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LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

PRESENTED BY
Martha Jefferson Hospital








THE CLUE
SECONDEDITION





v



The Man pointed toward the Table. Page 41.
The Clue


THE CLUE
By CAROLYN WELLS
Author of
'A Chain of Evidence," "The Maxwell Mystery,"
"The Gold Bag," Etc.

With Frontispiece
By FRANCES ROGERS
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers ^^^^ New York
Published by Arrangements with J. B. Lippincott Company


PS
354-5
.ES3305b
1910
Copyright, 1909
By J. B. Lippincott Company
Published September, 1909


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Van Normans 9
II. Miss Morton Arrives 23
III. A Cry in the Night 38
IV. Suicide or? 51
V. A Case for the Coroner' s VI. Fessenden Comes 79
VII. Mr. Benson 's Questions 94
VIII. A Soft Lead Pencil 107
IX. The Will 122
X. Some Testimony 135
XI. "I Decline to Say" 149
XII. Dorothy Burt 162
XIII. An Interview With Cicely 175
XIV. The Carleton Household 190
XV. Fessenden's Detective Work 204
XVI. Searching for Clues 218
XVII. Miss Morton's Statements 232
XVIII. Carleton is Frank 246
XIX. The Truth About Miss Burt 261
XX. Cicely's Flight 274
XXI. A Successful Pursuit 288
XXII. A Talk With Miss Morton 301
XXIII. Fleming Stone 313
XXIV. A Confession 326





THE CLUE
i
THE VAN NORMANS
The old Van Norman mansion was the finest
house in Mapleton. Well back from the road, it sat
proudly among its finely kept lawns and gardens, as
if with a dignified sense of its own importance, and
its white, Colonial columns gleamed through the
trees, like sentinels guarding the entrance to the
stately hall.
All Mapleton was proud of the picturesque old
place, and it was shown to visiting strangers with
the same pride that the native villagers pointed out
the Memorial Library and the new church.
More than a half-century old, the patrician white
house seemed to glance coldly on the upstart cot-
tages, whose inadequate pillars supported beetling
second stories, and whose spacious, filigreed veran-
das left wofully small area for rooms inside the
house.
9


10 THE CLUE
The Van Norman mansion was not like that. It
was a long rectangle, and each of its four stories
was a series of commodious, well-shaped apart-
ments.
And its owner, the beautiful Madeleine Van
Norman, was the most envied as well as the most
admired young woman in the town.
Magnificent Madeleine, as she was sometimes
called, was of the haughty, imperious type which
inspires admiration and respect rather than love.
An orphan and an heiress, she had lived all of her
twenty-two years of life in the old house, and since
the death of her uncle, two years before, had con-
tinued as mistress of the place, ably assisted by a
pleasant, motherly chaperon, a clever social secre-
tary, and a corps of capable servants.
The mansion itself and an income amply suffi-
cient to mantain it were already legally her own, but
by the terms of her uncle's will she was soon to come
into possession of the bulk of the great fortune he
had left.
Madeleine was the only living descendant of old
Richard Van Norman, save for one distant cousin,
a young man of a scapegrace and ne'er-do-weel
sort, who of late years had lived abroad


THE VAN NORMANS 11
This young man's early life had been spent in
Mapleton, but, his fiery temper having brought about
a serious quarrel with his uncle, he had wisely con-
cluded to take himself out of the way.
And yet Tom Willard was not of a quarrel-
some disposition. His bad temper was of the im-
pulsive sort, roused suddenly, and as quickly sup-
pressed. Nor was it often in evidence. Good-
natured, easy-going Tom would put up with his
uncle's criticism and fault-finding for weeks at a
time, and then, perhaps goaded beyond endurance,
he would fly into a rage and express himself in
fluent if rather vigorous English.
For Richard Van Norman had been by no
means an easy man to live with. And it was Tom's
general amiability that had made him the usual
scapegoat for his uncle's ill temper. Miss Made-
leine would have none of it. Quite as dictatorial
as the old man himself she allowed no interference
with her own plans and no criticism of her own
actions.
This had proved the right way to manage Mr.
Van Norman, and he had always acceded to Made-
leine's requests or submitted to her decrees without
objection, though there had never been any demon-
stration of affection between the two.


12 THE CLUE
But demonstration was quite foreign to the
nature of both uncle and niece, and in truth they
were really fond of each other in their quiet, re-
served way. Tom Willard was different. His
affection was of the honest and outspoken sort, and
he made friends easily, though he often lost them
with equal rapidity.
On account, then, of his devotion to Madeleine,
and his enmity toward young Tom Willard, Rich-
ard Van Norman had willed the old place to his
niece, and had further directed that the whole of his
large fortune should be unrestrictedly bestowed
upon her on her wedding-day, or on her twenty-
third birthday, should she reach that age unmar-
ried. In event of her death before her marriage,
and also before her twenty-third birthday, the whole
estate would go to Tom Willard.
It was with the greatest reluctance that Richard
Van Norman decreed this, but a provision had to be
made in case of Madeleine's early death, and
Willard was the only other natural heir. And now,
at twenty-two, Madeleine was on the eve of mar-
riage to Schuyler Carleton, a member of one of
the oldest and best families of Mapleton.
The village gossips were pleased to commend


THE VAN NORMANS 18
this union, as Mr. Carleton was a man of irre-
proachable habits, and handsome enough to appear
well beside the magnificent Madeleine.
He was not a rich man, but, as her marriage
would bring her inheritance, they could rank among
the millionaires of the day. Yet there were those
who feared for the future happiness of this appar-
ently ideal couple.
Mrs. Markham, who was both housekeeper and
chaperon to her young charge, mourned in secret
over the attitude of the betrothed pair.
"He adores her, I'm sure," she said to herself,
"but he is too courtly and polished in his manner.
I'd rather he would impulsively caress her, or invol-
untarily call her by some endearing name than to be
always so exquisitely deferential and polite. And
Madeleine must love him, or why should she marry
him? Yet she is so haughty and formal, she might
be a very duchess instead of a young American girl.
But that's Madeleine all over. I've never seen her
exhibit any real emotion over anything. Ah, well,
I'm an old-fashioned fool. Doubtless, they're coo-
ing doves when alone together, but their high-bred
notions won't allow any sentiment shown before
other people. But I almost wish she were going to


14 THE CLUE
marry Tom. He has sentiment and enthusiasm
enough for two, and the relationship is so distant
it's not worth thinking about. Dear old Tom!
He's the only one who ever stirs Madeleine out of
that dignified calm of hers."
And that was true enough. Madeleine had
inherited the Van Norman traits of dignity and
reserve to such an extent that it was difficult for
any one to be a really close friend.
She had, too, a strange little air of preoccupa-
tion, and even when interested in a conversation
would appear to look through or beyond her com-
panion in a way that was discouraging to the
average caller.
So Miss Van Norman was by no means a
favorite with the Mapleton young people in a per-
sonal sense, but socially she was their leader, and
to be on her invitation list was the highest aspira-
tion of the village " climbers."
And now that she was about to marry Schuyler
Carleton, the event of the wedding was the only
thing talked of, thought of, or dreamed of by
Mapleton society.
Madeleine, who always kept in touch with Tom
Willard by correspondence, had written him of her


THE VAN NORMANS 15
approaching marriage, and he had responded by
coming at once to America to attend the ceremony.
Relieved from the embarrassment of his uncle's
presence, Tom was his jovial self, and showed forth
all the reprehensible attractiveness which so often
belongs to the scapegrace nature. He sometimes
quarreled with Madeleine over trifles, then, making
up the next minute, he would caress and pet her
with the privileged air ofa relative.
He was glad to be back among the familiar
scenes of Mapleton, and he went about the town
renewing old acquaintances and making new ones,
and charming all by his winning personality.
In less than a week he had more friends in the
village than Schuyler Carleton had ever made.
Carleton, though handsome and distinguished-
looking, was absolutely without personal magnetism
or charm, which traits were found in abundance in
Tom Willard.
The friends of Schuyler Carleton attributed his
reserved, almost repellent demeanor to shyness, and
this was partly true. His acquaintances said it was
indifference, and this again, was partly true. Then
his enemies, of whom he had some, vowed that his
cold, curt manner of speech was merely snobbish-
ness, and this was not true at all.


16 THE CLUE
His manner toward his fiancee was all that the
most exacting could require in the matter of cour-
tesy and punctilious politeness. He was markedly
undemonstrative in public, and if this were true of
his behavior when the two were alone, it was prob-
ably because Madeleine herself neither inspired nor
desired terms or acts of endearment.
Tom's attitude toward Madeleine angered Carle-
ton extremely, but when he spoke to her on the
subject he was gaily informed that the matter of
cousinly affection was outside the jurisdiction of a
fiancee.
Tom, on his part, was desperately in love with
Madeleine, and had been for years. Repeatedly he
had begged her to marry him, and she knew in her
heart that his plea was prompted by his love for
herself and not by any consideration of her fortune.
And yet, should she marry another, all hope of
his uncle's money would be forever lost to Tom
Willard.
But prodigal and spendthrift that he was, if
Tom felt any regret at his vanishing fortunes, he
showed no sign of it. Save for sudden and often
easily provoked bursts of temper, he was infectiously
gay and merry, and was the life of the house party
already gathered under Madeleine's roof.


THE VAN NORMANS 17
The fact that Tom was staying at the Van
Norman house, which of course Carleton could not
do, gave Willard an advantage over the prospective
bridegroom, of which he was by no means uncon-
scious. Partly to tease the imperturbable but jeal-
ous Carleton, and partly because of his own affec-
tion for his cousin, Tom devoted himself assiduously
to Madeleine, especially when Carleton was present.
"You see, Maddy," Tom would say, "there are
only a few days left of our boy and girl chummi-
ness. I fancy that after you are married, Schuyler
won't let me speak to you, save in most formal
terms, so I must see all I can of you now."
Then he would tuck her arm through his own,
and take her for a stroll in the grounds, and
Carleton, coming to search for her, would find them
cosily chatting in a secluded arbor, or drifting
lazily in a canoe on the tiny, lily-padded lake.
These things greatly annoyed Schuyler Carleton,
but remonstrance was never an easy task for him,
nor did it ever affect Madeleine pleasantly.
"I wish, Madeleine," he had said one day, when
he had waited two hours for her to return from a
drive with Tom, "that you would have a little
regard for appearances, if you have none for my
2


18 THE CLUE
wishes. It is not seemly for my betrothed wife to
be driving all over the country with another man."
Magnificent Madeleine looked straight at him,
tilting her head back slightly to look beneath her
half-closed lids.
"It is not seemly," she said, "for my betrothed
husband to imply that I could be at fault in a
matter of propriety or punctilio. That is not
possible."
"You are right," he said, and his eyes gleamed
with admiration of her glorious beauty and im-
perious manner. "Forgive me,—you are indeed
right."
Though Schuyler Carleton may not have been
lavish of affection, he begrudged no admiration to
the splendid woman he had won.
And yet, had he but known it, the apparently
scornful and haughty girl was craving a more tender
and gentle love, and would gladly have foregone his
admiration to have received more affection.
"But it will come," Madeleine thought to her-
self. "I am not of the 'clinging vine' type, I
know; but after we are married, surely Schuyler
will be less formally polite, and more,—well,—
chummy."


THE VAN NORMANS 19
Yet Madeleine herself was chummy with nobody
save Tom.
They two were always chatting and laughing
together, and though they differed sometimes, and
even quarrelled, it was quickly made up, and for-
gotten in a new subject of merry discussion.
But, after all, they rarely quarrelled except
regarding Madeleine's approaching marriage.
"Don't throw yourself away on that iceberg,
Maddy," Tom would plead. "He's a truly fine
man, I know, but he can't make you happy."
"How absurd you are, Tom! Give me credit,
please, for knowing my own mind, at least. I love
Schuyler Carleton, and I am proud that he is to be
my husband. He is the finest man I have ever
known in every way, and I am a fortunate girl to be
chosen by such a man."
"Oho, Maddy! Don't do the humble; it doesn't
suit you at all. You are the type who ought to have
'kings and crown princes at your feet.' And Carle-
ton is princely enough in his effects, but he's by no
means at your feet."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Madeleine
angrily.
"Just what I say. Schuyler Carleton admires


20 THE CLUE
you greatly, but he doesn't love you—at least, not
as I do!"
"Don't be foolish, Tom. Naturally you know
nothing about Mr. Carleton's affection for me—
he does not proclaim it from the housetops. And
I desire you not to speak of it again."
"Why should I speak of what doesn't exist?
Forgive me, Maddy, but I love you so myself, it
drives me frantic to see that man treating you so
coolly."
"He doesn't treat me coolly. Or, if he does,
it's because I don't wish for tender demonstrations
before other people. I'm fond of you, Tom, as you
know, but I won't allow even you to criticise the
man I am about to marry."
"Oh, very well, marry him, then, and a precious
unhappy life you'll lead with him,—and I know
why."
Madeleine turned on him, her eyes blazing with
anger.
"What do you mean? Explain that last re-
mark of yours."
"Small need! You know why as well as I do;"
and Tom pushed his hands into his pockets and
strode away, whistling, well knowing that he had
roused his cousin's even temper at last.


THE VAN NORMANS 21
In addition to some of her Mapleton friends,
Madeleine had invited two girls from New York
to be her bridesmaids. Kitty French and Molly
Gardner had already come and were staying at the
Van Norman house the few days that would inter-
vene before the wedding.
Knowing Madeleine well, as they did, they had
not expected confidence from her, nor did they look
forward to cosy, romantic boudoir chats, such as
many girls would enjoy.
But neither had they expected the peculiar con-
straint that seemed to hang over all the members
of the household.
Mrs. Markham had been so long housekeeper,
and even companion, for Madeleine that she was not
looked upon as a servant, and to her Kitty French
put a few discreet questions regarding the exceed-
ing reserve of Mr. Carleton.
"I don't know, Miss French," said the good
woman, looking sadly disturbed. "I love Made-
leine as I would my own child. I know she adores
Mr. Carleton,—and—yes, I know he greatly admires
her,—and yet there is something wrong. I can't
express it—it's merely a feeling,—an intuition, but
there is something wrong."


82 THE CLUE
"You know Mr. Willard is in love with
Maddy," suggested Miss French.
"Oh, it isn't that They've always had a
cousinly affection for each other, and,—yes, Tom is
in love with her,—but what I mean is aside from
all that. The real reason that Madeleine flirts with
Tom—for she does flirt with him—is to pique Mr.
Carleton. There! I've said more than I meant to,
but you're too good a friend to let it make any
trouble, and, any way, in a few days they will be
married, and then I'm sure it will be all right,—I'm
sure of it."
Like many people, Mrs. Markham emphasized
by repetition a statement of whose truth she was
far from sure.


II
MISS MORTON ARRIVES
The day before the wedding the old house was
a pleasant scene of bustle and confusion.
Professional decorators were in charge of the
great drawing-room, building a canopy of green
vines and flowers, beneath which the bridal pair
should stand the next day at high noon.
This work was greatly hindered by a bevy of
young people who thought they were helping.
At last, noting a look of dumb exasperation on
the face of one of the florist's men, Molly Gardner
exclaimed, " I don't believe our help is needed here;
come on, Kitty, let's go in the library and wait for
tea-time."
It was nearly five o'clock, and the girls found
most of the house guests already assembled in the
library, awaiting the arrival of the tea-tray.
Several other young people were there also,
most of them being those who were to be of the
wedding cortege next day.
23


24 THE CLUE
Robert Fessenden, who was to be best man, had
just come from New York, and had dropped in to
see Miss Van Norman.
Although he was an old friend of Carleton's,
Madeleine did not know him very well, and though
she made him welcome, it was with that coldly
formal air that did not greatly attract the young
man, but he could not fail to be impressed by her
great beauty.
"Lucky fellow, Carleton," he said to Tom
Willard. "Why, that woman would create a sen-
sation in any great city in the world."
"Yes, she is too handsome to live all her life
in a small village," agreed Tom. "I think they
intend to travel a great deal."
"An heiress, too, I believe."
"Yes, she has all the desirable traits a woman
can possess."
"All?" Fessenden's tone was quizzical.
"What do you mean? " asked Tom sharply.
"Nothing; only, if I were to marry, I should
prefer a little more softness of nature."
"Oh, that's only her manner. My cousin is
most sweet and womanly, I assure you."
"I'm sure she is," returned Fessenden, who was


MISS MORTON ARRIVES 25
a bit ashamed of his outspokenness; "and she's
getting a sterling good fellow for a husband."
"She is so," said Tom, heartily, which was
kind of him, considering his own opinion of Carle-
ton.
And then both men strolled over to where Made-
leine sat at the tea-table. She was reading a tele-
gram that had just been brought to her, and she
laughingly explained to Tom that it meant a bother
for him.
"Miss Morton has concluded to come to the
wedding, after all," she said. "She wrote me that
she wouldn't come, but she has changed her mind,
it seems. Now, it does sound ridiculous, I know,
but in this big house there isn't a room left for her
but the one you have, Tom. You see, one bedroom
is used for a 'present room,' one is reserved for
Schuyler to-morrow, the bridesmaids have another,
and except for our own rooms, and those already
occupied by guests, there are no more. I hate to
ask you, Tom, but could you go to the Inn?"
"Sure, Maddy dear; anything to oblige. But
it does seem too bad to turn me out of your house
the very last day that your hospitality is all your
own to offer. To-morrow the grand Seigneur will


96 THE CLUE
be master here, and my timid little Madeleine can no
longer call her soul her own."
This reference to the tall and stately mistress of
the house raised a general laugh, but Madeleine did
not join in it.
"I'm so sorry, Tom," she said earnestly, as she
looked again at the telegram she was holding, "but
Miss Morton was an old friend of Uncle Richard's,
and as she wants to come here I can't turn her away.
And unless you give her your room, there is no
other"
"Nonsense, Madeleine! I'm only joking. Of
course I'll go to the hotel. Only too glad to accom-
modate Miss Morton. Forget it, girl; I assure you
I don't mind a bit. I'll pack up a few traps after
dinner and skip down to the picturesque, if rather
ostentatious, Mapleton Inn."
As Tom spoke he put his arm carelessly round
Madeleine's shoulders, and though scarcely more
than a cousinly caress, it was unfortunate that
Schuyler Carleton should enter the room at that
moment. A lightning glance flashed between the
two men, and as Tom moved away from Madeleine
with a slightly embarrassed shrug of his shoulders,
Carleton's face grew so stern that an uncomfortable
silence fell upon the guests.


