquired. "Just been talking to Delaney on long-distance," Golson answered without enthusiasm. "Well! What is it?" "Your man gave him the slip a quarter of an hours ago, and he wants" "Gave him the slip!" shouted Braceway. "What are you talking about?" "I don't like it any more than you do," snapped Golson. "But that's what happened: gave him the slip." "How?" "I didn't get that exactly. Delaney merely said he lost him in the hotel. Your man was evidently 210 THE WINNING CLUE waiting there for a message or phone call. If he received it, Delaney was fooled. Anyway, he's gone now; and Delaney wants to know what he's to do. What'll I tell him?" "Tell him to go to hell!" Braceway said hotly. "No! Tell him to go back to Eidstein's and wait there until Morley shows up. That's his only chance to pick him up again." "O. K.," growled Golson. "Say! Put somebody on the job of watching for the incoming trains from Baltimore, will you? Right away?" "Platt's just come into the office. I'll send him to the station at once." "What time did Delaney lose sight of Morley?" "Twelve forty-five." Braceway hung up the receiver and looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past one. lie had fifty minutes to kill before keeping an appointment he had made with Major Boss, chief of the Washing- ton police. After a quick lunch, he strolled over to the news- stand and picked up the early edition of an after- noon paper. The first headlines he saw were: STOLEN GEMS FOUND IN SUSPECT'S YARD Under these lines was a dispatch from Furmville giving the information that plain-clothes men of the Furmville police force had discovered the THE DISCOVERY OP THE JEWELS 211 emerald-and-diamond lavalliere worn by Mrs. Enid Fulton Withers the night she was murdered. The jewelrv had been found in the yard of the house where Perry Carpenter had lived. The lavalliere was concealed in tall grass immediately beneath the window of Carpenter's room, and thus had at first escaped the eyes of the police. When found, it was intact except for the six links that had been broken from the chain and dropped the night of the murder. Braceway threw down the paper and went to the Pennsylvania Avenue door. "Damn!" he addressed mentally the top of the Washington monument. "More grist for Rristow's mill! I'm not crazy, am I? I'm not that crazy, that's sure!" He set out to keep his appointment with Major Ross. After all, he felt reasonably sure of himself, and he had made up his mind to carry things through as he originally had intended. .His shoul- ders were well back, his step elastic and quick. He flung off discouragement as if it had been an over- coat too warm for that weather. He would not permit Delaney's fiasco to annoy him. The Baltimore police had been tipped to watch the pawnshops; Delaney probably would pick Morley up again; and there was the extra man yet to be heard from. Besides, Morley would break down and confess cleanly after his fright on being arrested. Things were not so bad after all. BRISTOW SOLVES A PROBLEM 213 of that, sir! Of all the outrageous things, of all the unqualifiedly and absolutely incredible things! We have in our bank, on our payrolls, a thief, an unmitigated scoundrel!" He pushed back his chair and drummed on his knees. "We find that one of his thefts was seven hundred dollars, and another five hundred. We—I—trusted him, trusted him! And with what result?" He slid his chair forward and bruised his fist by striking the desk with all his strength. "And the crudity of his methods! Preposterous! The old trick of entries in pass-books and no entries in the records! He chose, for his own safety, de- positors who carried large balances and were not apt to draw out anywhere near their total balance. It's the most abominable" Between the outbursts of the president and the cold, lifeless words of the vice-president, Braceway managed to elicit these facts: they expected to uncover more than the $1,200 shortage already established; when they could examine all the pass- books now out of the bank, the total would undoubtedly be found much larger; they demanded Morley's arrest at once; in fact, if the law had allowed it, they would have sent hhn to the scaffold within the next hour. "Now,'' the detective reminded them, "he's also under suspicion of murder." "My God!" spluttered Beale. "What do we care about murder? Hasn't he tried to murder this bank? Hasn't he assassinated, so far as he could, its good name? Get him! Put him behind the bars!" BRISTOW SOLVES A PROBLEM 215 lie was gone. I combed the house from top to bot- tom, but it was no use. He had ducked me clean." "What time was that?" "Twelve-forty-five." "And then what?" "The chief gave me your message, and I went back to keep a look on Eidstein's place. I didn't think he'd show there again, but he did—at four o'clock and stayed there almost half an hour. After that, he went to the station, me right after him. We both caught the five o'clock for Wash- ington." "Did you talk with Eidstein?" "No, sir; had no orders. But he's no loan- shark, and no fence. Eidstein's on the level. We know all about him." "How did Morley look when he showed up there the second time?" "Done up, sir, fagged out. That's what makes me uneasy. He'd been up to something that shook him, something that rattled his teeth. He looked it." "Pawning something, perhaps?" "That's just it—just the way I figured it—some- thing he knew was risky—something that made him sweat blood." "Well, it's all right," Braceway concluded. "There's nothing for you to worry about. It may be that losing him was the best thing you ever did. I'm not sure, but it may turn out so." Delaney, greatly relieved, thanked him and left. Braceway hurried to the sick man's room and, having been ushered in by Miss Martin, found him, 218 THE WINNING CLUE "What makes you say that?" The question was put sharply. "I've two reasons. In the first place, the facts and Withers' own story; in the second, common sense." The telephone rang. When Bristow answered it, a man's voice asked for Braceway. Major Boss himself was on the wire. "I had the man in Baltimore interviewed," he reported. "Here is his story in a few words: some years ago Morley's father bought from^his shop a pair of earrings, each one set with an unusually valuable pigeon's-blood ruby, and gave them to Mrs. Morley. Young Morley, now in trouble, took him this morning the two stones and asked him to buy them back. He explained that it must be done secretly because he might be suspected of having been implicated in a murder. "He denied any guilt, but said it would em- barrass him if the deal became known. The owner of the shop—you understand who—could not buy them back, but promised to raise money on them, something he'd never done before. He was greatly affected by Morley's grief and despair. He says the rubies are the ones he sold years ago." "Did he raise the money?" "He tried, but couldn't get the sum Morley wanted, seven hundred dollars. Finally, he did advance it from his own pocket." "And the stones? How do they compare with those on the list of Withers' stuff?" K' identical." motive? rigllt' tnanks- We'11 see you at eight." 