MISS MORTON ARRIVES 27
However, the arrival of the tea-tray saved the
situation, and Madeleine at once busied herself in
the pretty occupation of serving tea to her guests.
With an air of jealous proprietorship, Carleton
moved toward her and, looking handsome, though
sulky, stood by Willard with folded arms, as if on
guard.
Urged on by a daredevil spirit of mischief, and
perhaps remembering that Madeleine would soon be
beyond his reach as Carleton's wife, Tom also
moved toward her from the other side. Endeavor-
ing to treat the situation lightly, Madeleine held up
a newly-filled teacup.
"Who will have this?" she asked gaily.
"I will!" declared Carleton and Tom at the
same time, and each held out a hand.
Madeleine looked at them both smilingly.
Carleton's face was white and set; he was evi-
dently making a serious matter of the trifling
episode.
Tom, on the contrary, was smiling broadly, and
was quite evidently enjoying his rival's discomfiture.
"I shall give it to you, because you look so
pleasant," declared Madeleine, handing the cup to
Tom. "Now, Schuyler, smile prettily and you may
have one, too."


28 THE CLUE
But Carleton would not fall in with her light
mood.
Bending a little, he said in a tense voice, " I will
leave you to your cousin now. To-morrow I shall
assert my claim."
Though not rude in themselves, the words were
accompanied by a harsh and disdainful glance that
made several of the onlookers wonder what sort of
a life the haughty Madeleine would lead with such a
coldly tyrannical husband.
"The brute!" said Tom, under his breath, as
Carleton left the room. "Never mind, Maddy, the
old Turk has left you to me for this evening, and
we'll take him at his word."
Suddenly Madeleine's mood changed to one of
utter gaiety. She smiled impartially on all, she
jested with the girls, she bewitched the young men
with her merry banter, and she almost seemed to
be flirting with Tom Willard. But he was her
cousin, after all, and much is forgiven a bride-to-be
on her wedding eve.
Robert Fessenden looked at Miss Van Norman
with a puzzled air. He couldn't seem to under-
stand her, and was glad when by chance the two
were left comparatively alone for a few moments'
conversation.


MISS MORTON ARRIVES 29
"A great responsibility devolves on the best
man, Miss Van Norman," he said, in response to a
chaffing remark of hers. "I suppose that to-mor-
row I shall be general director-in-chief, and if any-
thing should go wrong, I shall be blamed."
"But nothing will go wrong," said Madeleine,
gaily, "and then, think how you'll be praised!"
"Ah, but you won't be here to hear the praise
heaped upon me, so what's the use?"
"No, I shall be gone forever," said Madeleine,
putting on one of her faraway looks. "I never
want to come back to Mapleton. I hate it!"
"Why, Miss Van Norman! You want to desert
this beautiful old house? Schuyler can never find
you a home so comfortable and attractive in every
way."
"I don't care. I want to go far away from
Mapleton to live. We're going to travel for a year,
any way, but when we do settle down, it will be
abroad, I hope."
"You surprise me. Schuyler didn't tell me
this. We've been chums so long, that I usually
know of his plans. But, of course, getting married
changes all that.
"You're a very intimate friend of Mr. Carle-


80 THE CLUE
ton's, aren't you?" said Madeleine, with a strange
note of wistfulness in her voice.
"Yes, lam. Why?"
"Oh, nothing; I only thought—I mean, do you
think"
Rob Fessenden was thrilled by the plaintive
expression on the beautiful face, and suddenly felt
a great desire to help this girl, who was seemingly
so far above and beyond all need of help, and yet
was surely about to ask his aid, or at least his
sympathy.
"Don't hesitate," he said gently; "what is it,
Miss Van Norman? I want to be as firm a friend
of yours as I am of Schuyler's, so please say what
you wish to."
"I can't—I can't," Madeleine whispered, and
her voice was almost a moan.
"Please," again urged Fessenden.
"Do you know Dorothy Burt?" Madeleine
then broke out, as if the words were fairly forced
from her.
"No," said Fessenden, amazed; " I never heard
the name before. Who is she?"
"Hush! She's nobody—less than nobody.
Don't mention her to me ever again—nor to any
one else. Ah, here comes Miss Morton."


MISS MORTON ARRIVES 31
As Fessenden watched Madeleine, she changed
swiftly from a perturbed, troubled girl to a cour-
teous, polished hostess.
"My dear Miss Morton," she said, advancing to
meet her newest guest, " how kind of you to come to
me at this time."
"I didn't come exactly out of kindness," said
Miss Morton, "but because I desired to come. I
hope you are quite well. Will you give me some
tea?"
Miss Morton was a tall, angular lady, with gray
hair and sharp, black eyes. She seemed to bite off
her words at the ends of her short sentences, and
had a brisk, alert manner that was, in a way,
aggressive.
"An eccentric," Rob Fessenden thought, as he
looked at her, and wondered why she was there at
all.
"An old sweetheart of Mr. Richard Van
Norman, I believe," said Kitty French, when he
questioned her. "They were once engaged and
then quarrelled and broke it off, and neither of them
lived happily ever after."
"As the Carletons will," said Fessenden,
smiling.


82 THE CLUE
"Yes," said Kitty slowly, "as the Carletons
will—I hope. You know Mr. Carleton awfully
well, don't you? Are you sure he will make our
Maddy happy, Mr. Fessenden?"
"I think so;" and Fessenden tried to speak
casually. "He is not an emotional man, or one
greatly given to sentiment, but I judge she is not
that sort either."
"Oh, yes, she is! Maddy is apparently cold
and cynical, but she isn't really so a bit. But she
perfectly adores him, and if they're not happy, it
won't be her fault."
"Nor will it be his," said Fessenden, warmly
defending his absent friend. "Carleton's an old
trump. There's no finer man in the world, and any
woman ought to be happy with him."
"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Kitty,
with a little sigh of relief. "Do look at that funny
Miss Morton! She seems to be scolding Madeleine.
I'm sorry she came. She doesn't seem very attrac-
tive. But perhaps it's because she was crossed in
love and it made her queer."
"Or she was queered in love and it made her
cross," laughed Fessenden. "Well, I must go, now,
and look up Carleton. Poor old boy, he was a little
miffed when he went away."


MISS MORTON arrives 33
After tea all the callers departed, and those who
were house guests went to their rooms to dress for
dinner.
Tom Willard, with great show of burlesque
regret and tearful farewells, went to the hotel, that
Miss Morton might have the room he had been
occupying.
He promised to return for dinner, and gaily
blew kisses to Madeleine as with his traps he was
driven down the avenue.
At dinner, Schuyler Carleton's place was vacant.
It had been arranged next to Madeleine's, and when
fifteen minutes after the dinner hour he had not
arrived, she haughtily accepted Tom Willard's arm
and led the way to the dining-room.
But having reached the table, she directed Tom
to take his rightful seat, at some distance from her
own, and Carleton's chair remained empty at Made-
leine's side.
At first this was uncomfortably evident, but
Madeleine was in gay spirits, and soon the whole
party followed her lead, and the conversation was
general and in a merry key.
The young hostess had never looked more regally
beautiful. Her dark hair, piled high on her head,
3


84 THE CLUE
was adorned with a dainty ornament which, though
only a twisted ribbon, was shaped like a crown, and
gave her the effect of an imperious queen. Her low-
cut gown of pale yellow satin was severe of line
and accented her stately bearing, while her exqui-
sitely modelled neck and shoulders were as white
and pure as those of a marble statue. Save for a
double row of pearls around her throat, she wore
no ornaments, but on the morrow Carleton's gift
of magnificent diamonds would grace her bridal
costume. The combination of haughty imperial
beauty and a dazzling witchery of mood was irre-
sistible, and the men and girls alike realized that
never before had Madeleine seemed so wonderful.
After the dessert was placed on the table, Wil-
lard could stand it no longer, and, leaving his own
place, he calmly appropriated Carleton's vacant
chair.
Madeleine did not reprove him, and Kitty French
took occasion to whisper to her neighbor:
"' 'T were better by far to have matched our
fair cousin to brave Lochinvar.'"
Mrs. Markham overheard the quotation, and a
look of pain came into her eyes. But it was all too
late now, and to-morrow Madeleine would be irre-
vocably Schuyler Carleton's wife.


MISS MORTON ARRIVES 85
After dinner coffee was served in the cozy
library. Madeleine preferred this room to the more
elaborately furnished drawing-room, and to-night
her word was law.
But suddenly her mood changed. For no appar-
ent reason her gay spirits vanished, her smile faded
away, and a pathetic droop curved the corners of
her beautiful mouth.
At about ten o'clock she said abruptly, though
gently, "I wish you'd all go to bed. Unless you
girls get some beauty sleep, you won't look pretty
at my wedding to-morrow."
"I'm quite ready to go," declared Kitty French
with some tact, for she saw that Madeleine was
nervous and strung up to a high tension.
"I, too," exclaimed Molly Gardner, and the two
girls said good-night and went upstairs.
Two or three young men who had been dinner
guests also made their adieux, and Tom Willard
said, "Well, I may as well toddle to my comforts
of home, as understood by a country innkeeper."
Madeleine said good-night to him kindly enough,
but without jest or gaiety. Tom looked at her
curiously for a moment, and then, gently kissing
her hand, he went away.


36 THE CLUE
Mrs. Markham, having seen Miss Morton com-
fortably installed in what had been Tom's room,
returned to the library to offer her services to
Madeleine.
But the girl only thanked her, saying, "There
is nothing you can do to-night. I want to be alone
for an hour or two. I will stay here in the library
for a time, and I'd like to have you send Cicely to
me.
A few moments later Cicely Dupuy came in,
bringing some letters and papers. She was Miss Van
Norman's private secretary, and admirably did she
fill the post. Quick-witted, clever, deft of hand
and brain, she answered notes, kept accounts, and in
many ways made herself invaluable to her employer.
Moreover, Madeleine liked her. Cicely was of
a charming personality. Small, fair, with big, child-
ish blue eyes and a rose-leaf skin, she was a pretty
picture to look at.
"Sit down," said Madeleine, "and make a little
list of some final matters I want you to attend to
to-morrow."
Cicely sat down, and, taking pencil and tablet
from the library table, made the lists as Madeleine
directed. This occupied but a short time, and then
Miss Van Norman said wearily:


MISS MORTON ARRIVES 37
"You may go now, Cicely. Go to bed at once,
dear. You will have much to do to-morrow. And
please tell Marie I shall not need her services
to-night. She may go to her room. I shall
sit here for an hour or more, and I will answer these
notes. I wish to be alone."
"Very well, Miss Van Norman," said Cicely,
and, taking the lists she had made, she went softly
from the room.


Ill
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
"Help!"
The loud cry of a single word was not repeated,
but repetition was unnecessary, for the sound rang
through the old Van Norman house, and carried its
message of fear and horror to all, awake or sleep-
ing, within its walls.
It was about half-past eleven that same night,
and Cicely Dupuy, still fully dressed, flew from her
bedroom out into the hall.
Seeing a light downstairs, and hearing the
servants' bells, one after another, as if rung by a
frantic hand, she hesitated a moment only, and then
ran downstairs.
In the lower hall Schuyler Carleton, with a dazed
expression on his white, drawn face, was uncertainly
pushing various electric buttons which, in turn,
flashed lights on or off, or rang bells in distant parts
of the house.
For a moment Cicely stared straight at the man.
38


A CRY IN THE NIGHT 39
Their eyes met, their gaze seemed to concentrate,
and they stood motionless, as if spellbound.
This crisis was broken in upon by Marie, Made-
leine's French maid, who came running downstairs
in a hastily donned negligee.
"Mon Dieu!" she cried. "Ou est Made-
moiselle?"
With a start, Carleton turned from Cicely, and
still with that dazed look on his face, he motioned
Marie toward the wide doorway of the library.
The girl took a step toward the threshold, and then,
with a shriek, paused, and ventured no further.
Cicely, as if impelled by an unseen force, slowly
turned and followed Marie's movements, and as the
girl screamed, Cicely grasped her tightly by the
arm, and the two stood staring in at the library
door.
What they saw was Madeleine Van Norman,
seated in a chair at the library table. Her right arm
was on the table, and her head, which had fallen to
one side, was supported by her right shoulder. Her
eyes were partly closed, and her lips were parted,
and the position of the rigid figure left no need for
further evidence that this was not a natural sleep.
But further evidence there was. Miss Van


40 THE CLUE
Norman still wore her yellow satin gown, but the
beautiful embroidered bodice was stained a dull red,
and a crimson stream was even then spreading its
way down the shimmering breadths of the trailing
skirt. •
On the table, near the outstretched white hand,
lay a Venetian dagger. This dagger was well
known to the onlookers. It had lain on the library
table for many years, and though ostensibly for the
purpose of a paper-cutter, it was rarely used as such.
Its edges were too sharp to cut paper satisfactorily,
and, moreover, it was a wicked-looking affair, and
many people had shuddered as they touched it. It
had a history, too, and Richard Van Norman used
to tell his guests of dark deeds in which the dagger
had taken part while it was still in Italy.
Madeleine herself had had a horror of the
weapon, though she had often admitted the fascina-
tion of its marvellous workmanship, and had said
upon several occasions that the thing fairly hypno-
tized her, and some day she should kill herself or
somebody else with it.
From an instinctive sense of duty, Marie started
forward, as if to help her mistress, then with a con-
vulsive shudder she screamed again and clasped her


A CRY IN THE NIGHT 41
hands before her eyes to shut out the awful sight.
Cicely, too, moved slowly toward the silent
figure, then turned and again gazed steadfastly at
Schuyler Carleton.
There must have been interrogation in her eyes,
for the man pointed toward the table, and Cicely
looked again, to notice there a bit of paper with
writing on it.
She made no motion toward it, but the expres-
sion on her face changed to one of bewildered sur-
prise. Before she had time to speak, however, the
other people of the house all at once began to
gather in the hall.
Mrs. Markham came first, and though when she
saw Madeleine she turned very white and seemed
about to faint, she bravely went at once toward the
girl, and gently tried to raise the fallen head.
She felt a firm grasp on her shoulder, and turned
to see Miss Morton, with a stern, set face, at her
side.
"Don't touch her," said Miss Morton, in a whis-
per. "Telephone for a doctor quickly."
"But she's dead," declared Mrs. Markham, at
the same time bursting into violent sobs.
"We do not know; we hope not," went on Miss


42 THE CLUE
Morton, and without another word she led Mrs.
Markham to a sofa, and sat her down rather sud-
denly, and then went herself straight to the tele-
phone.
As she reached it she paused only to inquire the
name of the family physician.
Harris, the butler, with difficulty articulated the
name of Doctor Hills and his telephone number,
and without further inquiry Miss Morton called for
him.
"Is this Doctor Hills?" she said when her call
was answered. "Yes; this is the Van Norman
house. Come here at once. . . . No matter;
you must come at once—it is very important—a
matter of life and death. ... I am Miss Mor-
ton. I am in charge here. Yes, come immediately!
Good-by."
Miss Morton hung up the receiver and turned to
the frightened group of servants.
"You can do nothing," she said, and you may
as well return to your rooms. Harris may stay,
and one of the parlor maids."
Miss Morton had an imperious air, and instinc-
tively the servants obeyed her.
But Cicely Dupuy was not so ready to accept the


A CRY IN THE NIGHT 43
dictum of a stranger. She stepped forward and,
facing Miss Morton, said quietly, "Mrs. Markham
is housekeeper, as well as Miss Van Norman's
chaperon. The servants are accustomed to take
their orders from her."
Miss Morton returned Cicely's direct gaze.
"You see Mrs. Markham," she said, pointing to the
sofa, where that lady had entirely collapsed, and,
with her head in a pillow, was shaking with convul-
sive sobs. "She is for the moment quite incapable
of giving orders. As the oldest person present, and
as a life-long friend of Mr. Richard Van Norman,
I shall take the liberty of directing affairs in the
present crisis." Then, in a softer tone and with a
glance toward Madeleine, Miss Morton continued,
"I trust in view of the awfulness of the occasion
you will give me your sympathy and co-operation,
that we may work in harmony."
Cicely gave Miss Morton a curious glance that
might have meant almost anything, but with a slight
inclination of her head she said only, "Yes,
madam."
Then Kitty French and Molly Gardner came
downstairs and stood trembling on the threshold.
"What is it?" whispered Kitty. "What's the
matter with Madeleine?"


44. THE CLUE
"Something dreadful has happened," said Miss
Morton, meeting them at the door. "I have tele-
phoned for Doctor Hills and he will be here soon.
Until then we can do nothing."
"But we can try to help Maddy," exclaimed
Kitty, starting toward the still figure by the table.
"Oh, is she hurt? I thought she had fainted!"
As the two girls saw the dread sight, Miss
Gardner fainted herself, and Miss Morton bade
Marie, who stood shivering in the hall, take care of
her.
Relieved at having something to do, Marie
shook the girl and dashed water in her face until
she regained consciousness, the others, meanwhile,
paying little attention.
Schuyler Carleton stood leaning against the
doorpost, his eyes fixed on Madeleine's tragic figure,
while Kitty French, who had dropped into a chair,
sat with her hands tightly clasped, also gazing at
the sad picture.
Although it seemed hours to those who awaited
him, it was but a few moments before the doctor
came.
Doctor Hills was a clean-cut, alert-looking young
man, and his quick eyes seemed to take in every
detail of the scene at a glance.


A CRY IN THE NIGHT 45
He went straight to the girl at the table and
bent over her. Only the briefest examination was
necessary before he said gently, " She is quite dead.
She has been stabbed with this dagger. It entered
a large blood vessel just over her heart, and she
bled to death. Who killed her?"
Even as he spoke his eye fell on the written
paper which lay on the table. With one of his
habitually quick gestures he snatched it up and read
it to himself, while a look of great surprise dawned
on his face. Immediately he read it aloud:
I am wholly miserable, and unless the clouds lift I must
end my life. I love S., but he does not love me.
After he finished reading, Doctor Hills stood
staring at the paper, and looked utterly perplexed.
"I should have said it was not a suicide," he
declared, "but this message seems to indicate that
it is. Is this written in Miss Van Norman's hand?"
Miss Morton, who stood at the doctor's side,
took the paper and scrutinized it.
"It is," she said. "Yes, certainly that is Miss
Van Norman's writing. I had a letter from her
only a few days ago, and I recognize it perfectly."
"Let me see it," said Mrs. Markham, in a deter-
mined, though rather timid way. "I am more


46 THE CLUE
familiar with Madeleine's writing than a stranger
can possibly be."
Miss Morton handed the paper to the house-
keeper without a word, while the doctor, waiting,
wondered why these two women seemed so out of
sympathy with each other.
"Yes, it is surely Madeleine's writing," agreed
Mrs. Markham, her glasses dropping off as her
eyes filled with tears.
"Then I suppose she killed herself, poor girl,"
said the doctor. "She must have been desperate,
indeed, for it was a strong blow that drove the steel
in so deeply. Who first discovered her here?"
"I did," said Schuyler Carleton, stepping for-
ward. His face was almost as white as the dead
girl's, and he was scarcely able to make his voice
heard. "I came in with a latch-key, and found her
here, just as you see her now."
As Carleton spoke Cicely Dupuy stared at him
with that curious expression that seemed to show
something more than grief and horror. Her emo-
tional bewilderment was not surprising in view of
the awful situation, but her look was a strange one,
and for some reason it greatly disconcerted the
man.


A CRY IN THE NIGHT ATNone of this escaped the notice of Doctor Hills.
Looking straight at Carleton, but with a kindly expression replacing the stern look on his face, he
went on:
"And when you came in, was Miss Van Nor-
man just as we see her now?"
"Practically," said Carleton. "I couldn't
believe her dead. And I tried to rouse her. Then I
saw the dagger on the floor at her feet"
"On the floor?" interrupted Doctor Hills.
"Yes," replied Carleton, whose agitation was
increasing, and who had sunk into a chair because
of sheer inability to stand. "It was on the floor at
her feet—right at her feet. I picked it up, and there
was blood on it—there is blood on it—and I laid
it on the table. And then I saw the paper—the
paper that says she killed herself. And then—and
then I turned on the lights and rang the servants'
bells, and Cicely—Miss Dupuy—came, and the
others, and—that's all."
Schuyler Carleton had with difficulty concluded
his narration, and he sat clenching his hands and
biting his lips as if at the very limit of his powers
of endurance.
Doctor Hills again glanced round the assembly
in that quick way of his, and said:


48 THE CLUE
"Did any of you have reason to think Miss
Van Norman had any thought of taking her own
life?"
For a moment no one spoke, and then Kitty
French, who, in a despairing, miserable way, was
huddled in the depths of a great arm-chair, said:
"I have heard Madeleine say that some time
she would kill herself with that horrid old dagger.
I wish I had stolen it and buried it long ago!"
Doctor Hills turned to Mrs. Markham. "Did
you have any reason to fear this?" he inquired.
"No," she replied; "and I do not think Made-
leine meant she would voluntarily use that dagger.
She only meant she had a superstitious dread of
the thing."
"Do you understand her reference to her own
unhappiness in this bit of writing?" went on the
doctor.
"Yes, I think I do," said Mrs. Markham in a
low voice.
"That is enough for the present," said the
doctor, as if to interrupt further confidences.
"Although it is difficult to believe a stab of that
nature could be self-inflicted, it is possible, and this
communication seems to leave no room for doubt.


A CRY IN THE NIGHT 49
Now, the law of New Jersey requires that in case
of a death not by natural means the county physi-
cian shall be summoned, and further proceedings
are entirely at his discretion. I shall therefore be
obliged to send for Doctor Leonard before disturb-
ing the body in any way. He will probably not
arrive in less than an hour or so, and I would advise
that you ladies retire. You can of course do noth-
ing to help, and as I shall remain in charge, you
may as well get what rest you can during the
night."
"I thank you for your consideration, Doctor
Hills," said Mrs. Markham, who seemed to have
recovered her calmness, "but I prefer to stay here.
I could not rest after this awful shock, and I
cannot stay away from Madeleine."
Kitty French and Molly Gardner, who, clasped
in each other's arms, were shivering with excite-
ment and grief, begged to be allowed to stay, too,
but Doctor Hills peremptorily ordered them to go
to their rooms. Cicely Dupuy was allowed to stay,
as in her position of social secretary she might know
much of Madeleine's private affairs. For the same
reason Marie was detained, while Doctor Hills
asked her a few questions.
4


50 THE CLUE
Schuyler Carleton sat rigidly in his chair, as
immovable as a statue. This man puzzled Doctor
Hills. And yet it was surely shock enough almost
to unhinge a man's brain thus to find his intended
bride the night before his wedding.
But Carleton seemed absorbed in emotions other
than those of grief. Though his face was impassive,
his eyes darted about the room looking at one after
another of the shocked and terrified group, return-
ing always to the still figure at the table, and as
quickly turning his gaze away, as if the sight were
unbearable, as indeed it was.
He seemed like a man stunned with the awful-
ness of the tragedy, and yet conscious of a care, a
responsibility, which he could not shake off.
If, inadvertently, his eyes met those of Miss
Dupuy, he shifted his gaze immediately. If by
chance he encountered Mrs. Markham's sad glance,
he turned away, unable to bear it. In a word, he
was like a man at the limit of his endurance, and
seemed veritably on the verge of collapse.


rv
SUICIDE OR —r
Miss Morton, also, seemed to have distracting
thoughts. She sat down on the sofa beside Mrs.
Markham, then she jumped up suddenly and started
for the door, only to turn about and resume her
seat on the sofa. Here she sat for a few moments
apparently in deep thought. Then she rose, and
slowly stalked from the room and went upstairs.
After a few moments, Marie, the French maid,
also rose and silently left the room.
Having concluded it was a case for the county
physician, Doctor Hills apparently considered that
his personal responsibility was at an end, and he
sat quietly awaiting the coming of his colleague.
After a time, Miss Morton returned, and again
took her seat on the sofa. She looked excited and
a little flurried, but strove to appear calm.
It was a dreadful hour. Only rarely any one
spoke, and though glances sometimes shot from the
eyes of one to the eyes of another, each felt his
51


52 THE CLUE
gaze oftenest impelled toward that dread, beautiful
figure by the table.
At last Schuyler Carleton, with an evident effort,
said suddenly, "Oughtn't we to send for Tom
Willard?"
Mrs. Markham gave a start. "Of course we
must," she said. "Poor Tom! He must be told.
Who will tell him?"
"I will," volunteered Miss Morton, and Doctor
Hills looked up, amazed at her calm tone. This
woman puzzled him, and he could not understand
her continued attempts at authority in a household
where she was a comparative stranger. And yet
might it not be merely a kind consideration for those
who were nearer and dearer to the principals of this
awful tragedy?
But even as he thought this over, Miss Morton
had gone to the telephone, her heavy silk gown
rustling as she crossed the room, and her every
movement assertive of her own importance.
Calling up the Mapleton Inn, she succeeded,
after several attempts, in rousing some of its occu-
pants, and finally was in communication with young
Willard himself. She did not tell him of the
tragedy, but only asked him to come over to the


SUICIDE OR? 53
house at once, as something serious had happened,
and returned to her seat with a murmured observa-
tion that Tom would arrive as soon as possible.
Again the little group lapsed into silence. Cicely
Dupuy was very nervous, and kept picking at her
handkerchief, quite unconscious that she was ruin-
ing its delicate lace edge.
Doctor Hills glanced furtively from one to
another. Many things puzzled him, but most of all
he was at a loss to understand the suicide of this
beautiful girl on the very eve of her wedding.
At last Tom Willard came.
Miss Morton met him at the door, and took
him into the drawing-room before he could turn
toward the library.
Schuyler Carleton's frantic touches on various
electric buttons had turned on all the lights in the
drawing-room. As no one had noticed this, the
great apartment had remained illuminated as if for
a festivity, and the soft, bright lights fell on the
floral bower and the elaborate decorations that had
been arranged for the wedding day.
"What is it?" asked Tom, his own face white
with an impending sense of dread as he looked into
Miss Morton's eyes.


54 THE CLUE
As gently as possible, but in her own straight-
forward and inevitably somewhat abrupt way, Miss
Morton told him.
"I want to warn you," she said, " to prepare for
a shock, and I think it kinder to tell you the truth at
once. Your cousin Madeleine—Miss Van Norman
—has taken her own life."
"What?" Tom almost shouted the word, and
his face showed an absolutely uncomprehending
amazement.
"She killed herself to-night," Miss Morton
went on, whose efforts were now directed toward
making the young man understand, rather than
towards sparing his feelings.
But Tom could not seem to grasp it. "What
do you mean?" he said, catching her by both arms.
"Madeleine? Killed herself?"
"Yes," said Miss Morton, shaken out of her
own calm by Tom's excited voice. "In the library,
after we had all gone to bed, she stabbed herself
with that horrible paper-cutter thing. Did you
know she was unhappy?"
"Unhappy? No; why should she be? To-
morrow was to have been her wedding day!"
"To-day," corrected Miss Morton. "It is


SUICIDE OR? 55
already the day on which our dear Madeleine was
to have become a bride. And instead "Glanc-
ing around the brilliant room and at the bridal
bower, Miss Morton's composure gave way entirely,
and she sobbed hysterically. At this Cicely Dupuy
came across from the library. Putting her arm
around Miss Morton, she led the sobbing woman
away, and without a word to Tom Willard gave
him a glance which seemed to say that he must look
out for himself, for her duty was to attend Miss
Morton.
As the two women left the drawing-room Tom
followed them. He walked slowly, and stared about
as if uncertain where to go. He paused a moment
midway in the room, and, stooping, picked up some
small object from the carpet, which he put in his
waistcoat pocket.
A moment more and he had crossed the hall and
stood at the library door, gazing at the scene which
had already shocked and saddened the others.
With a groan, as of utter anguish, Tom invol-
untarily put up one hand before his eyes.
Then, pulling himself together with an effort,
he seemed to dash away a tear, and walked into
the room, saying almost harshly, "What does it
mean?"


56 THE CLUE
Doctor Hills rose to meet him, and by way of a
brief explanation he put into Tom's hand the paper
he had found on the table. Tom read the written
message, and looked more stupefied than ever.
With a sudden gesture he turned towards Schuyler
Carleton and said in a low voice, "but you did love
her, didn't you?"
"I did," replied Carleton simply.
"Why should she have thought you didn't?"
went on Tom, looking at the paper, and seeming to
soliloquize rather than to address his question to
any one else.
As this was the first time that the "S." in
Madeleine's note had been openly assumed to stand
for Schuyler Carleton, there was a stir of excite-
ment all round the room.
"I don't know," said Carleton, but a dull, red
flush spread over his white face and his voice
trembled.
"You don't know!" said Tom, in cutting tones.
"Man, you must know."
But no reply was made, and, dropping into a
chair, Tom buried his face in both hands and re-
mained thus for a long time.
Tom Willard was a large, stout man, and pos-


SUICIDE OR? 57
sessecl of the genial and merry demeanor which so
often accompanies avoirdupois. Save for his
occasional, though really rare, bursts of temper,
Tom was always in joking and laughing mood.
To see him thus in an agonized, speechless
despair deeply affected Mrs. Markham. Tom had
always been a favorite with her, and not even
Madeleine had regretted more than she the estrange-
ment between Richard Van Norman and his nephew.
And even as Mrs. Markham looked at the bowed
head of the great strong man she suddenly be-
thought herself for the first time that Tom was now
heir to the Van Norman fortune.
She wondered if he had himself yet realized it;
and then she scolded herself for letting such
thoughts intrude so unfittingly soon. And yet she
well knew that it would not be in ordinary human
nature long to ignore the fact of such a sudden
change of fortunes. As she looked at Tom her
glance strayed toward Mr. Carleton, and then the
thought struck her that what Tom had gained this
man had lost. For had Madeleine lived the Van
Norman money would have been, in a way, at the
disposal of her husband. The girl's death then
would make Tom a rich man, while Schuyler Carle-


58 THE CLUE
ton would remain poor. He had always been poor,
or at least far from wealthy, and more than one
gossip was of the opinion that he had wooed Miss
Van Norman not entirely because of disinterested
love for her.
While Mrs. Markham was busy with these fast-
following thoughts a voice in the doorway made her
look up.
A quiet, unimportant-looking man stood there,
and was respectfully addressing Doctor Hills.
"I'm Hunt, sir," he said, "a plain-clothes man
from headquarters."
The three men in the room gave a start of sur-
prise, and each turned an inquiring look at the
newcomer.
"Who sent you? And what for?" asked
Doctor Hills.
"I've been here all night, sir. I'm on guard in
the present room upstairs."
"I engaged him," said Mrs. Markham. "Made-
leine's presents are very valuable, and although the
jewels are still in the bank, the silver and other
things upstairs are worth a large amount, and I
thought best to have this man remain here during
the night."


SUICIDE OR? 59
"A very wise precaution, Mrs. Markham," said
Doctor Hills; "and why did you leave your post,
my man?"
"The butler told me of what had happened, and
I wondered if I might be of any service down here.
I left the butler in charge of the room while I came
down to inquire."
"Very thoughtful of you," said Doctor Hills,
with a nod of appreciation; "and while I hardly
think so, we may have use for you before the night
is over. I am expecting Doctor Leonard, the county
physician, and until he comes I can do nothing. I
am sure the room above is sufficiently guarded for
the time being, so suppose you sit down here a few
minutes and wait."
Mr. Hunt chose to take a seat in the hall, just
outside the library door, and thus added one more
solemn presence to the quietly waiting group.
And now Doctor Hills had occasion to add
another puzzling condition to those that had already
confronted him.
Almost every one in the room was curiously
affected by the appearance of this detective, or
plain-clothes man, as he was called.
Schuyler Carleton gave a start, and his pale
face became whiter yet.


60 THE CLUE
Cicely Dupuy looked at him, and then turning
her glance toward Mr. Hunt, whom she could see
through the doorway, she favored the latter with
a stare of such venomous hatred that Doctor Hills
with difficulty repressed an exclamation.
Cicely's big blue eyes roved from Hunt to Carle-
ton and back again, and her little hands clenched
as with a firm resolve of some sort in her mind;
she seemed to brace herself for action.
Her hovering glances annoyed Carleton; he
grew nervous and at last stared straight at her,
when her own eyes dropped, and she blushed rosy
red.
But this side-play was observed by no one but
Doctor Hills, for the others were evidently absorbed
in serious thoughts of their own concerning the
advent of Mr. Hunt.
Tom Willard stared at him in a sort of per-
plexity; but Tom's good-natured face had worn
that perplexed look ever since he had heard the
awful news. He seemed unable to understand, or
even to grasp the facts so clearly visible before him.
But Miss Morton was more disturbed than any
one else. She looked at Hunt, and an expression
of fear came into her eyes. She fidgeted about,


SUICIDE OR? 61
she felt in her pocket, she changed her seat twice,
and she repeatedly asked Doctor Hills if he thought
Doctor Leonard would arrive soon.
Doctor Leonard did not live in Mapleton, but
motored over from his home in a nearby village.
He was a stranger to all those awaiting him in the
Van Norman house, with the exception of Doctor
Hills. Unlike that pleasant-mannered young man,
Doctor Leonard was middle aged, of a crusty dis-
position and curt speech.
When he came, Doctor Hills presented him to
the ladies, and before he had time to introduce the
two men, Doctor Leonard said crossly, "Put the
women out. I cannot conduct this affair with petti-
coats and hysterics around me."
Though not meant to reach the ears of the
ladies, the speech was fairly audible, and with a
trace of indignation Miss Morton arose and left the
room. Mrs. Markham followed her, and Cicely
went also.
Doctor Leonard closed the library doors, and,
turning to Doctor Hills, asked for a concise state-
ment of what had happened.
In his straightforward manner Doctor Hills
gave him a brief outline of the case, including all
the necessary details.