220 THE WINNING CLUE age between thirty and forty; weight 140 pounds. Two pawnshops used. No trace of him yet." It was signed by the chief of the Baltimore plain- clothes force. "What do you think of that?" asked Braceway, his voice hard. "This Morley," answered Bristow, his voice equally hard, "must have lost his mind." They went down and took a cab. "That description," the lame man was thinking, as they rolled through the streets toward the northwest part of the city, " fits Withers perfectly, except for the moustache and the colour of the eyes. But that's absurd. I'd like to" He began again to wonder what, in addition to the capture of the guilty man, had brought Brace- way to Washington. With his highly sensitized brain, he had received the impression that there was joined to the case some event or interest of which he had not the slightest inkling. How was Morley hooked up with the hidden phase of the affair? He intended to know all they knew about the whole business. If Morley knew the secret—there was Maria Ful- ton! Incredulous for a moment, he considered an entirely new idea. His incredulity vanished—and he knew! He lay back against the cab cushion and laughed, silently. His mirth grew. His laughter was almost beyond control. This was the thing that had bothered him, the " hidden angle " that had escaped him. He laughed until he shook. He had to put CHAPTER XXII A CONFESSION BRISTOW, satisfied now that he had fathomed Braeeway's reluctance to accept as final the case against Perry Carpenter, had not been the only one mystified by the detective's course. Practically every other detective and police official in the country Mas wondering what secret motive had impelled Braceway to keep public attention focused on the tragedy after a flawless case against the real murderer had been established. They knew that he was in the employ of the hus- band and father of the murdered woman, and that, therefore, his acts had the endorsement of her family. What, then, they asked, was the true sit- uation back of the pursuit and persecution of the bank clerk, Henry Morley? What possible interest could they have in running him down, in ruining his standing? What con- tingency was powerful enough to compel their approval of Braceway's forcing the conclusion upon the mind of the public that an ugly scandal had touched Mrs. Withers? And this question, at first whispered in the gos- sip in Furmville, had crept into the newspaper dispatches. The result was a morbid curiosity generally^ and, in the minds of many, a belief that 222 A CONFESSION 223 Braceway would fasten the crime on Morley. There were, however, a few who took the position that Morley, even if he had not committed the murder, had knowledge of some fact or facts even more terrible than the crime itself. Major Ross awaited the two men in a large, bare-walled room on the second floor of the station house. The night was oppressively warm, and the tall, narrow windows were thrown open. Like Braceway, Bristow took off his coat, the absence of it showing plainly the outline of his heavy belt and steel brace. Morley was ushered in and given one of the plain, straight-backed chairs with which the room was furnished. The only other furniture was a deal table, behind which Braceway, Bristow, and Major Ross sat in lounging attitudes. The major, aside from his interest in the case, was there merely as a matter of courtesy, a compliment to Braceway's reputation. The prisoner, a few feet from them across the table, was suggestive of neither resistance nor mental alertness. Above his limp collar and loosened cravat, his face looked haggard and drawn. It was without a vestige of colour save for the blue shadows under his eyes. There was a tremor on his lips almost continuously. Once or twice throughout the whole interview, his eyes brightened momentarily with a hint of cunning or attempted cunning. Except for these few flashes, he was manifestly beaten, unnerved, suffering from a simultaneous desire and inability to weigh and ponder what he said. 224 THE WINNING CLUE Braceway began, in quick, incisive sentences: "You're up against it, Morley. You know it as well as we do. And we don't want to trick you or bully you. We're only after the truth. If you'll tell the truth, it will help you and us. Will you give us a straight story?" "Yes," he answered dully, his hands folded, like a woman's, against his body. Braceway put more imperiousness into his voice. "You know you're under arrest for embezzle- ment, don't you?" "Yes." "And you did take money from the Anderson National Bank?" Morley squirmed and looked at each of the three in front of him before he replied to that. "Yes," he said finally, swallowing hard, his voice high and strained. "Good! That's the sensible way to look at it," Braceway jogged him with rapid speech. "We needn't bother any more about that tonight. How about the jewelry you pawned in Baltimore today?" The prisoner licked his lips and fixed on Brace- way a look that grew into a stare. "You mean the rubies?" "Well, yes." "I didn't pawn them, and—and they were my mother's." "How about the diamonds and emeralds?" a I had no diamonds and emeralds." "You didn't! Where were you all the after- A CONFESSION 225 noon preceeding the time you showed up at Eidstein's?" This was his first intimation that he had been watched. He hesitated. "Do I have to tell that?" "Certainly. Why shouldn't you?" A film, like tears, clouded his weak eyes. His voice was disagreeably beseeching. "It would bring my mother into this," he objected, twining his fingers about each other and shuffling his feet. "You'll have to tell us where you were and what you did," Braceway persisted. "Oh, very well," he said desperately; " I was in a room in the Emerson Hotel with—with my mother. And I was—I was confessing to her that I'd stolen from the bank. She knew I needed money. I had told her I'd been speculating, and needed some extra money for margins. She gave me the rubies from her earrings; and she followed me to Balti- more. If I couldn't raise the money on the rubies, she was to borrow it on our house. She owns that." He paused, on the verge of tears. "Buck up!" Braceway prodded him. "You con- fessed to her, did you?" "Yes. At the last, somehow, I couldn't stand the idea of her giving up the last thing she had, but —but she would have done it." "Could she have mortgaged her home in Balti- more?" "Yes. Mr. Taliaferro, A. G. Taliaferro, the 226 THE WINNING CLUE lawyer, would have fixed it for her. He's a friend of the family—used to be of father's." "Now, about the emeralds and diamonds?" Braceway began another attack. "I don't know what you mean." "They belonged to Mrs. Withers." Morley shook his head impatiently. "I don't know anything about them." Bristow took a hand in the questioning, flicking him and provoking him by tone and word. But neither he nor Braceway could get an admission, or any appearance of admission, that he knew any- thing about the Withers jewelry. Furthermore, he declared that his presence in the hotel, from the time Delaney had "lost" him until his second appearance at Eidstein's at four o'clock, could be established by the room clerk, two bellboys, and a maid at the Emerson, and by the lawyer, Taliaferro, with whom he had talked on the telephone while there with his mother. According to him, he had unwittingly evaded Delaney by the simple act of stepping into the elevator and going to the room where his mother, having reached Baltimore an hour later than he, was waiting to hear how he had fared in his inter- view with Eidstein. He had hoped, he said, to cover up the $700 shortage at the bank with the money obtained from the dealer in antiques, but, thinking of the risk of his mother's being impoverished, he had renounced at the last moment the plan of getting more money through the mortgage or sale of the home. "Do you happen to know that a man, clumsily 228 THE .WINNING CLUE you would be! For one thing, the imprint of your rubber shoe on the porch floor of Number Five—" "No! No! I wasn't on the porch. I "He checked the words, realizing that he had betrayed himself. "Not on the porch?" Bristow caught him up. "Where, then? Where?" He limped a step nearer to the prisoner. "Out with it now! You were there! You were there!" He stood over Morley, conquering him by the sheer weight of his personality. "I wasn't on the porch." "All right—not on the porch. But where?" Morley looked up at him and, mechanically, pushed his chair back, as if he felt the need of more space. Bristow, in his shirt-sleeves, his right arm held up, continued to crowd against him, threaten- ing him, commanding him to speak. Braceway was amazed by the intensity of Bris- tow's glance, the tautness of his body, the harsh authority in his voice. This man who had been ill a few hours before exhibited now a strength and a vitality that would have been remarkable in any- body. In him, under the circumstances, it was nothing short of marvellous. Morley could not withstand him. "I don't know anything—anything worth while," he said weakly, trembling from head to foot. "I would have told it at the very—at the very first; only I thought it might keep me in Furmville too long. I wanted to get back here and" "Never mind about what you wanted!" Bris- tow's hand fell and gripped his shoulder painfully, A CONFESSION 229 shook him, brought him back to the main issue. "What did you see? That's what we want to know, every bit of it, all of it!" Morley flinched, trying to throw off Bristow's hand. The lame man stepped back. "All right," he said, " I'm not going to hurt you." Morley, having yielded, told his story hurriedly, with little pauses here and there, struggling for breath. "I did miss my train, the midnight," he began. "I really tried to catch it. But, when I found it was gone, I couldn't sleep. I was worried and frightened. This bank business was on my mind. I wanted to think." He forced a mirthless smile at that. "I couldn't think very straight, but I tried to. I couldn't do anything but see myself in jail, in the penitentiary, because of the bank. "I wandered around without paying any atten- tion to where I was. I'd left my bags in the sta- tion. The first thing I knew, I was on Manniston Road, in front of Number Nine—your house. I felt tired, and I sat down on the bottom step. I had on a raincoat. It—it was pitch-dark there. "The two electric lights, the street lights, on that block were out—had burnt out, or something. The only light I could see was down at the corner, where Manniston Road goes into Freeman Avenue —and that didn't give any light where I was." "That's true," Bristow said sharply, "but, from where you sat, anybody going up or down the steps of Number Five would have been directly between you and the avenue light. Isn't that so?" "Yes." 230 THE WINNING CLUE "All right—go ahead. What did you see?" Morley hitched back his chair still further. He had begun to perspire, and he kept running his fingers round his neck between flesh and collar. "It was raining," he went on, his voice strained and metallic, "a fine drizzle at that time, and this made a circle of light, a kind of bright screen around the avenue light. Things that happened on, or near, the steps of Number Five were silhouetted against that screen of light. "I'd been there just a little while when I no- ticed some kind of movement on the steps of Num- ber Five. It was a man coming down the steps. He was very careful about it, and very slow; looked like a man on his tiptoes." Bristow maintained his attitude of hanging over him, urging him on, forcing him to talk. Braceway and Major Boss, their faces wearing strained ex- pressions, bent forward in their chairs, catching every syllable that came from the prisoner. "He went down the steps and turned down Man- niston Eoad, toward the avenue." "All right!" Bristow prompted. "What then?" "That was all there was to that. I just sat there. It looked funny to me, but I didn't follow him. I wondered what he'd been doing. I never thought about murder or—or anything like that. I swear I didn't!" He licked his lips and gulped. "I sat there, I don't know how much longer it was—pretty long, I suppose. I didn't keep my glance always toward Number Five. "When I did look that way again, I saw an- 234 THE WINNING CLUE "It wouldn't make any difference to me," he said, making a weak attempt to laugh. "It wouldn't matter now. I'm not anxious to live any- how." Without warning, utter collapse struck him. He flung himself half-around on his chair so that his arms rested on its back, cradling his face. His body was contorted by gasping sobs, and his feet tapped the floor with the rapidity of those of a man running at top speed. They left him with Major Ross. On the way back to the hotel, Bristow asked: "What about Withers' story of his struggle— the 'big, strong man' who flung him down the walk?" "There must have been another, a third man who came down the steps," Braceway answered quietly. "An assumption," observed Bristow, "which rather strains my credulity." Braceway said nothing. "I believe," Bristow spoke up again, "what the fellow said tonight was true—substantially true." "Do you?" retorted Braceway, thoroughly non- committal. "Anyway there remains the problem of who pawned the Withers emeralds and diamonds this afternoon." "It may not be a problem," said Braceway. "It may be that they weren't the Withers stuff at all." "Ah! I hadn't thought of that." They entered the hotel and sat down in the lobby, now almost deserted. ON THE RACK 235 "I think," Bristow announced, careful to keep any note of triumph out of his voice, " I'll go back to Furmville in the morning." He yawned and stretched himself. "I'm about all in, weak as a kitten. What are you planning?" Braceway's chin was thrust forward. He looked belligerent, angry. "I'm going to Baltimore tomorrow. I intend to run down every clue I have or can find. I'm going to take up every statement he made tonight and dissect it—every point. I want all the facts— all of them." Bristow turned so as to face him squarely. "Why don't you go back with me? Why keep on fighting what I've proved? I think I know why you came to Washington. It wasn't your be- lief in Morley's guilt. It was your desire to clear Withers. But you know as well as I do that With- ers isn't guilty. So, why worry?" Braceway sprang to his feet. "Morley isn't out of the woods yet," he said grimly. "This case isn't settled yet, by a long shot. I'm going to stick right here." He made no reference to Withers. Bristow went to his room, paid and dismissed Miss Martin, and began to undress. He was more than satisfied with everything that had happened. He had bested Braceway again, this time finally; his reputation as a "consulting detective" was more than safe; and, knowing now why Braceway had pursued Morley, he would return to Furm- ville in the morning, his mind thoroughly at ease. CHAPTER XXIV MISS FULTON WRITES A LETTER A3 long as the public's morbid curiosity clam- oured for details of the case, the newspapers provided them lavishly. This curiosity was intensified by two things: first, the search for a murderer after so much almost convincing evidence had been found against the negro, and, second, the duel between Bristow, the amateur, and Braceway, the professional, each bent on making his theory "stand up." The amateur had achieved far more celebrity than he had expected. It would have been hard to find two men less alike than he and Braceway. Bristow was capable now and then of manifesting the strength and im- pressive authority he had exhibited in