62 THE CLUE
"And yet," he concluded," even in the face of
that written message, I cannot think it a suicide."
"Of course it's a suicide," declared Doctor
Leonard in his blustering way; "there is no ques-
tion whatever. That written confession which you
all declare to be in her handwriting is ample proof
that the girl killed herself. Of course you had to
send for me—the stupid old laws of New Jersey
make it imperative that I shall be dragged out many
miles away from my home for every death that
isn't in conventional death-bed fashion; but there
is no suspicion of foul play here. The poor girl
chose to kill herself, and she has done so with the
means which she found near at hand. I will write
the burial certificate and leave it with you. There
is no occasion for the coroner."
"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Schuyler
Carleton, in a fervent tone.
"Amen," said Tom. "It's dreadful enough to
think of poor Maddy as she is, but had it been any
one else who"
Unheeding the ejaculations of the two men,
Doctor Hills said earnestly, " But, Doctor, if it had
not been for the written paper, would you have
called it suicide?"


SUICIDE OR? 6S
"That has nothing to do with the case," de-
clared Doctor Leonard testily. "The paper is
there, and is authentic. No sane man could doubt
that it is a suicide after that."
"But, Doctor Leonard, it would seem impos-
sible for a woman to stab herself at that angle, and
with such an astonishing degree of force; also to
pull the dagger from the wound, cast it on the floor,
and then to place her arm in that particular position
on the table."
"Why do you say in that particular position?"
"Because the position of her right arm is as if
thrown there carelessly, and not as if flung there in
a death agony."
"You are imaginative, Doctor Hills. The facts
may not seem possible, but since they are the facts
you must admit that they are possible."
"Very well, Doctor Leonard, I accept your
decision, and I relinquish all professional respon-
sibility in the matter."
"You may do so. There is no occasion for
mystery or question. It is a sad affair, indeed, but
no crime is indicated beyond that of self-destruc-
tion. The written confession hints at the motive
for the deed, but that is outside my jurisdiction.


64 THE CLUE
Who is the man in the hall? I fancied him a
detective."
"He is; that is, he is a man from headquarters
who is here to watch over the bridal gifts. He came
down-stairs thinking we might require his services
in another way."
"Send him back to his post. There is no work
for detectives, just because a young girl chose to
end her unhappy life."
Doctor Hills opened the library door and di-
rected Hunt to return to his place in the present
room.
Doctor Leonard, still with his harsh and dis-
agreeable manner, advised Willard and Carleton to
go to their homes, saying he and Doctor Hills would
remain in charge of the library for the rest of the
night.
Doctor Hills found the women in the drawing-
room, awaiting such message as Doctor Leonard
might have for them. Doctor Hills told them all
that Doctor Leonard had said, and advised them to
retire, as the next day would be indeed a difficult
and sorrowful one.


V
ACASE FOR THE CORONER
It was characteristic of Miss Morton that she
went straight to her own room and shut the door.
Mrs. Markham, on the other hand, went to the room
occupied by Kitty French. Molly Gardner was
there, too, and the two girls, robed in kimonas, were
sitting, white-faced and tearful-eyed, waiting for
some further news from the room whence they had
been banished.
Mrs. Markham told them what Doctor Leonard
had said, but Kitty French broke out impetuously,
"Madeleine never killed herself, never! I know she
always said that about the dagger, but she never
really meant it, and any way she never would have
done it the night before her wedding. I tell you
she didn't do it! It was some horrid burglar who
came in to steal her presents, who killed her."
"I would almost rather it had been so, Kitty
dear," said Mrs. Markham, gently stroking the brow
of the excited girl; "but it could not have been,
for we have very strong locks and bolts against
5 65


66 THE CLUE
burglars, and Harris is very careful in his pre-
cautions for our safety."
"I don't care! Maddy never killed herself.
She wouldn't do it, I know her too well. Oh, dear!
now there won't be any wedding at all! Isn't it
dreadful to think of that decorated room, and the
bower we planned for the bride!"
At these thoughts Kitty's tears began to flow
afresh, and Molly, who was already limp from
weeping, joined her.
"There, there," said Mrs. Markham, gently
patting Molly's shoulder. "Don't cry so, dearie.
It can't do any good, and you'll just make yourself
ill."
"But I don't understand," said Molly, as she
mopped her eyes with her wet ball of a handker-
chief; "why did she kill herself?"
"I don't know," said Mrs. Markham, but her
expression seemed to betoken a sad suspicion.
"She didn't kill herself," reiterated Kitty. "I
stick to that, but if she did, I know why."
This feminine absence of logic was unremarked
by her hearers, who both said, "Why?"
Because Schuyler didn't love her enough," said
Kitty earnestly. "She just worshipped him, and


A CASE FOR THE CORONER 67
he used to care more for her, but lately he hasn't."
"How do you know?" asked Molly.
"Oh, Madeleine didn't tell me," returned Kitty.
"I just gathered it. I've been here 'most a week—
you know I came several days before you did,
Molly—and I've noticed her a lot. Oh, I don't
mean I spied on her, or anything horrid. Only, I
couldn't help seeing that she wished Mr. Carleton
would be more attentive."
"Why, I thought he was awfully attentive,"
said Molly.
"Oh, attentive, yes. I don't exactly mean that.
But there was something lacking,—don't you think
so, Mrs. Markham?"
"Yes, Kitty, I do think so. In fact, I know
that Mr. Carleton didn't give Madeleine the heart-
whole affection that she gave him. But I hoped
it would all turn out right, and I surely never
dreamed it was such a serious matter as to bring
Madeleine to this. But she was a reserved, proud
nature, and if she thought Mr. Carleton had ceased
to love her, I know she would far rather die than
marry him."
"But she could have refused to marry him,"
cried Molly. "She didn't have to kill herself to get
rid of him."


68 THE CLUE
"She didn't kill herself," stubbornly repeated
Kitty, but Mrs. Markham said:
"You don't understand Maddy's nature, Molly;
she must have had some sudden and positive proof
of Mr. Carleton's lack of true affection for her to
drive her to this step. But once convinced that he
did not care for her, I know her absolute despair
would impel her to the desperate deed."
"Why didn't he love her?" said Molly, who
could see no reason why any man shouldn't love the
magnificent Madeleine.
"I think," said Kitty slowly, "there was some-
body else."
"How did you know that?" exclaimed Mrs.
Markham sharply, as if she had detected Kitty in
some wrongdoing.
"I don't know it, but I can't help thinking so.
Madeleine has sometimes asked me if I didn't think
most men preferred gentle, timid dispositions to a
strong, capable nature like her own. Of course she
didn't express it just like that, but she hinted at it
so wistfully, that I told her no, she was the splen-
didest, most adorable woman in the whole world.
I meant it, too, but at the same time I do think men
'most always love the soft, tractable kind of girls,


A CASE FOR THE CORONER 69
that are not so imperious and awe-inspiring as
Maddy was."
Surely Kitty ought to know, for she was the
most delicious type of soft, tractable femininity.
Her round, dimpled face was positively peachy,
and her curling tendrils of goldy hair clustered
round a low white brow, above appealing violet eyes.
A man might admire the haughty Madeleine, but
he would caressingly love bewitching little Kitty,
and would involuntarily feel a sense of protection
toward her, because of the shy trustfulness in her
glance.
This was not entirely ingenuous, for wise little
Kitty quite understood her own charm, but it was
natural, and in no way forced; and she was quite
content that her lines had fallen in her own pleasant
places, and she left the magnificent Madeleines of
the world to pursue their own roles. But she had
admired and loved Maddy Van Norman, and just
because of their differing natures, had understood
why Schuyler Carleton's affection was tempered
with a certain sense of inferiority.
"You know," she went on, as if thinking aloud,
"everybody was a little afraid of magnificent
Maddy. She was so superb, so regal. You couldn't
imagine yourself cuddling her!"


TO THE CLUE
"I should say not!" exclaimed Molly. "I
could only imagine salaaming to her, or deferentially
kissing her hand."
"Yes, that's what I mean. Well, Mr. Carleton
got tired of that stilted kind of an attitude,—or, at
least, she thought he did. I don't know, I'm sure,
but she was possessed with a notion that he cared
for some other girl,—some one of the clinging rose-
bud sort."
"Do you know this?" asked Mrs. Markham;
"I mean, do you know that Maddy thought this?"
"Yes, I know it," asserted Kitty, with a wag
of her wise little head. "I tried to persuade her
that no clinging rosebud could rival a tall, proud
lily, but she thoroughly believed there was some
one else."
"But Mr. Carleton was to marry her," said Mrs.
Markham. "I can't believe he would do that if he
loved another."
"That's what bothered Maddy," said Kitty;
"she knew how honorable Mr. Carleton had always
been, and she said that as he was engaged to her, he
would think it his duty to marry her, even though
his heart belonged to some one else."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Molly. "If he was going


A CASE FOR THE CORONER 71
to marry her, and didn't love her, it was because of
her fortune. Probably his rosebud girl hasn't a
cent."
"Don't talk like that," said Kitty, shuddering.
"Somehow it seems disloyal to both of them."
"But it is all true," said Mrs. Markham sadly.
"Madeleine has never been of a confidential nature,
but I know that she had the idea Kitty tells of, and
I fear it was true. And I may be disloyal, or even
unjust, but I can't help thinking Schuyler was
attracted by Maddy's money. He is proud and
ambitious, and he would be quite in his element as
the head of a fine establishment, with plenty of
money to spend on it."
"Well, he'll never have it now," said Molly, and
as this brought back the realization of the awful
event that had happened, both girls burst into crying
again.
Mrs. Markham, herself with overwrought
nerves, found she could do nothing to comfort the
girls, so left them and went to commune with her
grief in her own room.
Meantime the two doctors alone in the library
were still in discussion.
"Well, what do you want?" inquired Doctor


72 THE CLUE
Leonard angrily. "Do you want to imply, and with
no evidence whatever, that the girl died by some
hand other than her own? Do you want to involve
the family in the expense and unpleasant publicity
of a coroner's inquest, when there is not only no
reason for such a proceeding, but there is every
reason against it?"
"I want nothing but to get at the truth," re-
joined Doctor Hills, a little ruffled himself. "I
hold that a young woman, unless endowed with
unusual strength, or possibly under stress of intense
passion, could not inflict upon herself a blow strong
enough to drive that dagger to the hilt in her own
breast, pull it forth again, and cast it on the floor,
and after that place her arm in the position it now
occupies."
Doctor Leonard looked thoughtful. "I agree
with you," he said slowly; "that is, I agree that it
does not seem as if a woman could do that. But,
my dear Doctor Hills, Miss Van Norman did do
that. We know she did, from her own written con-
fession, and also by the theory of elimination.
What else could have happened? Have you any
suggestion to advance?"
Doctor Hills was somewhat taken aback at


A CASE FOR THE CORONER 73
Doctor Leonard's suddenness. Up to this moment
the county physician had stoutly maintained that
the case was a suicide beyond any question, and
then, turning, he had put the question to the younger
doctor in such a way that Doctor Hills was not quite
ready with an answer.
"No," he said hesitatingly; "I have no theory
to advance, and, moreover, I do not consider this
an occasion for theories. But we must ascertain
the facts. I state it as a fact that a woman could
not stab herself as Miss Van Norman is stabbed,
withdraw the dagger, and then place her right arm
on the table in the position you see it."
"And I assert that you are stating what is not
a fact, but merely your own opinion."
Doctor Hills looked disconcerted at this. His
companion was an older and far more experienced
man than himself, and not only did Doctor Hills
have no desire to antagonize him, but he wished to
show him the deference that was justly his due.
"You are right," he said frankly; " it is merely
my own opinion. But now will you give me yours,
based, not on the written paper, but the position and
general effect of the body of Miss Van Norman?"
Put thus on his mettle, Doctor Leonard looked


74 THE CLUE
carefully at the dead girl, whose pose was so natural
and graceful that she might have been merely sit-
ting there, resting.
He gazed long and intently, and then said,
slowly:
"I see your point, Doctor Hills. It was a vig-
orous blow, suddenly and forcefully given. It could
scarcely have been done, had the subject been a
frail, slight woman. But Miss Van Norman was
of a strong, even athletic build, and her whole
physical make-up indicates strength and force of
muscle. Your observation as to her apparently
natural position is all right so far as it goes; but
I have observed more carefully still, and I notice
her evident physical strength, which was doubtless
greatly aided by her stress of mental passion, and I
aver that a woman of her physique could have
driven the blow, removed the weapon, and, perhaps
even then unconscious, have thrown her arm on
the table as we now see it."
"I thank you, Doctor Leonard," said young
Hills, " for your patience with me. You are doubt-
less right, and I frankly admit you have made out a
clear case. Miss Van Norman was, indeed, a strong
woman. I have been the family physician for
several years, and I know her robust constitution.


A CASE FOR THE CORONER 75
Knowing this, and appreciating your superior judg-
ment as to the possibility of the deed, I am forced
to admit your opinion is the true one. And yet"
"Besides, Doctor Hills," went on Doctor
Leonard, as the younger man hesitated, " we cannot,
we must not, ignore the written paper. Why should
we do so? Those who know, tell us Miss Van
Norman wrote it. It is, therefore, her dying state-
ment. Dare we disregard her last message, written
in explanation of her otherwise inexplicable act?
We may wonder at this suicide, we may shudder at
it; but we may not doubt that it is a suicide. That
paper is not merely evidence,—it is testimony, it is
incontrovertible proof."
Doctor Leonard ceased speaking, and sat silent
because he had nothing more to. say.
Doctor Hills also sat silent, because, try as he
might, he could not feel convinced that the older
physician was right. It was absurd, he well knew,
but every time he glanced at the relaxed pose of
that white right arm on the table, he felt more than
ever sure that it had lain there just so when the
dagger entered the girl's breast.
As the two men sat there, almost as motionless
as the other still figure, both saw the knob of the
door turn.


76 THE CLUE
They had closed the double doors leading to the
hall, on the arrival of Doctor Leonard, and now the
knob of one of them was slowly and noiselessly
turning round.
A glance of recognition passed between them, but
neither spoke or moved.
A moment later, the knob having turned com-
pletely round, the door began to open very slowly.
Owing to the position of the two men, it was
necessary for the door to be opened far enough to
admit the intruder's head before they could be
seen, and the doctors waited breathlessly to see who
it might be who desired to come stealthily to the
library that night.
Doctor Hills, whose thoughts worked quickly,
had already assumed it was Mrs. Markham, coming
to gaze once more on her beloved mistress; but
Doctor Leonard formulated no supposition and
merely waited to see.
At the edge of the door appeared first a yellow
pompadour, followed by the wide-open blue eyes of
Cicely Dupuy. Seeing the two men, she came no
further into the room, but gave a sort of gasp, and
pulled the door quickly shut again. In the still
house, the two listeners could hear her footsteps
crossing the hall, and ascending the stairs.


78 THE CLUE
the dead girl, as if trying to force the secret from
her.
With a sudden start he took a step forward, and
as he spoke his voice rang with excitement.
"Doctor Leonard," he said, in a quick, concise
voice, "will you look carefully at that dagger?"
"Yes," said the older man, impressed by the
other's sudden intensity; and, stepping forward, he
scrutinized the dagger as it lay on the table, without,
however, touching it.
"There is blood on the handle," went on Doctor
Hills.
"Yes, several stains, now dried."
"And do you see any blood on the right hand
of Miss Van Norman?"
Startled at the implication, Doctor Leonard bent
to examine the cold white hand. Not a trace of
blood was on it. Instinctively he looked at the
girl's left hand, only to find that also immaculately
white.
Doctor Leonard stood upright and pulled him-
self together.
"I was wrong, Doctor Hills," he said, with a
nod which in him betokened an unspoken apology.
"It is a case for the coroner."
-


VI
FESSENDEN COMES
It was about nine o'clock the next morning
when Rob Fessenden rang the bell of the Van
Norman house. Having heard nothing of the
events of the night, he had called to offer any
assistance he might give before the ceremony.
The trailing garland of white flowers with flut-
tering streamers of white ribbon that hung beside
the portal struck a chill to his heart.
"What can have happened?" he thought
blankly, and confused ideas of motor accidents were
thronging his mind as the door was opened for him.
The demeanor of the footman at once told him that
he was in a house of mourning. Shown into the
drawing-room, he was met by Cicely Dupuy.
"Mr. Fessenden!" she exclaimed as she greeted
him. "Then you have not heard?"
"I've heard nothing. What is it?"
Poor Miss Dupuy had bravely taken up the
burden of telling the sad story to callers who did not
know of it, and this was not the first time that
morning she had enlightened inquiring friends.
79


80 THE CLUE
In a few words she told Mr. Fessenden of the
events of the night before. He was shocked and
sincerely grieved. Although his acquaintance with
Miss Van Norman was slight, he was Schuyler
Carleton's oldest and best friend, and so he had
come from New York the day before in order to
take his part at the wedding.
While they were talking Kitty French came in.
As Mr. Fessenden began to converse with her
Cicely excused herself and left the room.
"Isn't it awful?" began Kitty, and her tear-
filled eyes supplemented the trite sentence.
"It is indeed," said Rob Fessenden, taking her
hand in spontaneous sympathy. "Why should she
doit?"
"She didn't do it," declared Kitty earnestly.
"Mr. Fessenden, they all say she killed herself, but
I know she didn't. Won't you help me to prove
that, and to find out who did kill her?"
"What do you mean, Miss French? Miss
Dupuy just told me it was a suicide."
"They all say so, but I know better. Oh, I
wish somebody would help me! Molly doesn't think
as I do, and I can't do anything all alone."
Miss French's face was small and flower-like,


FESSENDEN COMES 81
and when she clasped her little hands and bewailed
her inability to prove her belief, young Fessenden
thought he had never seen such a perfect picture of
beautiful helplessness. Without reserve he instantly
resolved to aid and advise her to the best of his
own ability.
"And Mrs. Markham doesn't think as I do,
either," went on Kitty. "Nobody thinks as I do."
"I will think as you do," declared Fessenden,
and so potent was the charm of the tearful violet
eyes, that he was quite ready to think whatever she
dictated. "Only tell me what to think, and what
to do about it."
"Why, I think Madeleine didn't kill herself at
all. I think somebody else killed her."
"But who would do such a thing? You see,
Miss French, I know nothing of the particulars.
I saw Miss Van Norman for the first time yes-
terday."
"Had you never met her before?"
"Oh, yes; a few years ago. But I mean, I
came to Mapleton only yesterday, and saw her in
the afternoon. I was to be Schuyler's best man,
you know, and as he didn't come here to dinner last
night, I thought I'd better not come either, though
6


82 THE CLUE
I had been asked. He was a little miffed with Miss
Van Norman, you know."
"Yes, I know. Maddy did flirt with Tom, and
it always annoyed Mr. Carleton. Did you dine
with him?"
"Yes, at his home. I am staying there. By
the way, I met Miss Burt there; do you know her?"
"No, not at all. Who is she?"
"She's a companion to Mrs. Carleton, Schuyler's
mother. I never saw her until last night at dinner."
"No, I don't know her," repeated Kitty. "I
don't believe she was invited to the wedding, for I
looked over the list of invitations. Still, her name
may have been there. The list was so very long."
"And now there'll be no wedding and no
guests."
"No," said Kitty; "only guests at a far differ-
ent ceremony." Again the deep violet eyes filled
with tears, and Fessenden was conscious of a long-
ing to comfort and help the poor little girl thrown
thus suddenly into the first tragedy of her life.
"It would be dreadful enough if she had died
from an illness," he said; "but this added awful-
ness"
"Yes," interrupted Kitty; " but to me the worst


FESSENDEN COMES 83
part is for them to say she killed herself,—and I
know she didn't. Why, Maddy was too fine and
big-natured to do such a cowardly thing."
"She seemed so to me, too, though of course
I didn't know her so well as you did."
"No, I'm one of her nearest friends,—though
Madeleine was never one to have really intimate
friends. But as her friend, I want to try to do
what I can to put her right in the face of the world.
And you said you'd help me."
She looked at Fessenden with such hopefully
appealing eyes, that he would willingly have helped
her in any way he could, but he also realized that it
was a very serious proposition this young girl was
making.
"I will help you, Miss French," he said gravely.
"I know little of the details of the case, but if
there is the slightest chance that -you may be right,
rest assured that you shall be given every chance to
prove it."
Kitty French gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank
you," she said earnestly; " but I'm afraid we cannot
do much, however well we intend. Of course I'm
merely a guest here, and I have no authority of any
sort. And, too, to prove that Maddy did not kill


84 THE CLUE
herself would mean having a detective and every-
thing like that."
"I may not be 'everything like that,'" said
Fessenden, with a faint smile, "but I am a sort of
detective in an amateur way. I've had quite a good
deal of experience, and though I wouldn't take a
case officially, I'm sure I could at least discover if
your suspicions have any grounds."
"But I haven't any suspicions," said Kitty, agi-
tatedly clasping her little hands against her breast;
"T>
I've (flip V filling, a deep, positive conviction,
that M«eleine did not kill herself, and I'm sure I
don't know who did kill her."
Fessenden gave that grave smile of his and only
said, "That doesn't sound like much to work upon,
and yet I would often trust a woman's intuitive
knowledge against the most conspicuous clues or
evidences."
Kitty thanked him with a smile, but before she
could speak, Miss Morton came into the room.
"It's perfectly dreadful," that lady began, in
her impetuous way; "they're going to have the
coroner after all! Doctor Leonard has sent for
him and he may arrive at any minute. Isn't it
awful? There'll be an inquest, and the house will
be thronged with all sorts of people!"


FESSENDEN COMES 86
"Why are they going to have an inquest?"
demanded Kitty, whirling around and grasping Miss
Morton by her elbows.
"Because," she said, quite as excited as Kitty
herself—" because the doctors think that perhaps
Madeleine didn't kill herself; that she was—
was"
"Murdered!" exclaimed Kitty. "I knew it!
I knew she was! Who killed her?"
"Mercy! I don't know," exclaimed Miss
Morton, frightened at Kitty's vehemence. "That's
what the coroner is coming to find out."
"But who do you think did it? You must have
some idea!"
"I haven't! Don't look at me like that! What
do you mean?"
"It must have been a burglar," went on Kitty,
"because it couldn't have been any one else. But
why didn't he steal things? Perhaps he did! We
never thought to look?"
"How you do run on! Nobody could steal the
presents, because there was a policeman in the house
all the time."
"Then, why didn't he catch the burglar?"
demanded Kitty, grasping Miss Morton's arm, as if


86 THE CLUE
that lady had information that must be dragged
from her by force.
Feeling interested in getting at the facts in the
case, and thinking that he could learn little from
these two excited women, Rob Fessenden turned into
the hall just in time to meet Doctor Hills, who was
coming from the library.
"May I introduce myself?" he said. "I'm
Robert Fessenden, of New York, a lawyer, and I
was to have been best man at the wedding. You,
I know, are Doctor Hills, and I want to say to you
that if the earnest endeavor of an amateur detective
would be of any use to you in this matter, it is at
your disposal. Mr. Carleton is my old and dear
friend, and I need not tell you how he now calls
forth my sympathy."
Instinctively, Doctor Hills liked this young man.
His frank manner and pleasant, straightforward
ways impressed the doctor favorably, and he shook
hands warmly as he said, " This is most kind of you,
Mr. Fessenden, and you may prove the very man we
need. At first, we were all convinced that Miss
Van Norman's death was a suicide; and though the
evidence still strongly points to that, I am sure that
there is a possibility, at least, that it is not true."


FESSENDEN COMES 87
"May I learn the details of the case? May I
go into the library?" said Fessenden, hesitating to
approach the closed door until invited.
"Yes, indeed; I'll take you in at once. Doctor
Leonard, who is in there, is the county physician,
and, though a bit brusque in his manner, he is an
honest old soul, and does unflinchingly what he
judges to be his duty."
Neither then nor at any time, neither to Doctor
Leonard himself nor to any one else, did Doctor
Hills ever mention the difference of opinion which
the two men had held for so long the night before,
nor did he tell how he had proved his own theory
so positively that Doctor Leonard had been obliged
to confess himself wrong. It was not in Doctor
Hills' nature to say "I told you so," and, fully
appreciating this, Doctor Leonard said nothing
either, but threw himself into the case heart and
soul in his endeavors to seek truth and justice.
Fessenden and Doctor Hills entered the library,
where everything was much as it had been the night
before. At one time the doctors had been about to
move the body to a couch, and to remove the dis-
figured gown, but after Doctor Leonard had been
persuaded to agree with Doctor Hills' view of the


88 THE CLUE
case, they had left everything untouched until the
coroner should come.
The discovery of this was a satisfaction to
Robert Fessenden. His detective instinct had begun
to assert itself, and he was glad of an opportunity to
examine the room before the arrival of the coroner.
Though not seeming unduly curious, his eyes darted
about in an eager search for possible clues of any
sort. Without touching them, he examined the
dagger, the written paper, the appointments of the
library table, and the body itself, with its sweet,
sad face, its drooping posture, and its tragically
stained raiment.
In true detective fashion he scrutinized the
carpet, glanced at the window fastenings, and noted
the appointments of the library table.
The only thing Fessenden touched, however,
was a lead pencil which lay on the pen-rack. It
was an ordinary pencil, but he gazed intently at the
gilt lettering stamped upon it, and then returned it
to its place.
Again he glanced quickly but carefully at every
article on the table, and then, taking a chair, sat
quietly in a corner, unobtrusive but alert.
With something of a bustling air the coroner


FESSENDEN COMES 89
came in. Coroner Benson was a fussy sort of man,
with a somewhat exaggerated sense of his own
importance.
He paused with what he probably considered a
dramatic start when he saw the dead body of Miss
Van Norman, and, shaking his head, said, "Alas!
Alas!" in tragic tones.
Miss Morton and Kitty French had followed
him in, and stood arm in arm, a little bewildered,
but determined to know whatever might transpire.
Cicely Dupuy and Miss Markham had also come in.
But after a glance round and a preliminary
clearing of his throat, he at once requested that
everybody except the two doctors should leave the
room.
Fessenden and Kitty French were greatly dis-
appointed at this, but the others went out with a
feeling of relief, for the strain was beginning to tell
upon the nerves of all concerned.
As usual, Miss Morton tried to exercise her
powers of generalship, and directed that they should
all assemble in the drawing-room until recalled to
learn the coroner's opinion.
Mrs. Markham, unheeding Miss Morton's dictum,
went away to attend to her household duties, and


90 THE CLUE
Cicely went to her own room, but the others waited
in the drawing-room. They were joined shortly
by Tom Willard and Schuyler Carleton, who arrived
at about the same time.
Mr. Carleton, never a robust man, looked like
a wreck of his former self. Years had been added
to his apparent age; his impassive face wore a look
of stony grief, and his dark eyes seemed filled with
an unutterable horror.
Tom Willard, on the contrary, being of stout
build and rubicund countenance, seemed an ill-fitting
figure in the sad and tearful group.
But as Kitty French remarked to Fessenden in
a whisper, "Poor Tom probably feels the worst of
any of us, and it isn't his fault that he can't make
that fat, jolly face of his look more funereal."
"And he's said to be the heir to the estate, too,"
Fessenden whispered back.
"Now, that's mean of you," declared Kitty.
"Tom hasn't a greedy hair in his head, and I don't
believe he has even thought of his fortune. And,
besides, he was desperately in love with Madeleine.
A whole heap more in love than Mr. Carleton was."
Fessenden stared at her. "Then why was Carle-
ton marrying her?"


FESSENDEN COMES 91
"For her money," said Kitty, with a disdainful
air.
"I didn't know that," went on Fessenden, quite
seriously. "I thought Carleton was hard hit. She
was a magnificent woman."
"Oh, she was, indeed," agreed Kitty enthusi-
astically. "Mr. Carleton didn't half appreciate her,
and Tom did. But then she was always very differ-
ent with Tom. Somehow she always seemed con-
strained when with Mr. Carleton."
"Then why was she marrying him?"
"She was terribly in love with him. She liked
Tom only in a cousinly way, but she adored Mr.
Carleton. I know it."
"Well, it seems you were right about her not
killing herself, so you're probably right about this
matter, too."
"Now, that shows a nice spirit," said Kitty,
smiling, even in the midst of her sorrow. "But,
truly, I'm 'most always right; aren't you?"
"I shall be after this, for I'm always going to
agree with you."
"That's a pretty large order, for I'm some-
times awfully disagreeable."
"I shouldn't believe that, but I've practically


92 THE CLUE
promised to believe everything you tell me, so I
suppose I shall have to."
"Oh, now I have defeated my own ends! Well,
never mind; abide by your first impression,—that
I'm always right,—and then go ahead."
"Go ahead it is," declared Fessenden, and then
Molly Gardner joined them. Molly was more over-
come by the tragic turn affairs had taken than Kitty,
and had only just made her appearance downstairs
that day.
"You dear child," cried Kitty, noting her pale
cheeks and sad eyes, " sit right down here by us, and
let Mr. Fessenden talk to you. He's the nicest man
in the world to cheer any one up."
"And you look as if you need cheering, Miss
Gardner," said Fessenden, arranging some pillows
at her back, as she languidly dropped down on the
sofa.
"I can't realize it at all," said poor Molly; "I
don't want to be silly and keep fainting all over the
place, but every time I remember how Maddy looked
last night "She glanced toward the closed
library doors with a shudder.
"Don't think about it," said Rob Fessenden
gently. "What you need most, Miss Gardner, is a


FESSENDEN COMES 93
bit of fresh air. Come with me for a little walk in
the grounds."
This was self-sacrifice on the part of the young
man, for he greatly desired to be present when the
coroner should open the closed doors to them again.
But he really thought Miss Gardner would be better
for a short, brisk walk, and, getting her some
wraps, they went out at the front door.


MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS 95
little hands in breathless suspense, while a high
color rose to her lovely cheeks.
Molly Gardner was pale and wan-looking. She
dreaded the whole scene, and had but one desire, to
get away from Mapleton. She could have gone to
her room, had she chosen, but the idea of being all
alone was even worse than the present conditions.
So she sat, with overwrought nerves, now and then
clutching at Kitty's sleeve.
Cicely Dupuy was very calm—so calm, indeed,
that one might guess it was the composure of an
all-compelling determination, and by no means the
quiet of indifference.
Marie was there, and showed the impassive face
of the well-trained servant, though her volatile
French nature was discernible in her quick-darting
glances and quivering, sensitive lips.
The two doctors, Mr. Carleton, Tom Willard,
and young Fessenden occupied the next row of
seats, and behind them were the house servants.
Unlike the women, the men showed little or no
emotion on their faces. All were grave and com-
posed, and even Doctor Leonard seemed to have
laid aside his brusque and aggressive ways.
As he stood facing this group, Coroner Benson


96 THE CLUE
was fully alive to the importance of his own posi-
tion, and he quite consciously determined to con-
duct the proceedings in a way to throw great credit
upon himself in his official capacity.
After an impressive pause, which he seemed to
deem necessary to gain the attention of an already
breathlessly listening audience, he began:
"While there is much evidence that seems to
prove that Miss Van Norman took her own life,
there is very grave reason to doubt this. Both of
the eminent physicians here present are inclined
to believe that the dagger thrust which killed Miss
Van Norman was not inflicted by her own hand,
though it may have been so. This conclusion they
arrive at from their scientific knowledge of the
nature and direction of dagger strokes, which, as
may not be generally known, is a science in itself.
Indeed, were it not for the conclusive evidence of
the written paper, these gentlemen would believe
that the stroke was impossible of self-infliction.
"But, aside from this point, we are confronted
by this startling fact. Although the dagger, which
you may see still lying on the table, has several
blood-stains on its handle, there is absolutely no
trace of blood on the right hand of the body of Miss


MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS 97
Van Norman. It is inconceivable that she could
have removed such a trace, had there been any,
and it is highly improbable, if not indeed impossible,
that she could have handled the dagger and left it
in its present condition, without showing a cor-
responding stain on her hand."
This speech of Coroner Benson's produced a
decided sensation on all his hearers, but it was
manifested in various ways. Kitty French ex-
changed with Fessenden a satisfied nod, for this
seemed in line with her own theory.
Fessenden returned the nod, and even gave
Kitty a faint smile, for who could look at that
lovely face without a pleasant recognition of some
sort? And then he folded his arms and began to
think hard. Yet there was little food for coherent
thought.
Granting the logical deduction from the absence
of any stain on Miss Van Norman's hands, there
was, as yet, not the slightest indication of any
direction in which to look for the dastard who had
done the deed.
Schuyler Carleton showed no emotion, but his
white face seemed to take on one more degree of
horror and misery. Tom Willard looked blankly
7


98 THE CLUE
amazed, and Mrs. Markham began on a new one
of her successive crying spells. Miss Morton sat
bolt upright and placidly smoothed the gray silk
folds of her gown, while her face wore a decided
"I told you so " expression, though she hadn't told
them anything of the sort.
But as Fessenden watched her—the rows of
seats were slightly horseshoed, and he could see
her side face well—he noticed that she was really
trembling all over, and that her placidity of face was
without doubt assumed for effect. He could not
see her eyes, but he was positive that only a strong
fear or terror of something could explain her
admirably suppressed agitation.
The behavior of Cicely Dupuy was perhaps the
most extraordinary. She flew into a fit of violent
hysterics, and had to be taken from the room.
Marie followed her, as it had always been part of
the French maid's duty to attend Miss Dupuy upon
occasion as well as Miss Van Norman.
"In view of this state of affairs," went on the
coroner, when quiet had been restored after Cicely's
departure, " it becomes necessary to make an inves-
tigation of the case. We have absolutely no evi-
dence, and no real reason to suspect foul play, yet


MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS 99
since there is the merest possibility that the death
was not a suicide, it becomes my duty to look
further into the matter. I have been told that Miss
Van Norman had expressed a sort of general fear
that she might some day be impelled to turn this
dagger upon herself. But that is a peculiar mental
obsession that affects many people at sight of a
sharp-pointed or cutting instrument, and is by no
means a proof that she did do this thing. But
quite aside from the temptation of the glittering
steel, we have Miss Van Norman's written confes-
sion that she at least contemplated taking her own
life, and ascribing a reason therefor. In further
consideration, then, of this written paper, of which
you all know the contents, can any of you tell me
of any fact or quote any words spoken by Miss
Van Norman that would corroborate or amplify the
statement of this despairing message?"
As Mr. Benson spoke, he held in his hand the
written paper that had been found on the library
table. It was indeed unnecessary to read it aloud,
for every one present knew its contents by heart.
But nobody responded to the coroner's question.
Mr. Carleton looked mutely helpless, Tom Willard
looked honestly perplexed, and yet many of those


100 THE CLUE
present believed that both these men knew the sad
secret of Madeleine's life, and understood definitely
the written message.
Again Mr. Benson earnestly requested that any
one knowing the least fact, however trivial, regard-
ing the matter, would mention it.
Then Mrs. Markham spoke.
"I can tell you nothing but my own surmise,"
she said; "I know nothing for certain, but I have
reason to believe that Madeleine Van Norman had
a deep sorrow,—such a one as would impel her to
write that statement, and to act in accordance with
it."
"That is what I wished to know," said Coroner
Benson; "it is not necessary for you to detail the
nature of her sorrow, or even to hint at it further,
but the assurance that the message is in accordance
with Miss Van Norman's mental attitude goes far
toward convincing me that her death is the outcome
of that written declaration."
"I know, too," volunteered Kitty French, "that
Madeleine meant every word she wrote there. She
was miserable, and for the very reason that she
herself stated!"
Mr. Benson pinched his glasses more firmly on


MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS 101
his nose, and turned his gaze slowly toward Miss
French.
Kitty had spoken impulsively, and perhaps too
directly, but, though embarrassed at the sensation
she had caused, she showed no desire to retract
her statements.
"I am told," said the coroner, his voice ringing
out clearly in the strange silence that had fallen on
the room, "that the initial on this paper desig-
nates Mr. Schuyler Carleton. I must therefore ask
Mr. Carleton if he can explain the reference to
himself."
"I cannot," said Schuyler Carleton, and only
the intense silence allowed his low whisper to be
heard. "Miss Van Norman was my affianced wife.
We were to have been married to-day. Those two
facts, I think, prove the existence of our mutual
love. The paper is to me inexplicable."
Tom Willard looked at the speaker with an
expression of frank unbelief, and, indeed, most of
the auditors' faces betrayed incredulity.
Even with no previous reason to imagine that
Carleton did not love Madeleine, the tragic mes-
sage proved it beyond all possible doubt,—and yet
it was but natural for the man to deny it.