his question- ing of Morley. Braceway, on the other hand, was always keyed up, dashing, imperious. And he had a kindness of heart, a very live tenderness, such as the lame man never displayed. Braceway was of the tribe of dreamers. He had learned that no man may hope to be a great detective unless he has imagination, unless he can throw into the dark places which always surround a mysterious crime the luminous and golden glow of fancy. He had found also that, if a man's vocabulary is without a "perhaps" or 236 MISS FULTON WRITES A LETTER 237 a "but why couldn't it be the other way?" he will never be able to judge human nature or to consider fairly overy side of any question. He discussed these views at breakfast with Bris- tow, who was interested only in his own decision of the night before to return at once to Furm- ville. "My health demands it," he said; "and I can't convince myself that either you or I can dig up anything here to affect the final outcome of the case." "You're right about the health part of it; I'm not sure about the other," said Braceway. "What are you after, though?" Bristow pressed him. "Facts. That bearded man with the gold tooth, the fellow who always started from nowhere and invariably vanished into thin air—I don't propose to assume that he had nothing to do with the mur- der of Enid Withers. I don't intend to be recorded as not having combed the country for him if necessary. "That disguised man is no myth. And Morley knows all about beard 'make-up.' His note to me in Furmville proved that. The negro boy, Roddy, swears Morley and the mysterious stranger are the same. "There isn't a crook living who can put it over on me this way with a cheap disguise. And this case isn't cleared up until, in some way, I find out who he is or get my hands on him." His voice was vibrant with the intensity of his feeling. "I'm MISS FULTON WRITES A LETTER 239 yesterday were not Mrs. Withers', why wouldn't the man who pawned them come forward and say so? If there wasn't anything crooked about them, why should he hide himself? The papers are full of it this morning. It's public property." Bristow, looking at his watch, saw that it was nine o'clock and time for him to go to the railroad station. They said good-bye, each confident that the other was on the wrong trail. "I'm leaving you," the lame man declared, "to run to your heart's content around the clever cir- cles you've outlined, and to beat off the newspaper reporters." "It's not for long," Braceway returned seriously. "I hope to be in Furmville next week with an armful of new facts. I'll see you then." He went to the desk and got his mail. In addi- tion to reports from his Atlanta office, there was one letter in a big, square envelope. He recognized the writing and opened that first. "Dear Mr. Braceway," it said: "I hope Mr. Bristow repeated to you everything I told him. He is quite brilliant, I have no doubt, but I talked to him in the belief and hope that he would tell you everything. I know what you can do, and I trust you more than I do him. You see, you have suc- cesses behind you. "If he did not tell you all, I shall be glad to do so at any time." It was signed, " Sincerely yours, Maria Fulton." He read the note twice. When he put it into his pocket, there was a new light in his eyes, and at 240 THE WINNING CLUE the corners of bis mouth a relaxation of the lines of sternness. "I wonder "he began in his thoughts, and added: " Some other time, perhaps. No; surely. I always knew her better than she knew herself." He was frankly happy, felt himself uplifted, freshened in spirit. Standing there in the crowded lobby, with people brushing past him and jogging his elbow, he flashed back two years in memory to the evening when he had warned her not to let the sweetness of her personality be overshadowed by her sister. It was then that he had insisted on her living her own life instead of giving up to the wishes of others always. She had misconstrued it, deciding that he was disappointed in her. She said his love for her bad lessened, and therefore their engagement was a great mistake. Then came her promise to marry Morley, a prom- ise made in pique. Afterwards she had done every- thing possible to show the world she had chosen a man instead of a weakling. This, Braceway knew, was why she had advanced him money, bol- stering up one mistake with another. It was why she had listened to his stories of getting great wealth, if only he had a small amount of money to start on! What a fiasco the whole thing had been, what bitter disappointment and sorrow! And yet, she had been fortunate in discovering now what he was. There was no doubt about it, Braceway decided; she had loved him, Braceway, all this time. In a few days he would tell her so, make her confess MISS FULTON WRITES A LETTER 241 it. He would compel her to listen to what he had to say; he would never again jeopardize their hap- piness by allowing her to misunderstand him. He crossed the lobby with long, springy strides. He felt that he could encounter no obstacle too great for him to overcome. Failure could not touch him. He left the hotel and went to Golson's office. He had much to do in Baltimore—and elsewhere. Hurrying to the station after a brief conference with Golson, he wondered why he had heard noth- ing from Withers. What was the matter with George anyhow? Why hadn't he acknowledged the telegram of yesterday? Couldn't he realize, with- out being told, that he might be charged with the murder at any moment? Braceway was as well aware as Bristow of the rising flood of criticism against Withers. "If I can't bring things to a last show-down within a day or two," he looked the situation squarely in the face, "it will be uncomfortable for him—emphatically uncomfortable." He turned to a study of the questions he wanted to put to Eidstein, this kindly old merchant who was so considerate, so handsomely considerate, about buying back jewels he had once sold. Mr. Eidstein, he felt sure, must be an interesting character. CHAPTER XXV A MYSTIFYING TELEGRAM REACHING Furmville early Sunday morn- ing, Bristow went straight to his bungalow, where Mattie had breakfast waiting for him. "You is sholy some big man now, Mistuh Bris- tow!" she informed him. "Sence you been gawn, folks done made it a habit to drive by hyuh jes' foh de chanct uv seein' you." Before the day was over, he found that this was true. And he liked it. He spent a great deal of his time on the front porch, finding it far from unpleasant to be regarded as a second Sherlock Holmes. Late in the afternoon his Cincinnati friend, Over- ton, called on him, puffing and gasping for breath as he climbed the steps. Bristow was glad to see him; it afforded him an opportunity to discuss his success. He did not try to delude himself in that regard; he was proud of what he had accomplished —rightfully proud, he told himself—and pleased with his plans for the future. "Gee whiz!" the fat man panted. "This hill is something fierce. It's only your sudden dash into the limelight that drags me up here." "You behold "—Bristow softened his statement 242 A MYSTIFYING TELEGRAM 243 •with a deprecating laugh—" Mr. Lawrence Bristow, a finished, honest-to-heaven detective, a criminolo- gist." "What do you mean?" "I'm going to make it my profession. I'm start- ing out as a professional detective." Overton burst into bubbling laughter. "That's rich!" he exclaimed. "You'd never in the world make good at it. Why, Bristow, you're lame; you've a crooked nose; that heavy, over- hanging lip of yours—those things would enable any crook