102 THE CLUE
Doctor Hills spoke next.
"I think, Coroner Benson," he said, as he rose
to his feet, "we are missing the point. If Miss
Van Norman took her life in fulfilment of her own
decision, the reasons that brought about that de-
cision are not a matter for our consideration. It is
for us to decide whether she did or did not bring
about her own death, and as a mode of procedure
may I suggest this? Doctor Leonard and myself
hold, that, in view of the absence of any stain on
Miss Van Norman's hands, she could not have
handled the stained dagger that killed her. A
refutation of this opinion would be to explain how
she could have done the deed and left no trace on
her fingers. Unless this can be shown, I think we
can not call it a suicide."
Although nothing would have induced him to
admit it, Coroner Benson was greatly accommo-
dated by this suggestion, and immediately adopting
it as his own promulgation, he repeated it almost
exactly word for word, as his official dictum.
"And so," he concluded, "as I have now ex-
plained, unless a theory can be offered on this point,
we must agree that Miss Van Norman's unfor-
tunate death was not by her own hand."


MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS 103
Robert Fessenden arose.
"I have no theory," he said; " I have no argu-
ment to offer. But I am sure we all wish to dis-
cover the truth by means of any light that any of
us may throw on the mystery. And I want to say
that in my opinion the absence of blood on the
hands, though it indicates, does not positively prove,
that the weapon was held by another than the vic-
tim. Might it not be that, taking the dagger from
the table, clean as of course it was, Miss Van
Norman turned it upon herself, and then, with-
drawing it, let it drop to the floor, where it subse-
quently became blood-stained, as did the rug and
her own gown?"
The two doctors listened intently. It was char-
acteristic of both that though Doctor Hills had
shown no elation when he had convinced Doctor
Leonard of his mistake the night before, yet now
Doctor Leonard could not repress a gleam of
triumph in his eyes as he turned to Doctor Hills.
"It is possible," said Mr. Benson, with a cau-
tiously dubious air, though really the theory struck
him as extremely probable, and he wished he had
advanced it himself.
Doctor Hills looked thoughtful, and then, as
nobody else spoke, he observed:


104 THE CLUE
"Mr. Carleton might perhaps judge of that
point. As he first discovered the dagger, and
picked it up from the floor, he can perhaps say if
it lay in or near the stains on the carpet."
Everybody looked at Schuyler Carleton. But
the man had reached the limit of his endurance.
"I don't know!" he exclaimed, covering his
white face with his hands, as if to shut out the
awful memory. "Do you suppose I noticed such
details?" he cried, looking up again. "I picked
up the dagger, scarce knowing that I did it! It
was almost an unconscious act. I was stunned,
dazed, at what I saw before me, and I know nothing
of the dagger or its blood-stains!"
Truly, the man was almost frenzied, and out
of consideration for his perturbed state, the coro-
ner asked him no more questions just then.
"It seems to me," observed Rob Fessenden,
"that the nature or shape of the stains on the
dagger handle might determine this point. If they
appear to be finger-marks, the weapon must have
been held by some other hand. If merely stains,
as from the floor, they might be considered to
strengthen Doctor Hill's theory."
The Venetian paper-cutter was produced and
passed around.


MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS 105
None of the women would touch it or even
look at it, except Kitty French. She examined it
carefully, but had no opinion to offer, and Mr.
Benson waited impatiently for her to finish her
scrutiny. He had no wish to hear her remarks on
the subject, for he deemed her a mere frivolous girl,
who had no business to take any part in the serious
inquiry. All were requested not to touch the
weapon, which was passed round on a brass tray
taken from the library table.
Schuyler Carleton covered his eyes, and refused
to glance at it.
Tom Willard and Robert Fessenden looked at it
at the same time, holding the tray between them.
"I make out no finger-prints," said Tom, at
last. "Do you?"
"No," said Fessenden; "that is, not surely.
These may be marks of fingers, but they are far
too indistinct to say so positively. What do you
think, Doctor Leonard?"
The gruesome property was passed on to the
two doctors, who examined it with the greatest
care. Going to the window, they looked at it with
magnifying glasses, and finally reported that the
slight marks might be finger-marks, or might be


106 THE CLUE
the abrasion of the nap of the rug on which the
dagger had fallen.
"Then," said Coroner Benson, "we have, so
far, no evidence which refutes the theory that Miss
Van Norman's written message was the expression
of her deliberate intent, and that that intention was
fulfilled by her."
Once more Mr. Benson scanned intently the
faces of his audience.
"Can no one, then," he said again, "assert or
suggest anything that may have any bearing on this
written message?"
"I can," said Robert Fessenden.


vm
A SOFT LEAD PENCIL
Coroner Benson looked at the young man
curiously. Knowing him to be a stranger in the
household, he had not expected information from
him.
"Your name?" he said quietly.
"I am Robert Fessenden, of New York City.
I am a lawyer by profession, and I came to Maple-
ton yesterday for the purpose of acting as best man
at Mr. Carleton's wedding. I came here this morn-
ing, not knowing of what had occurred in the night,
and after conversation with some members of the
household I felt impelled to investigate some points
which seemed to me mysterious. I trust I have
shown no intrusive curiosity, but I confess to a
natural detective instinct, and I noticed some pecu-
liarities about that paper you hold in your hand to
which I should like to call your attention."
Fessenden's words caused a decided stir among
his hearers, including the coroner and the two
doctors.
107


108 THE CLUE
Mr. Benson was truly anxious to learn what the
young man had to say, but at the same time his
professional jealousy was aroused by the implica-
tion that there was anything to be learned from the
paper itself, outside of his own information con-
cerning it.
"I was told," he said quickly, "that this paper
is positively written in Miss Van Norman's own
hand."
Robert Fessenden, while not exactly a handsome
man, was of a type that impressed every one pleas-
antly. He was large and blond, and had an air that
was unmistakably cultured and exceedingly well-
bred. Conventionality sat well upon him, and his
courteous self-assurance had in it no trace of egotism
or self-importance. In a word, he was what the
plain-spoken people of Mapleton called citified, and
though they sometimes resented this combination
of personal traits, in their hearts they admired and
envied it.
This was why Coroner Benson felt a slight irri-
tation at the young man's savoir faire, and at the
same time a sense of satisfaction that there was
promise of some worth-while help.
"I was told so, too," said Fessenden, in re-


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 109
sponse to the coroner's remark, " and as I have never
seen any of Miss Van Norman's writing, I have, of
course, no reason to doubt this. But this is the
point I want to inquire about: is it assumed that
Miss Van Norman wrote the words on this paper
while sitting here at the table last evening, imme-
diately or shortly before her death?"
• Mr. Benson thought a moment, then he said:
"Without any evidence to the contrary, and
indeed without having given this question any pre-
vious thought, I think I may say that it has been
tacitly assumed that this is a dying confession of
Miss Van Norman's."
He looked inquiringly at his audience, and
Doctor Hills responded.
"Yes," he said; "we have taken for granted
that Miss Van Norman wrote the message while
sitting here last evening, after the rest of the house-
hold had retired. This we infer from the fact of
Mr. Carleton's finding the paper on the table when
he discovered the tragedy."
"You thought the same, Mr. Carleton?"
"Of course; I could not do otherwise than to
believe Miss Van Norman had written the message
and had then carried out her resolve."


110 THE CLUE
"I think, Mr. Fessenden," resumed the coroner,
"we may assume this to be the case."
"Then," said Fessenden, "I will undertake to
show that it is improbable that this paper was
written as has been supposed. The message is, as
you see, written in pencil. The pencil here on the
table, and which is part of a set of desk-fittings, is
a very hard pencil, labeled H. A few marks made
by it upon a bit of paper will convince you at once
that it is not the pencil which was used to write
that message. The letters, as you see, are formed
of heavy black marks which were made with a very
soft pencil, such as is designated by 2 B or BB. If
you please, I will pause for a moment while you
satisfy yourself upon this point."
Greatly interested, Mr. Benson took the pencil
from the pen-rack and wrote some words upon a
pad of paper. Doctor Leonard and Doctor Hills
leaned over the table to note results, but no one
else stirred.
"You are quite right," said Mr. Benson; "this
message was not written with this pencil. But
what does that prove?"
"It proves nothing," said Fessenden calmly,
"but it is pretty strong evidence that the message


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 111
was not written at this table last night. For had
there been any other pencil on the table, it would
doubtless have remained. Assuming, then that Miss
Van Norman wrote this message elsewhere, and
with another pencil, it loses the special importance
commonly attributed to the words of one about to
die."
"It does," said Mr. Benson, impressed by the
fact, but at a loss to know whither the argument
was leading.
"Believing, then," went on the lawyer, "that
this paper had not been written in this room last
evening, I began to conjecture where it had been
written. For one would scarcely expect a message
of that nature to be written in one place and carried
to another. I was so firmly convinced that some-
thing could be learned on this point, that just before
we were summoned to this room, I asked permission
of Mrs. Markham to examine the appointments of
Miss Van Norman's writing-desk in her own room,
and I found in her desk no soft pencils whatever.
There were several pencils, of gold and of silver
and of ordinary wood, but the lead in each was as
hard as this one on the library table. Urged on by
what seemed to me important developments, I per-


112 THE CLUE
suaded Mrs. Markham to let me examine all of the
writing-desks in the house. I found but one soft
pencil, and that was in the desk of Miss Dupuy,
Miss Van Norman's secretary. It is quite con-
ceivable that Miss Van Norman should write at her
secretary's desk, but I" found myself suddenly con-
fronted by another disclosure. And that is that
the handwritings of Miss Van Norman and Miss
Dupuy are so similar as to be almost identical. In
view of the importance of this written message,
should it not be more carefully proved that this
writing is really Miss Van Norman's own?"
"It should, indeed," declared Coroner Benson,
who was by this time quite ready to agree to any
suggestion Mr. Fessenden might make. "Will
somebody please ask Miss Dupuy to come here?"
"I will," said Miss Morton, and, rising, she
quickly rustled from the room.
Of course, every one present immediately re-
membered that Miss Dupuy had left the room in
a fit of hysterical emotion, and wondered in what
frame of mind she would return.
Nearly every one, too, resented Miss Morton's
officiousness. Whatever errand was to be done,
she volunteered to do it, quite as if she were a


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 118
prominent member of the household, instead of a
lately arrived guest.
"This similarity of penmanship is a very impor-
tant point," observed Mr. Benson, "a very impor-
tant point indeed. I am surprised that it has not
been remarked sooner."
"I've often noticed that they wrote alike," said
Kitty French impulsively, "but I never thought
about it before in this matter. You see"—she
involuntarily addressed herself to the coroner, who
listened with interest—"you see, Madeleine in-
structed Cicely to write as nearly as possible like she
did, because Cicely was her social secretary and
answered all her notes, and wrote letters for her,
and sometimes Cicely signed Madeleine's name to
the notes, and the people who received them thought
Maddy wrote them herself. She didn't mean to
deceive, only sometimes people don't like to have
their notes answered by a secretary, and so it saved
a lot of trouble. I confess," Kitty concluded, "that
I can't always tell the difference in their writing
myself, though I usually can."
Miss Morton returned, bringing Cicely with
her. Still officious of manner, Miss Morton re-
arranged some chairs, and then seated herself in the
8


114 THE CLUE
front row with Cicely beside her. She showed what
seemed almost an air of proprietorship in the girl,
patting her shoulder, and whispering to her, as if
by way of encouragement.
But Miss Dupuy's demeanor had greatly
changed. No longer weeping, she had assumed an
almost defiant attitude, and her thin lips were tightly
closed in a way that did not look promising to those
who desired information.
With a conspicuous absence of tact or diplo-
macy, Mr. Benson asked her abruptly, "Did you
write this paper?"
"I did," said Cicely, and as soon as the words
were uttered her lips closed again with a snap.
Her reply fell like a bombshell upon the breath-
less group of listeners. Tom Willard was the first
to speak.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Maddy didn't write
that? You wrote it?"
"Yes," asserted Cicely, looking Tom squarely
in the eyes.
"When did you write it?" asked the coroner.
"A week or more ago."
"Why did you write it?"
"I refuse to tell."


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 115
"Who is the S. mentioned on this paper?"
"I refuse to tell."
"You needn't tell. That is outside the case. It
is sufficient for us to know that Miss Van Norman
did not write this paper. If you wrote it, it has
no bearing on the case. Your penmanship is very
like hers."
"I practised to make it so," said Cicely. "Miss
Van Norman desired me to do so, that I might
answer unimportant notes and sign her name to
them. They were in no sense forgeries. Ladies
frequently" have their own names signed by their
secretaries. Miss Van Norman often received notes
like that."
"Why did you not tell before that you wrote
this paper supposed to have been written by Miss
Van Norman?"
"Nobody asked me." Miss Dupuy's tone was
defiant and even pert. Robert Fessenden began to
look at the girl with increasing interest. He felt
quite sure that she knew more about the tragedy
than he had suspected. His detective instinct
became immediately alert, and he glanced signifi-
cantly at Kitty French.
She was breathlessly watching Cicely, but noth-


116 THE CLUE
ing could be learned from the girl's inscrutable
face, and to an attentive listener her very voice did
not ring true.
Doctor Leonard and Doctor Hills looked at each
other. Both remembered that the night before,
Cicely had stealthily opened the door of the library
and put her head in, but seeing them, had quickly
gone back again.
This information might or might not be of
importance, but after a brief whispered conference,
the two men concluded that it was not the time
then to refer to it.
Mr. Carleton, though still pale and haggard of
face, seemed to have taken on new interest, and
listened attentively to the conversation, while big,
good-natured Tom Willard leaned forward and
took the paper, and then sat studying it, with a per-
plexed expression.
"But why did you not volunteer the informa-
tion? You must have known it was of great impor-
tance." The coroner spoke almost petulantly, and
indeed Miss Dupuy had suppressed important infor-
mation.
At his question she became greatly embarrassed.
She blushed and looked down, and then, with an


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 117
effort resuming her air of defiance, she snapped
out her answer: "I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid that they would think somebody killed
Miss Van Norman, instead of that she killed her-
self, as she did."
"How do you know she did?"
"I don't know it, except that I left her here
alone when I went to my room, and the house was
all locked up, and soon after that she was found
dead. So she must have killed herself."
"Those conclusions," said the coroner pom-
pously, "are for us to arrive at, not for you to
declare. The case," he then said, turning toward
the doctors and the young detective, "is entirely
changed by the hearing of Miss Dupuy's testimony.
The fact that the note was not written by Miss Van
Norman, will, I'm sure, remove from the minds of
the doctors the possibility of suicide."
"It certainly will," said Doctor Leonard. "I
quite agree with Doctor Hills that except for the
note all evidence is against the theory of suicide."
"Then," went on Mr. Benson, "if it is not a
suicide, Miss Van Norman must have been the
victim of foul play, and it is our duty to investigate


118 THE CLUE
the matter, and attempt to discover whose hand it
was that wielded the fatal dagger."
Mr. Benson was fond of high-sounding words
and phrases, and, finding himself in charge of what
promised to be a mysterious, if not a celebrated,
case, he made the most of his authoritative position.
Robert Fessenden paid little attention to the
coroner's speech. His brain was working rapidly,
and he was trying to piece together such data as he
had already accumulated in the way of evidence.
It was but little, to be sure, and in lieu of definite
clues he allowed himself to speculate a little on the
probabilities
But he realized that he was in the presence of
a mysterious murder case, and he was more than
willing to do anything he could toward discovering
the truth of the matter.
The known facts were so appalling, and any evi-
dence of undiscovered facts was as yet so extremely
slight, that Fessenden felt there was a great deal
to be done.
He was trying to collect and systematize his
own small fund of information when he realized
that the audience was being dismissed.
Mr. Benson announced that he would convene


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 119
a jury and hold an inquest that same afternoon, and
then he would expect all those now present to return
as witnesses.
Without waiting to learn what the others did,
Fessenden turned to Kitty French, and asked her to
go with him for a stroll.
"You need fresh air," he said, as they stepped
from the veranda; "but, also, I need you to talk
to. I can formulate my ideas better if I express
then aloud, and you are such a clear-headed and
sympathetic listener that it helps a lot."
Kitty smiled with pleasure at the compliment,
then her pretty face became grave again as she
remembered what must be the subject of their
conversation.
"Before I talk to the lawyers or detectives who
will doubtless soon infest the house, I want to
straighten out my own ideas."
"I don't see how you can have any," said Kitty;
"I mean, of course, any definite ideas about who
committed the murder."
"I haven't really definite ones, but I want you
to help me get some."
"Well," said Kitty, looking provokingly lovely
in her serious endeavor to be helpful, "let's sit
down here and talk it over."