to spot you a mile off." He laughed again. "I'd like to see you shadowing some foxy second-story worker!" "I said 'a consulting detective'," Bristow cor- rected him. "That shadowing business is for the hired man, the square-toed, bull-necked cops. I'll work only as the directing head, the brains of the investigations." "Oh, that's different," said Overton, at once con- ciliatory. "That's nearer real sense. Big money in it, isn't there?" "Yes. I'm not an eleemosynary institution yet." Overton mopped his fat cheeks. "Ah, me!" h& sighed. "We never know what's ahead of us, do we? A year ago you were dubbing around in Cincinnati trying to sell real estate and working out crime problems on paper—and here you are now, a big man. It's hard to believe." "It is, however, a very acceptable fact." "No doubt, no doubt," assented the fat man. On Overton's heels came the chief of police. After getting a minute recital of what had hap- A MYSTIFYING TELEGRAM 249 u It wouldn't be the first instance of how easy it is for an innocent man to be—well, hurt." "Oh, that sort of thing is out of the question, absurd." "Never mind! I'd stay away. That's what I'd do." It was almost dark when the chief of police took his departure. Bristow sat watching the last crim- son light fade over the mountains. The dim electric, a poor excuse for a street lamp, had flashed on in front of No. 4. The shadows grew deeper and deeper; there was no breeze; the oaks along the roadside and in the backyards became still, black plumes above the bungalows. Manniston Road was wrapped in darkness. The silence was broken, even at this early hour, only by the distant, faint screech of street-car wheels against the rails, or the far sound of an automobile horn down in the town, or the rattle of a sick man's cough on one of the sleeping porches. There was something uncanny, Bristow thought, in the velvet blackness and the heavy silence. He got up and went into the living room, turning on the lights. The night, the stillness, had affected him. Perhaps, he thought, Withers after all would do well to give Furmville a wide berth. If disor- ganized rumour grew into positive accusation And what of himself, Bristow? He had run down the guilty man, had discovered and hooked together the facts that made retribution almost an accom- plished thing. Could he have been mistaken, en- tirely wrong? Would public opinion turn also against him and say he had enmeshed an innocent WANTED: VENGEANCE 253 days the Lputois kidnapping had commanded big space in the newspapers, and he was familiar with the story. Emile Loutois, Jr., young son of the wealthiest sugar planter in Louisiana, had been spirited away from the pavement in front of his home. It had been done at twilight with striking boldness, and no dependable trace of the kidnap- pers had been found. The delivery boy was waiting on the porch. Bris- tow typewrote his reply on a sheet of note paper: "Terms accepted. Starting for New Orleans at once." On his way to the door, he stopped and reflected. He went back to the typewriter and sat down. He had not yet found out the real meaning of the Braceway message; and he did not propose to leave Furmville until he was assured that nothing could be done to blur the brightness of his work on the Withers case. He realized, and at the same time resented, the tribute he paid Braceway through his hesitancy. The man was a clever detective and, if left to domi- nate Greenleaf unopposed, might easily focus atten- tion on a new theory of the crime. Not that this could result in the acquittal of the negro; but it might deprive him, Bristow, of the credit he was now given. Wouldn't it be well for him to stay in Furm- ville another twenty-four hours? There was Ful- ton; he wanted to learn how fully he approved of Braceway's refusal to accept the case against Perry 254 THE WINNING CLUE Carpenter. Moreover, it seemed essential now that he discover the whereabouts of Withers. And twenty-four hours could hardly change anything in the kidnapping case. He tore up what he had written, and rattled off: "Held here twenty-four hours longer by Withers case. Start to New Orleans tomorrow morning. Terms accepted." As he handed it to the boy, he saw Mr. Fulton coming up the steps. He greeted the old gentle- man with easy, smiling cordiality and pushed for- ward a chair for him, giving no sign of impatience at being delayed in his trip to the library. The simple dignity and strength of Fulton's bear- ing was even more impressive than it had been dur- ing their first talk. The lines were still deep in his face, but his eyes glowed splendidly, and this time, when he rested his hands on the chair-arms, they were steady. "I've come to beg news," he announced, his apol- ogetic smile very winning. "Just what news?" returned Bristow. "I'll be glad to give you anything I can." "The real results of your trip; that's what I'd like to know about. I got no letter or telegram from Sam Braceway this morning; no report at all." Bristow told him the story in generous detail, concluding with his conviction that Morley, al- though a thorough scoundrel, was innocent of any hand in the murder. WANTED: VENGEANCE 255 "I wish I could agree with you," said the old man. "I wish we all could satisfy our minds and take the evidence against the negro as final. But we can't. At least, I can't. I can't believe any- thing but that the disguised man, the one with the beard, is the one we've got to find." "You still think that man is Morley?" "I do—which reminds me. I came up here to tell you something I got from Maria, my daughter. She told me she had talked with you quite frankly. Well, she recalls that once she and this Morley were discussing the wearing of beards and moustaches; and he made this remark: 'One thing about a beard, it's the best disguise possible.'" "That is interesting, Mr. Fulton. Anything else?" "Yes. He had a good deal to say to that gen- eral effect. He said even a moustache, cleverly worn, changed a man's whole expression. That struck me at once, remembering that the jewels were pawned in Baltimore by a man who wore a moustache. Then, too, Morley said something about the value of eyebrows in a disguise, sub- stituting bushy ones for thin ones, or vice versa. He had the whole business at his tongue's end." "He said all that, in what connection— crime?" "She can't recall that. She merely remembers he said it. I thought you'd like to know of it." "Of course. We can't have too many facts. By the way, sir, can you tell me where Mr. With- ers is?" "In Atlanta." 