120 THE CLUE
"Here" was a sort of a rustic arbor, which
was a delightful place for a tete-a-tete, but not at
all conducive to deep thought or profound conver-
sation.
"Go on," said Kitty, pursing her red lips and
puckering her white brow in her determination to
supply the help that was required of her.
"But I can't go on, if you look like that! All
logic and deduction fly out of my head, and I can
think only of poetry and romance. And it won't
do! At least, not now. Can't you try to give a
more successful imitation of a coroner's jury?"
Kitty tried to look stupid and wise, both at
once, and only succeeded in looking bewitching.
"It's no use," said Fessenden; "I can't sit
facing you, as I would the real thing in the way of
juries. So I'll sit beside you, and look at the side
of that distant barn, while we talk."
So he turned partly round, and, fixing his gaze
on the stolid red barn, said abruptly:
"Who wrote that paper?"
"I don't know," said Kitty, feeling that she
couldn't help much here.
"Somehow, I can't seem to believe that Dupuy
girl wrote it. She sounded to me like a lady
reciting a fabrication."


A SOFT LEAD PENCIL 121
"I thought that, too," said Kitty. "I never
liked Cicely, because I never trusted her. But
Maddy was very fond of her, and she wouldn't
have been, unless she had found Cicely trust-
worthy."
"Come to luncheon, you two," said Tom Wil-
lard, as he approached the arbor.
"Oh, Mr. Willard," said Kitty, "who do you
think wrote that paper?"
"Why, Miss Dupuy," said Tom, in surprise.
"She owned up to it."
"Yes, I know; but I'm not sure she told the
truth."
"I don't know why she shouldn't," said Tom,
thoughtfully. And then he added gently, "And,
after looking at it closely, I felt sure, myself, it
wasn't Maddy's writing, after all."
"Then it must be Cicely's," said Kitty. "I
admit I can't tell them apart."
And then the three went back to the house.


IX
THE WILL
Immediately after luncheon Lawyer Peabody
came. This gentleman had had charge of the Van
Norman legal matters for many years, and it was
known by most of those present that he was bring-
ing with him such wills or other documents as
might have a bearing on the present crisis.
Mr. Peabody was an old man; moreover, he
had for many years been intimately associated with
the Van Norman household, and had been a close
friend of both Richard Van Norman and Made-
leine. Shattered and broken by the sad tragedy in
the household, he could scarcely repress his emo-
tion when he undertook to address the little audi-
ence.
But the main purport of his business there at
that time was to announce the contents of the two
wills in his possession.
The first one, the will of Richard Van Norman,
was no surprise to any one present, except perhaps
those few who did not live in Mapleton. One of
122


THE WILL 123
these, Robert Fessenden, was extremely interested
to learn that because of Madeleine's death before
her marriage, and also before she was twenty-
three years of age, the large fortune of Richard
Van Norman, which would have been hers on her
wedding day, passed at once and unrestrictedly to
Tom Willard.
But also by the terms of Richard Van Norman's
will the fine old mansion and grounds and a sum
of money, modest in comparison with the whole
fortune, but ample to maintain the estate, were
Madeleine's own, and had been from the day of her
uncle's death.
Possessed of this property, therefore, Made-
leine had made a will which was dated a few months
before her death, and which Mr. Peabody now
read.
After appropriate and substantial bequests to
several intimate friends, to her housekeeper and
secretary, and to all the servants, Madeleine devised
that her residuary fortune and the Van Norman
house and grounds should become the property of
Miss Elizabeth Morton.
This was a complete surprise to all, with the
possible exception of Miss Morton herself. It was


124 THE CLUE
not easy to judge from her haughty and self-satis-
fied countenance whether she had known of this
before or not.
Fessenden, who was watching her closely, was
inclined to think she had known of it, and again
his busy imagination ran riot. The first point, he
thought to himself, in discovering a potential mur-
derer, is to inquire who will be benefited by the
victim's death. Apparently the only ones to profit
by the passing of Madeleine Van Norman were
Tom Willard and Miss Morton. But even the
ingenious imagination of the young detective balked
at the idea of connecting either of these two with
the tragedy. He knew Willard had not been in
the house at the time of the murder, and Miss
Morton, as he had chanced to discover, had occu-
pied a room on the third floor. Moreover, it was
absurd on the face of things to fancy a well-bred,
middle-aged lady stealing downstairs at dead of
night to kill her charming young hostess!
It was with a sense of satisfaction therefore that
Fessenden assured himself that he had formed no
suspicions whatever, and could listen with a mind
entirely unprejudiced to such evidence as the coro-
ner's inquiry might bring forth.


THE WILL 125
He was even glad that he had not discussed the
matter further with Kitty French. He still thought
she had clear vision and good judgment, but he
had begun to realize that in her presence his own
clearness of vision was dazzled by her dancing eyes
and a certain distracting charm which he had never
before observed in any woman.
But he told himself somewhat sternly that femi-
nine charm must not be allowed to interfere with
the present business in hand, and he seated himself
at a considerable distance from Kitty French, when
it was time for the inquest.
A slight delay was occasioned by waiting for
Coroner Benson's own stenographer, but when he
arrived the inquiry was at once begun.
At the request of Miss Morton, or, it might
rather be said, at her command, the whole assembly
had moved to the drawing-room, it being a much
larger and more airy apartment, and withal less
haunted by the picture of the tragedy itself.
And yet to hold a coroner's inquiry in a room
gay with wedding decorations was almost, if not
quite, as ghastly.
But Coroner Benson paid no heed to emotional
considerations and conducted himself with the same


126 THE CLUE
air of justice and legality as if he had been in a
court-room or the town-hall.
As for the jury he had gathered, the half-dozen
men, though filled with righteous indignation at
the crime committed in their village, wasted no
thought on the incongruity of their surroundings.
Coroner Benson put his first question to Mrs.
Markham, as he considered her, in a way at least,
the present head of the household. To be sure, the
house now legally belonged to Miss Morton, and
that lady was quickly assuming an added air of
importance which was doubtless the result of her
recent inheritance; but Mrs. Markham was still
housekeeper, and by virtue of her long association
with the place, Mr. Benson chose to treat her with
exceeding courtesy and deference.
But Mrs. Markham, though now quite com-
posed and willing to answer questions, could give no
evidence of any importance. She testified that she
had seen Madeleine last at about ten o'clock the
night before. This was after the guests who had
been at dinner had gone away, and the house
guests had gone to their rooms. Miss Van Norman
was alone in the library, and as Mrs. Markham
left her she asked her to send Cicely Dupuy to the


THE WILL 127
library. Mrs. Markham had then gone directly to
her own room, which was on the second floor, above
the drawing-room. It was at the front of the
house, and the room behind it, also over the long
drawing-room, was the one now devoted to the
exhibition of Madeleine's wedding gifts. Mrs.
Markham had retired almost immediately and had
heard no unusual sounds. She explained, however,
that she was somewhat deaf, and had there been
any disturbance downstairs it was by no means
probable that she would have heard it
"What was the first intimation you had that
anything had happened? " asked Mr. Benson.
"Kitty French came to my door and called to
me. Her excited voice made me think something
was wrong, and, dressing hastily, I came down-
stairs, to find many of the household already
assembled."
"And then you went into the library?"
"Yes; I had no idea Madeleine was dead. I
thought she had fainted, and I went toward her at
once."
"Did you touch her?"
"Yes; and I saw at once she was not living, but
Miss Morton said perhaps she might be, and then
she telephoned for Doctor Hills."


128 THE CLUE
"Can you tell me if the house is carefully locked
at night?"
"It is, I am sure; but it is not in my province
to attend to it."
"Whose duty is it?"
"That of Harris, the butler."
"Will you please call Harris at once?" Mr.
Benson's tone of finality seemed to dismiss Mrs.
Markham as a witness, and she rang the bell for the
butler.
Harris came in, a perfect specimen of that type
of butler that is so similar to a certain type of
bishop.
Aside from the gravity of the occasion, he
seemed to show a separate gravity of position, of
importance, and of all-embracing knowledge.
"Your name is Harris?" said Mr. Benson.
"Yes, sir; James Harris, sir."
"You have been employed in this house for
some years?"
"Seventeen years and more, sir."
"Is it your duty to lock up the house at night?"
"It is, sir. Mr. Van Norman was most par-
ticular about it, sir, being as how the house is alone
like in the grounds, and there being so much trees
and shrubberies about."


THE WILL 129
"There are strong bolts to doors and win-
dows?"
"Most especial strong, sir. It was Mr. Van
Norman's wish to make it impossible for burglars
to get in."
"And did he succeed in this?"
"He did, sir, for sure. There are patent locks
on every door and window, more than one on most
of them; and whenever Mr. Van Norman heard of
a new kind of lock, he'd order it at once."
"Is the house fitted with burglar alarms?"
"No, sir; Mr. Van Norman depended on his
safety locks and strong bolts. He said he didn't
want no alarm, because it was forever getting out
o' kilter, and bolts were surer, after all."
"And every night you make sure that these
bolts and fastenings are all secured in place?"
"I do, sir, and I have done it for many years."
"You looked after them last night, as usual?"
"Sure, sir; every one of them I attended to
myself."
"You can testify, then, that the house could not
have been entered by a burglar last night?" asked
Mr. Benson.
"Not by a burglar, nor by nobody else, sir,
9


130 THE CLUE
unless they broke down a door or cut out a pane of
glass."
"Yet Mr. Carleton came in."
Harris looked annoyed. "Of course, sir, any-
body could come in the front door with a latch-key.
I didn't mean that they couldn't. But all the other
doors and windows were fastened all right, and I
found them all right this morning."
"You made a careful examination of them?"
"Yes, sir. Of course we was all up through the
night, and as soon as I learned that Miss Madeleine
was—was gone, sir, I felt I ought to look about a
bit. And everything was as right as could be, sir.
No burglar was into this house last night, sir."
"How about the cellar?"
"We never bother much about the cellar, sir,
as there's nothing down there to steal, unless they
take the furnace or the gas-meter. But the door
at the top of the cellar stairs, as opens into the hall,
sir, is locked every night with a double lock and a
bolt besides."
"Then no burglar could come up through the
cellar way?"
"That he couldn't, sir. Nor yet down through
the skylight, for the skylight is bolted every night
same as the windows."


THE WILL 131
"And the windows on the second floor—are
they fastened at night?"
"They are in the halls, sir. But of course in
the bedrooms I don't know how they may be. That
is, the occupied bedrooms. When the guest rooms
are vacant I always fasten those windows."
"Then you can testify, Harris, that there was
no way for any one to enter this house last night
except at the front door with a latch-key or through
the window of some occupied bedroom?"
"I can swear to that, sir."
"You are sure you've overlooked no way? Np
back window, or seldom-used door?"
Harris was a little hurt at this insistent question-
ing, but the coroner recognized that this was a
most important bit of evidence, and so pressed his
questions.
"I'm sure of it, sir. Mr. Van Norman taught
me to be most thorough about this matter, and I've
never done different since Miss Madeleine has been
mistress here."
"That is all, thank you, Harris. You may go."
Harris went away, his honest countenance show-
ing a look of relief that his ordeal was over, and
yet betokening a perplexed anxiety also.


132 THE CLUE
Cicely Dupuy was next called upon to give her
evidence, or rather to continue the testimony which
she had begun in the library. The girl had a pleas-
anter expression than she had shown at the previous
questioning, but a red spot burned in either cheek,
and she was clearly trying to be calm, though really
under stress of a great excitement.
"You were with Miss Van Norman in the
library last evening? " began Mr. Benson, speaking
more gently than he had been doing, for he feared
an emotional outburst might again render this wit-
ness unavailable.
"Yes," said Miss Dupuy, in a low tone; " when
Mrs. Markham came upstairs she stopped at my
door and said Miss Van Norman wanted me, and
I went down immediately."
"You have been Miss Van Norman's secretary
for some time?"
"For nearly five years."
"What were your duties?"
"I attended to her social correspondence; helped
her with her accounts, both household and personal;
read to her, and often did errands and made calls
for her."
"She was kind to you?"


THE WILL 183
"She was more than kind. She treated me
always as her social equal, and as her friend."
Cicely's blue eyes filled with tears, and her
voice quivered as she spoke this tribute to her
employer.
Again Mr. Benson feared she would break
down, and changed his course of questioning.
"At what time did you go to the library last
evening?"
"It could not have been more than a few
minutes past ten."
"What did you do there?"
"Miss Van Norman dictated some lists of mat-
ters to be attended to, and she discussed with me a
few final arrangements for her wedding."
"Did she seem about as usual in her manner?"
"Yes,—except that she was very tired, and
seemed a little preoccupied."
"And then she dismissed you?"
"Yes. She told me to go to bed, and said that
she should sit up for an hour or so, and would
write some notes herself."
"Apparently she did not do so, as no notes have
been found in the library."
"That must be so, sir."


134 THE CLUE
But as she said this, a change came over Miss
Dupuy's face. She seemed to think that the absence
of those notes was of startling importance, and
though she tried not to show her agitation, it was
clearly evident from the way she bit her lower lip,
and clenched her fingers.
"At what time did Miss Van Norman dismiss
you?" asked Mr. Benson, seeming to ignore her
embarrassment.
"At half-past ten."
"Did you retire at once?"
"No; I had some notes to write for Miss Van
Norman, and also some of my own, and I sat at
my desk for some time. I don't know just how
long."
"And then what happened?"
At this question Cicely Dupuy became more
nervous and embarrassed than ever. She hesitated
and then made two or three attempts to speak, each
one of which resulted in no intelligible sound.


X
SOME TESTIMONY
"There is nothing to fear," said Mr. Benson
kindly. "Simply tell us what you heard while
sitting there writing, that caused you to leave your
room."
Glancing around as if in search of some one,
Cicely finally managed to make an audible reply.
"I heard a loud cry," she said, "that sounded as if
somebody were frightened or in danger. I nat-
urally ran out into the hall, and, looking over the
baluster, I saw Mr. Carleton in the hall below. I
felt sure then that it was he who had cried out, so
I came downstairs."
"At what time was this?"
"At half-past eleven exactly."
"How do you know so accurately?"
"Because as I came downstairs the old clock on
the middle landing chimed the half-hour. It has a
deep soft note, and it struck just as I passed the
clock, and it startled me a little, so of course I
remember it perfectly."
135


186 THE CLUE
"And then?"
"And then "—Cicely again hesitated, but with
a visible effort resumed her speech—"why, and
then I came on down, and found Mr. Carleton
nearly distracted. I could not guess what was the
matter. He was turning on the lights and ringing
the servants' bells and acting like a man beside
himself. Then in a moment Marie appeared, and
gave one of her French shrieks that completely
upset what little nerve I had left."
"And what did you do next?"
"I—I went into the library."
"Why?"
Cicely looked up suddenly, as if startled, but
after only an instant's hesitation replied:
"Because Mr. Carleton pointed toward the
doorway, and Marie and I went in together."
"You knew at once that Miss Van Norman
was not alive?"
"I was not sure, but Marie went toward her,
and then turned away with another of her horrid
screams, and I felt that Miss Van Norman must be
dead."
"What did Mr. Carleton say?"
"He said nothing. He—he pointed to the
written paper on the table."