256 THE WINNING CLUE Seeing that he knew nothing of his son-in-law's disappearance, Bristow dropped the subject, and asked: "What is Miss Fulton's belief now? She still thinks Morley is the man?" The old man hitched his chair closer to Bris- tow's and lowered his voice. "She says a curious thing, Mr. Bristow. She declares that, if Morley isn't guilty, George With- ers is." "And you?" "Oh, the talk about George is absurd." "But," urged Bristow, his smile persuasive, "for the sake of argument, if circumstances pointed to him as" "I'd spend every dollar I have, use the last atom of my strength, to send him to the chair! No suffering, no torture, would be too much for him—if that's what you mean to ask me. If I even suspected him, I'd subject him to an inquiry more relentless, more searching, more merciless than I'd use with anybody else!" His nostrils expanded curiously. His eyes flamed. "Mr. Bristow," he continued, menace in his low tone, "no punishment ever devised by man could be sufficient to pay for, to atone for, the horror, the enormity, of the destruction of such a woman as my daughter was. Mercy? I'd show him no mercy if he lived a thousand years!" "I understand your feeling," Bristow said. "You're perfectly right, of course. And what I was leading up to is this: although we know that WANTED: VENGEANCE 259 the young woman at the desk, recognizing him, got the book for him with surprising promptness. His habits of thought were such that he had not wasted energy during the morning in idle specula- tion as to what he would find. In fact, he attached but little importance to Braceway's message. He had dismissed it the night before as a queer dodge on the other's part to bolster up his view of the case. He went to a desk in a remote part of the read- ing room. Under any circumstances, he would not have cared for the intense and interested scrutiny with which the girl at the desk favoured him. The attitude he took gave her ample opportunity for a study of the back of his head. Opening the volume, he turned to the first ref- erence, page 506, column 2, line 15 to line 17. At the first word he drew a quick breath; it was sharp enough to sound like a low whistle. He read: "ALBINO, a biological term (Lat. albus, white), in the usual acceptation, for a pigmentless individ- ual of a normally pigmented race." Putting his finger on the top of the second col- umn, page 507, he counted down to line 17, and read: "Albinism occurs in all races of mankind, among mountainous as well as lowland dwellers. And, with man, as with other animals, it may be com- plete or partial. Instances of the latter condition are very common among the negroes of the United States and of South America, and in them as- sumes a piebald character, irregular white patches THE REVELATION 265 message. His resentment for Braceway flared up again. "' Amazing disclosure,' " he mentally quoted the headlines. "Well, we shall see what we shall see. Perhaps, it will come as an amazing disclosure to him that I've been on the sound side of this ques- tion all along." He began the work of cutting from the papers the accounts of the Loutois kidnapping. As he read them, he built up a tentative outline showing who the kidnappers were and where they probably had secreted the boy. He grew absorbed, whistling in a low key. So far as he was concerned, the Withers case was a closed incident. Early in the afternoon he called Greenleaf on the telephone, and announced: "I'm leaving town for a few days tomorrow morning." "Again! What for? " the chief asked. "They've asked me to work out that kidnapping case in New Orleans—the Loutois child." "Good! I'm glad to hear it; I congratulate you." Greenleaf was sincerely pleased. He felt that he had sponsored and developed the lame man as a detective. "Thanks. Before I go, I want to have a talk with you. We might as well go over everything once more and" "That reminds me. I was just about to call you up, but your news made me forget. I've a wire from Braceway, just got it. He filed it at Salis- bury, on his way here. Let me read it to you: THE REVELATION 269 His eyes shone, his chin was thrust forward, every ligament in his body was strung taut. And yet, there was nothing of the theatric about him. If he felt excitement, it was suppressed. Deter- mination was the only emotion of which he gave any sign. "First, however," he supplemented in his light, conversational tone, "how about you?" He indi- cated with a look Greenleaf and Bristow. "Have you anything new, anything additional?" With the windows shut, it was noticeably warm and close in the room. Taking off his coat, he tossed it to the chair which had been placed for him. In his white shirt, with dark trousers belted tightly over slender hips, he looked almost boyish. "No," Bristow answered. "The chief and I went over everything yesterday. We couldn't find a single reason for changing our minds." "About Carpenter?" "Yes." "You mean that's your position, yours and the chief's," Braceway said seriously. "As a matter of fact, the negro's not guilty." "You mean that's your position," Bristow, quoted back to him, his smile indulgent. "Yes. Carpenter's not guilty, and Morley's not guilty." Mr. Fulton, who had the chair immediately on the lame man's left, was frankly curious and anxious. "Before you go any further, Braceway," he inter- rupted testily, "can you tell us where George Withers is?" THE REVELATION 271 he operated at night or in the dusk of early evening. "I agreed with Mr. Fulton that he was the murderer. Not only that, but he had remarkable ability which he employed for the lowest and most criminal purposes. I first suspected his identity right after my interviews last Wednesday with Roddy, the coloured bellboy, and Mr. Abrahamson, the pawn broker." "Excuse me," Bristow interposed; "but wasn't it Abrahamson who told you the bearded man looked like Withers?" Greenleaf grinned, appreciating the lame man's intention to take the wind out of Braceway's sails by giving credit to Abrahamson for the infor- mation. "Yes, he told me that," Braceway answered, as if nettled by the interruption; and added: "Let me finish my statement, Bristow. You can discuss it all you please later on. But I'd prefer to get through with it now. "Having suspected the identity of the disguised man, I was confronted with two jobs. One was to prove the identity beyond question; the other was to show, by irrefutable evidence, that the disguised man committed the murder. As I said, my theory took shape in my mind that afternoon in my room in the Brevord Hotel. Everything I've done since then, has been for the purpose of getting the neces- sary facts. "I have those facts now." He looked at Greenleaf and Bristow, making it plain that he expected their hostility to anything he had to say. 274 THE WINNING CLUE fingers of his right hand to his forehead, shielding his face. The description of the fugitive had brought instantly to his mind the face of George Withers. "Indulge me for just a few moments more, Mr. Fulton,'' Braceway said. "Splain eluded the pur- suit. His flight and disappearance were perfectly planned and carried out, and" Bristow again interrupted the recital. On his face was a smile which did not reach to his eyes. For the past few minutes he had been thinking faster than he had ever thought in his life, and had made a decision. "What you've told us," he said calmly, his gaze taking knowledge of no one but the detective, "is, in effect, a rather flattering sketch of a part of my own life.'' Greenleaf, with jaw dropped and thinking powers paralyzed, stared at him. Fulton leaned forward as if to spring. Only Abrahamson, his smile broadening, his cavernous eyes alight, was free from surprise. He had now the air of greatly enjoying the performance he had been invited to see. Braceway, his shoulders flung back, his figure straight as a poplar, watching Bristow with in- tense caution, grew suddenly into heroic mould. The red glow from the setting sun streamed through the window to his face, emphasizing the ardour in his eyes. He took a step forward, be- came dominant, menacing. His white-clad arm shot out so that he pointed THE REVELATION 275 with accusing finger to the imperturbable Bristow. "That man there," he declared, a crawling con- tempt in his voice, "is the thief and the mur- derer!" For a heavy moment the incredible accusation stunned the entire group. > "Mr. Braceway," said Bristow, looking now at Fulton and Greenleaf, "is suffering a delusion." The two men, however, afforded him no support. They kept their eyes on Braceway. They gave the effect of falling away from some evil contagion. "Because," Bristow continued, " I have been the innocent victim of trumped up charges of embez- zlement by the crookedest man in a crooked busi- ness, he accuses me of murder when" "Shut up!" commanded Braceway, dropping his hand to his side. He flashed the pawn broker a quick glance. Abrahamson leaned over and rapped with his knuckles on the door to the porch. It opened, admitting two policemen in uniform. "I took the liberty, chief," Braceway apologized, "of requesting them to be here. I knew you'd want them to do the right thing, and promptly." Greenleaf gulped, nodded acquiescence. Stunned as he was, the detective's manner forced him into believing the charge. Bristow's smile had faded. But, save for a pal- lor that wiped from his checks their usual flush, there was no evidence of the conflict within him. So far as any notice from him went, the policemen did not exist. 276 THE WINNING CLUE One of them Stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. He ignored it. "Perhaps,'' he said, sarcasm in his voice, his eyes again on Braceway, " it will occur to you that I've a right to know why this outrage is committed." Once more he commanded Greenleaf with his eyes. "The chief of police will hardly sanction it with- out some excuse, without a shadow of evidence." "Yes," Greenleaf complied waveringly. "Er— that is—er—I suppose you're certain about this, Mr. Braceway?" "Let's have it! Let's have it all!" demanded Fulton, articulate at last, his clenched hands shaken by the palsy of rage. Bristow, with a careless motion, brushed away the policeman's hand. "By all means," he said, imperturbable still; " I demand it. I'm not guilty of murder. Not by the wildest flight of the craziest fancy can any siich charge be substantiated." Greenleaf, noting his iron nerve, his freedom from the slightest sign of panic, was dumbfounded, and believed in his innocence again. "I have the proofs," Braceway said to the chief. "Do you want them here, and now?" "It might be—er—as well, and—and fair, you know. Yes." Abrahamson swung the porch door shut. The two policemen stood back of Bristow's chair. Greenleaf, still bewildered, laid a calming hand on 282 THE WINNING CLUE in cheap melodrama, dropping pieces of the jewelry where they would incriminate the negro most surely, and his exploitation of the 'winning clue,' the finger nail evidence. "Furthermore, he gave Lucy Thomas a frightful beating to force from her the statement against Perry. In this, he was brutal beyond belief. I saw that same afternoon the marks of his blows on her shoulders. They were sufficient proofs of his capacity for unbridled rage. The sight of them strengthened my conviction that, in a similar mood, he had murdered Mrs. Withers." "The negro lied!" Bristow broke in at last, his words a little fast despite his surface equanim- ity. u I subjected her to no ill treatment what- ever. Anyway "—he dismissed it with a wave of his hand—" it's a minor detail." Braceway, without so much as a glance at him, continued: "And that gave me my knowledge of her being a partial albino. She has patches of white skin across her shoulders, and Perry, in struggling with her for possession of the key to Number Five, had scratched her there badly. That, I think, disposes of the finger nail evidence against Carpenter. "The rest followed as a matter of course. An examination of Major Ross' collection of circulars describing those 'wanted' by the police of the various cities for the past six years revealed the photograph of Splain. Bristow has changed his appearance somewhat—enough, perhaps, to deceive the casual glance—but the identification was easy. "I then ran over to New York and got the Splain CONFESSION VOLUNTARY 283 story. I knew he was so dead sure of having eluded everybody that he would stay here in Furmville. But, to make it absolutely sure, I sent him yes- terday a telegram to keep him assured that I was working with him and ready to share discoveries with him. And I confess it afforded me a little pleasure, the sending of that wire. I was playing a kind of cat-and-mouse game." Bristow put up his hand, demanding attention. When Braceway ignored the gesture, he leaned back, smiling, derisive. "Morley's embezzlement and its consequences gave me a happy excuse for keeping on this fel- low's trail while he was busy perfecting the machin- ery for Perry's destruction. The man's self- assurance, his conceit:" "I've had enough of this!" Bristow cut in vio- lently, exhibiting his first deep emotion. He turned to Greenleaf: "Haven't you had enough of this drool? What's the man trying to establish anyhow? He talks in one breath about my having changed the outline of my face and the shape of my mouth, and in the next second about recognizing as me a photograph which he admits was taken at least six years ago! "It's an alibi for himself, an excuse for not being able to prove that I'm the man who pawned the jewelry in Baltimore! It's thinner than air!" But Greenleafs defection was now complete. "Go on," he said to Braceway. The more he thought of the full extent to which the embezzler had gulled him for the past week, the more he raged. 284 THE WINNING CLUE "Not for me! I don't want any more of the drivel!" Bristow objected again, his voice raucous and still directed to Greenleaf. "What's your idca? I admit I'm wanted in New York on a trumped-up charge of embezzlement. This detec- tive, by a stroke of blind luck, ran into that; and, as I say, I admit it. "You can deal with that as you see fit; that is, if you want to deal with it after what I've done for law and order, and for you, in this murder case. "But you can't be crazy enough to take any stock in this nonsense about my having been connected with the crime. Exercise your own intelligence! Great God, man! Do you mean to say you're go- ing to let him cram this into you?" He got himself more in hand. "Think a minute. You know me well, chief. And you, Mr. Fulton, you're no child to be bam- boozled and turned into a laughing stock by a detective who finds himself without a case—a pseudo expert on crime who tries to work the age- old trick of railroading a man guilty of a less offeuse!" "This is no place for an argument of the case," Braceway said crisply. "Mr. Abrahamson, tell us what you know about this man." "It is not much, Mr. Braceway," the Jew re- plied; "not as much as I would like. I've seen him several times; once in my place when he was fixed up with moustache and so forth, and twice when he was fixed up with a beard and a gold tooth; once again when he was sitting out here on his porch." CONFESSION VOLUNTARY 285 Abrahamson talked rapidly, punctuating his phrases with quick gestures, enjoying the import- ance of his role. "Mr. Braceway,'' he explained smilingly to Greenleaf, "talked to me about the man with the beard—talked more than you did, chief. You know Mr. Braceway—how quick he is. He talked and asked me to try to remember where and when I had seen this Mr. Bristow. I had my ideas and my association of ideas. I remembered—remem- bered hard. That afternoon I took a holiday—I don't take many of those—and I walked past here. 'I bet you,' I said to myself—not out real loud, you understand—' I bet you I know that man.' And I won my bet. I did know him. "This Mr. Splain and the man with the beard are the same, exactly the same." Bristow's smile was tolerant, as if he dealt with a child. But Fulton, his angry eyes boring into the accused man, saw that, for the first time, there were tired lines tugging the corners of his mouth. It was an expression that heralded defeat, the first faint shadow of despair. "You have my story, and I've the facts to prove it a hundred times over," Braceway announced. "Why waste more time?" "For the simple reason," Bristow fought on, "that I'm entitled to a fair deal, an honest" On the word "honest" Braceway turned with his electric quickness to Greenleaf, and, as he did so, Bristow leaned back in his chair, as if deter- mined not to argue further. His face assumed its hard, bleak calm; his cold self-control returned. CONFESSION VOLUNTARY 287 "Search him," Braceway ordered one of the officers. Bristow submitted to that. When he looked at Braceway, his face was still bleak. "You've got me," he said in a tone thoroughly matter-of-fact. "I'm through. I'll give you a state- ment." "You mean a confession?" "It amounts to that." "Not here," Braceway refused curtly. "We've no stenographer." "I'd prefer to write it myself anyway," he in- sisted. "It won't take me fifteen minutes on the typewriter." Seeing Braceway hesitate, he added: "You'll get it this way, or not at all. Suit your- self." The detective did not underestimate the man's stubborn nerve. "I'm agreeable, chief," he said to Greenleaf, "if you are." "Yes," the chief agreed. "It's as good here as anywhere else." Darkness had grown in the room. Abrahamson and the policeman pulled down the window shades. Greenleaf turned on the lights. Bristow limped to the typewriter and sat down. Braceway opened the drawer of the typewriter stand and saw that it contained nothing but sheets of yellow "copy" paper cut to one-half the size of ordinary letter paper. Every trace of agitation had left Bristow. Colour crept back into his cheeks. THE LAST CARD 291 Fulton, after he had read that, looked at Brace- way out of tortured eyes. This turning of his tragedy into jest defied his strength. "That's enough of that," Braceway raised his voice above the clatter of the typewriter. "Get down to the crime, or stop!" "By all means," Bristow assented. Flicking from the roller the page he had already begun, he tore it up and inserted another. "I met Enid Fulton six years ago at Hot Springs, Virginia. She fell in love with me. "I had always known that a rich woman's in- discretions could be made to yield big dividends. She was a victim of her" Braceway's grasp caught the writer's hands. "Eliminate that!" he ordered sternly. "It's not necessary." Bristow, imperturbable, his motions quick and sure, tore up that page also, and started afresh: "Later she believed I had embezzled in order to assure her ease and luxury from the date of our marriage. "Her exaggerated sense of fair play, of obliga- tion, was an aid to my representations of the situa- tion. "Although she no longer loved me and did love Withers, my hold on her, rather on her purse, could not be broken. "She gave me the money in Atlantic City and Washington. I played the market, and lost. I no longer had my cunniDg in dealing with stocks. "I came here as soon as I had learned of her presence in Furmville. At first, she was reasona- 292 THE WINNING CLUE ble. Abrabamson knows that. I pawned several little thiDgs with him. "At last she grew obstinate. She argued that, if she pawned any more of her jewels, she would be unable to redeem them because her father had failed in business. "But I had to have funds. Several times I pointed this out to her when I saw her in Number Five—always after midnight, for my own protec- tion as well as hers. "Finally, my patience was exhausted. Last Mon- day night, or early Tuesday morning, I told her so, quite clearly. "She argued, plead with me. All this was in whispers. The necessity of whispering so long irri- tated me. "Her refusal, flat and final, to part with the jewels enraged me. It was then that I made the first big mistake of my life. "I lost my temper. Men who can not control their tempers under the most trying circumstances should let crime alone. They will fail. "I killed her—a foolish result of the folly of yielding to my rage. "Standing there and looking at her, I pondered, with all the clarity I could command. In a second, I perceived the advisability of throwing the blame upon some other person." The faces of Braceway and Fulton mirrored to the others the horror of the stuff they were read- ing. The scene taxed the emotional balance of all of them. The evil-faced man at the typewriter, the father getting by degrees the description of his THE LAST CAED 293 daughter's death, the policemen waiting to put the murderer behind bars Abrahamson, peculiarly wrought upon by the tenseness of it all, wished he had not come. His back felt creepy. He lit a cigarette, puffed it to a torch and threw it down. Bristow wrote on: "Mechanically, my fingers went to a pocket in my vest and played with two metal buttons 1 had picked up in my kitchen the day before, Monday. "I knew the buttons had come from the over- alls of the negro, Perry Carpenter. It would be easy to drop one there, the other on the floor of my kitchen, where I had originally found them. "That would be the beginning of identifying him as the murderer. He had been half-drunk the day before. "The rest was simple—dropping the lavalliere links back of Number Five, placing the lavalliere in the yard of his house, and so on. "I had one piece of luck which, of course, I did not count on when I first adopted this simple course. That was when Greenleaf asked me to help him in finding the murderer. A confiding soul —your Greenleaf—and insured by nature against brain storms. "Such a turn was a godsend. I had become the investigator of my own crime. "There remains to be told only the fact that I made a second trip to Number Five. "Having come back here in safety, I perceived I had left there without the jewels she was wear- ing and without those in her jewel cabinet. 294 THE WINNING CLUE "She had brought this cabinet into the living room to show me how her supply of jewelry had been depleted. "To murder and not get the fruits of it, is like picking one's own pocket. I returned immediately and rectified the mistake. "Before departing this last time, I switched on the lights to assure myself that I had left only the clue to the negro's presence, none to my own. "That explains Withers' story of his struggle at the foot of the steps. We really had it. "In the ordinary course of events, the negro would have gone to the chair. "But there were complications I did not fore- see. "Morley's theft and clamour for money from Miss Fulton, Withers' jealousy, and my own extra precaution of appearing with beard and gold tooth in the Brevord Hotel, so as to shift suspicion to a mysterious 'unknown' in case of necessity; all these things left too many clues, presented an em- barrassment of riches. "If I had known of them in advance, either Mor- ley or Withers would have paid the penalty for the crime. The negro would never have received my attention. "I have no game leg, never have had. The brace made it easy for me to transform myself into an agile, powerful man in my 'private' work. "I have no tuberculosis, never have had. I have a normally flat chest. Sluggish veins and capil- laries in my face, caused by my having suffered 298 THE WINNING CLUE the button as Braceway caught at his hand. "I beat you after "he tried to boast. But the poison, quicker than he had thought, cut short his utterance. His eyelids flickered twice. He collapsed against Greenleaf and slid, crumpled, to the floor. "Cyanide," said Braceway. "He had it in the shank of that collar button." Greenleaf bent over him. "God, it's quick!" he announced. "He's dead." THE END 4 JUN 1 51926 V 1r