SOME TESTIMONY 137
"Which you had written yourself?"
"Yes, but he didn't know that." Cicely spoke
eagerly, as if saying something of importance.
"He thought she wrote it."
"Never mind that point for the moment. But
I must now ask you to explain that written message
which you have declared that you yourself wrote."
At this Cicely's manner changed. She became
again the obstinate and defiant woman who had
answered the coroner's earlier questions.
"I refuse to explain it."
"Consider a moment," said Mr. Benson quietly.
"Sooner or later—perhaps at a trial—you will be
obliged to explain this matter. How much better,
then, to confide in us now, and perhaps lead tc an
immediate solution of the mystery."
Cicely pondered a moment, then she said, "I
have nothing to conceal, I will tell you. I did write
that paper, and it was the confession of my heart.
I am very miserable, and when I wrote it I quite
intended to take my own life. When I was called
to go to Miss Van Norman in the library, I gathered
up some notes and lists from my desk to take to her.
In my haste I must have included that paper without
knowing it, for when I reached my room I could


138 THE CLUE
not find it. And then—then when I saw it—there
on the table—I "Cicely had again grown
nervous and excited. Her voice trembled, her eyes
filled with tears, and, fearing a nervous collapse,
Mr. Benson hurried on to other questions.
"Whom does that S. in your note stand for."
"That I shall never tell." The determination
in her voice convinced him that it was useless to
insist on that point, so the coroner went on.
"Perhaps we have no right to ask. Now you
must tell me some other things, and, believe me,
my questions are not prompted by curiosity, but
are necessary to the discovery of the truth. Why
did Mr. Carleton point to that paper?"
"He—he seemed so shocked and stunned that
he was almost unable to speak. I suppose he thought
that would explain why she had killed herself."
"But she hadn't killed herself."
"But he thought she had, and he thought that
paper proved it."
"But why had he need to prove it, and to you?"
"I don't know. I don't know what he thought!
I don't know what I thought myself after I reached
the library door and looked in and saw that dread-
ful sight! Oh, I shall see it all my life!" At the


SOME TESTIMONY 139
memory Cicely broke down again and sank into her
chair, shaking with convulsive sobs.
Mr. Benson did not disturb her further, but
proceeded to question the others.
The account of Marie, the maid, merely served
to corroborate what Cicely had said. Marie, too,
had heard Carleton's cry for help, and, throwing on
a dressing-gown, had run down-stairs to Made-
leine's room. Not finding her mistress there, she
had hurried down to the first floor, reaching the
lower hall but a few minutes after Cicely did. She
said also that it was just about half-past eleven by
the clock in her own room when she heard Mr.
Carleton's cry.
"You knew who it was that had called out so
loudly?" asked Mr. Benson.
"No, m'sieu; I heard only the shriek as of one
in great disaster. I ran to Miss Van Norman's
room, as that was my first duty."
"Were you not in attendance upon her?"
"No; she had sent me the message by Miss
Dupuy, that I need not attend her when she retired."
"Did this often occur?"
"Not often; but sometimes when Miss Van
Norman sat up late, by herself, she would excuse


140 THE CLUE
me at an earlier hour. She was most kind and
considerate of everybody."
"Then when at last you saw Miss Van Norman
in the library, what did you do?"
"Mon Dieu! I shrieked! Why not? I was
amazed, shocked, but, above all, desolated! It was
a cruel scene. I knew not what to do, so, naturally,
I shrieked."
Marie's French shrug almost convinced her
hearers that truly that was the only thing to do on
such an occasion.
"And now," said Coroner Benson, "can you
tell us of anything, any incident or any knowledge
of your own, that will throw any light on this whole
matter?"
Marie's pretty face took on a strange expression.
It was not fear or terror, but a sort of perplexity.
She gave a furtive glance at Mr. Carleton and then
at Miss Morton, and hesitated.
At last she spoke, slowly:
"If monsieur could perhaps word his question
a little differently—with more of a definiteness"
"Very well; do you know anything of Miss
Van Norman's private affairs that would assist us
in discovering who killed her."


SOME TESTIMONY 141
"No, monsieur," said Marie promptly, and with
a look of relief.
"Did Miss Van Norman ever, in the slightest
way, express any intention or desire to end her
life?"
"Never, monsieur."
"Do you think she was glad and happy in the
knowledge of her fast-approaching wedding-day?"
"lam sure of it;" and Marie's tone was that of
one who well knew whereof she spoke.
"That is all, then, for the present; " and Marie,
with another sidelong, curious glance at Miss Mor-
ton, resumed her seat.
Kitty French and Molly Gardner were ques-
tioned, but they told nothing that would throw any
light on the matter. They had heard the cry, and
while hastily dressing had heard the general commontion in the house. They had thought it must be a
fire, and not until they reached the library did they
know what had really happened.
"And then," said Kitty indignantly, in conclu-
sion of her own recital, "we were not allowed to
stay with the others, but were sent to our rooms.
So how can we give any evidence?"
It was plain to be seen, Miss French felt herself


142 THE CLUE
defrauded of an opportunity that should have been
hers, but Miss Gardner was of quite a different
mind. She answered in whispered monosyllables
the questions put by the coroner, and as she knew
no more than Kitty of the whole matter, she was
not questioned much.
Robert Fessenden smiled a little at the different
attitudes of the two girls. He knew Kitty was
eager to hear all the exciting details, while Molly
shrank from the whole subject. However, as they
were such minor witnesses, the coroner paid little
serious attention to them or to their statements.
Miss Morton's testimony came next. Fessenden
regarded her with interest, as, composed and calm,
she waited the coroner's interrogations.
She was deliberate and careful in making her
replies, and it seemed to the young detective as if
she knew nothing whatever about the whole affair,
but was trying to imply that she knew a great deal.
"You went to your room when the others did,
at about ten o'clock? " asked Mr. Benson.
"Yes, but I did not retire at once."
"Did you hear any sounds that caused you
alarm?"
"No, not alarm. Curiosity, perhaps, but that is


SOME TESTIMONY 143
surely pardonable to a naturally timid woman in a
strange house."
"Then you did hear sounds. Can you describe
them?"
"I do not think they were other than those made
by the servants attending to their duties. But the
putting on of coal or the fastening of windows are
noticeable sounds when one is not accustomed to
them."
"You could discern, then, that it was the shov-
elling of coal or the fastening of windows that you
heard?"
"No, I could not. My hearing is extremely
acute, but as my room is on the third floor, all the
sounds I heard were faint and muffled."
"Did you hear Mr. Carleton's cry for help?"
"I did, but at that distance it did not sound
loud. However, I was sufficiently alarmed to open
my door and step out into the hall. I had not taken
off my evening gown, and, seeing bright lights
downstairs, of course I immediately went down.
The household was nearly all assembled when I
reached the library. I saw at once what had hap-
pened, and I saw, too, that Mrs. Markham and the
younger women were quite frantic with fright and


144 THE CLUE
excitement. I thought it my duty therefore to take
up the reins of government, and I took the liberty of
telephoning for the doctor. I think there is nothing
more of importance that I can tell you."
At this Fessenden barely repressed a smile, for
he could not see that Miss Morton had told any-
thing of importance at all.
"I would like," said Mr. Benson, "for you to
inform us as to your relations with the Van Nor-
man household. Have you been long acquainted
with Miss Van Norman?"
"About two years," replied Miss Morton, with
a snapping together of her teeth, which was one of
her many peculiarities of manner.
"And how did the acquaintance come about?"
"Her uncle and I were friends many years
ago," said Miss Morton. "I knew Richard Van
Norman before Madeleine was born. We quar-
relled, and I never saw him again. After his death
Madeleine wrote to me, and several letters passed
between us. At her invitation I made a short visit
here about a year ago. Again, at her invitation, I
came here yesterday to be present at her wedding."
Miss Morton's manner, though quiet, betokened
repressed excitement rather than suppressed emo-
tion. In no way did her hard, bright eyes show


SOME TESTIMONY 145
grief or sorrow, but they flashed in a way that indi-
cated high nervous pressure.
"Did you know that you were to inherit this
house and a large sum of money at Miss Van
Norman's death?" The question was thrown at
her so suddenly that Miss Morton almost gasped.
She hesitated for an appreciable instant, then
with a sudden snap of her strong, angular jaw, she
said, "No!"
"You had no intimation of it whatever?"
"No." Again that excessive decision of man-
ner, which to Fessenden's mind, at least, stultified
rather than corroborated the verity of her state-
ment.
But Coroner Benson expressed no doubt of his
witness, but merely said casually:
"Yet, on the occasion of the tragedy last night,
you at once assumed the attitude of the head of
the house. You gave orders to the servants, you
took up the reins of management, and seemed to
anticipate the fact that the house was eventually to
be your own."
Miss Morton looked aghast. If one chose to
think so, she looked as if detected in a false state-
ment. Glancing round the room, she saw the eyes
of Kitty French and of Marie, the maid, intently
10


146 THE CLUE
fixed on her. This seemed to unnerve her, and in
a broken, trembling voice, almost a whine, she
said:
"If I did so, it was only with a helpful motive.
Mrs. Markham was so collapsed with the shock
she had just sustained, that she was really incapable
of giving orders. If I did so, it was only from a
desire to be of service."
This seemed indeed plausible, and the most
casual observer would know that Miss Morton's
"helpfulness " could only be accomplished in a per-
emptory and dictatorial manner.
"Will you tell us why Miss Van Norman chose
to leave you so large a bequest, when she had known
you so slightly? " asked Mr. Benson.
Fessenden thought Miss Morton would resent
this question, but instead she answered, willingly
enough:
"Because she knew that except for my unfor-
tunate quarrel with Richard Van Norman, many
years ago, the place would have been mine any
way."
"You mean you were to have married Mr. Van
Norman."
"I mean just that."
Miss Morton looked a little defiant, but also an


SOME TESTIMONY 147
air of pride tinged her statement, and she seemed to
be asserting her lifelong right to the property.
"Miss Van Norman, then, knew of your friend-
ship with her uncle, and the reason of its cessa-
tion?"
"She learned of it about two years ago."
"How?"
"By finding some letters of mine among Mr.
Van Norman's papers, shortly after his death."
"And in consequence of that discovery she
willed you this house at her death?"
"Yes; that is, I suppose she must have done so
—as she did so will it."
"But you did not know of it, and the reading
of the will was to you a surprise?"
"Yes," declared Miss Morton, and though the
coroner then dismissed her without comment on her
statements, there were several present who did not
believe the lady spoke veraciously.
Tom Willard was called next, and Fessenden
wondered what could be the testimony of a man
who had not arrived on the scene until more than
two hours after the deed was done.
And indeed there was little that-Torn could say.
Mr. Benson asked him to detail his own movements
after he left the house the night before.


148 THE CLUE
"There's little to tell," said Tom, "but I'll
try to be exact. I went away from this house
about ten o'clock, taking with me a suit-case full of
clothes. I went directly to the Mapleton Inn, and
though I don't know exactly, I should say I must
have reached there in something less than ten min-
utes. Then I went to the office of the establishment,
registered, and asked for a room. The proprietor
gave me a good enough room, a bellboy picked
up my bag, and I went to my room at once."
"And remained there?"
"Yes; later I rang for some ice water, which
the same boy brought to me. Directly after that I
turned in. I slept soundly until awakened by a
knocking at my door at about two o'clock in the
morning."
"The message from this house?"
"Yes. The landlord himself stood there when
I opened the door, and told me I was wanted on the
telephone. When I went to the telephone I heard
Miss Morton's voice, and she asked me to come over
here. I came as quickly as possible, and"
Tom's voice broke at this point, and, feeling
that his story was finished, Mr. Benson consider-
ately asked him no further questions.


XI
I DECLINE TO SAY"
Schuyler Carleton was questioned next.
When Mr. Benson asked him to tell his story, he
hesitated and finally said that he would prefer to
have the coroner ask direct questions, which he
would answer.
"Did you go away from this house with the
other guests at about ten o'clock last evening?"
"No, I was not here at dinner. I left at about
half-past five in the afternoon."
"Where did you go?"
"I went directly home and remained there until
late in the evening."'
"Mr. Fessenden was with you?"
"He was with us at dinner. He is staying at my
house, as he was invited to be best man at the
wedding."
Though this statement came calmly from Carle-
ton's lips, it was evident to all that he fully appre-
ciated the tragic picture it suggested.
"He was with you through the evening?"
149


150 THE CLUE
"Part of the time. He went early to his room,
saying he had some business to attend to."
"Why were you two not here to dinner with
Miss Van Norman?"
Fessenden looked up, surprised at this question.
Surely Mr. Benson had gathered odd bits of infor-
mation since morning.
Schuyler Carleton looked stern.
"I did not come because I did not wish to.
Mr. Fessenden remained with me, saying he did
not care to attend the dinner unless I did."
Carleton looked casually at Fessenden as he said
this, and though there was no question in the
glance, Rob nodded his head in corroboration of the
witness.
"You spent the entire evening at home, then?"
"Yes, until a late hour."
"And then?"
"I returned here between eleven and twelve
o'clock."
"To make a call?'
"No, I came upon an errand."
"What was the errand?"
"As it has no bearing upon the case, I think it
is my privilege to decline to answer."


"I DECLINE TO SAY" 151
"You entered the house with a latch-key."
"I did."
"Is that latch-key your own property?"
"For the time, yes. Mrs. Markham gave it to
me a few days ago, for my convenience, because I
have occasion to come to the house so frequently."
"Was it your intention when you went away in
the afternoon to return later?"
"It was."
"Upon this secret errand?"
"Yes."
"Did you expect to see Miss Van Norman when
you entered the house with the latch-key?"
"I did not."
"And when you entered you discovered the
tragedy in the library?"
Schuyler Carleton hesitated. His dry lips quiv-
ered and his whole frame shook with intense emo-
tion. "Y-yes," he stammered.
But the mere fact of that hesitation instantly
kindled a spark of suspicion in the minds of some
of his hearers. Until that moment Carleton's exces-
sive agitation had been attributed entirely to his
grief at the awful fate which had come to his
fiancee; but now, all at once, the man's demeanor
gave an impression of something else.


152 THE CLUE
Could it be guilt?
Fessenden looked at his friend curiously. In
his mind, however, no slightest suspicion was
aroused, but he wondered what it was that Carleton
was keeping back. Surely the man must know that
to make any mystery about his call at the Van
Norman mansion the night before, was to invite
immediate and justifiable suspicion.
The court had instructed the district attorney
to be present at the inquest, and though that unob-
trusive gentleman had taken notes, and otherwise
shown a quiet interest in the proceedings, he now
awakened to a more alert manner, and leaned for-
ward to get a better look at the white, set face of
the witness.
Carleton looked like a marble image. His re-
fined, patrician features seemed even handsomer
for their haggard agony. Surely he was in no
way responsible for the awful deed that had been
done, and yet just as surely he was possessed of
some awful secret fear which kept every nerve
strained and tense.
Endeavoring not to exhibit the surprise and
dismay which he felt, Coroner Benson continued his
questions.


"I DECLINE TO SAY" 153
"And then, when you discovered Miss Van
Norman, what did you do?"
Carleton passed his hand across his white brow.
"I hardly know," he said. "I was stunned—dazed.
I went toward her, and, seeing the dagger on the
floor, I picked it up mechanically, scarcely knowing
what I did. I felt intuitively that the girl was
dead, but I did not touch her, and, not knowing
what else to do, I cried out for help."
"And turned on the lights?"
"I pushed several electric buttons, not knowing
which were lights and which bells; my principal
idea was to arouse the inmates of the house at
once."
"Who first appeared in answer to your call?"
"Miss Dupuy came running downstairs at once,
followed by Miss Van Norman's maid."
"And then you pointed to the paper that lay on
the table near Miss Van Norman's hand."
"Yes; I could not speak, and I thought that
would tell Miss Dupuy that Miss Van Norman had
taken her own life."
"You thought, then, that Miss Van Norman
wrote the message?"
"I thought so then—and I think so now."


154 THE CLUE
This, of course, produced a sensation, but it was
only evidenced by a deeper silence on the part of
the startled audience.
"But Miss Dupuy asserts that she wrote it,"
said the coroner.
To this Schuyler Carleton merely gave a slight
bow of his handsome head, but it said as plainly
as words that his belief was not altered by Miss
Dupuy's assertion.
"Granting for the moment, then," went on Mr.
Benson, "that Miss Van Norman did write it, is
the message intelligible to you?"
"Intelligible, yes;" said Carleton, "but, as I
have said before, inexplicable."
This ambiguous speech meant little to most of
the listeners, but it seemed to give Robert Fessen-
den food for thought, and he looked at Carleton
with a new wonder in his eyes.
"Mr. Carleton," said the coroner, with a note
of gravity in his voice, "I think it my duty to tell
you that your own interests require you to state the
nature of your errand to this house last night."
"I decline to do so."
"Then, will you state as exactly as you can the
hour at which you entered the front door?"


« I DECLINE TO SAY" 155
"I don't know precisely. But Miss Dupuy has
testified that she came downstairs in response to
my call at half-past eleven. I came into the house
a—a few moments before."
"That is all," said the coroner abruptly. "Mr.
Hunt, if you please."
The man from headquarters, who had guarded
the present room through the night, came in from
the doorway where he had been standing.
"Will you tell what you know concerning Mr.
Carleton's entrance last night?" said the coroner,
briefly.
"I was on guard in the present room from nine
o'clock on," said Mr. Hunt. "Of course I was on
the watch-out for anything unusual, and alert to
hear any sound. I heard the company go away at
ten o'clock, I heard most of the people in the house
go to their rooms right after that. I heard and I
also saw Miss Dupuy go down to the library after
that, and return to her room about half-past ten. I
noticed all these things because that is my business,
but they made no special impression on me, as they
were but the natural proceedings of the people who
belonged here. Of course I was only on the look-
out for intruders. I heard the sound of a latch-key


156 THE CLUE
and I heard the front door open at exactly quarter
after eleven. I stepped out into the hall, and, look-
ing downstairs, I saw Mr. Carleton enter. I also
saw Miss Dupuy in the upper hall looking over the
banister. She, too, must have seen Mr. Carleton.
But as all of this was none of my business, and as
nobody had entered who hadn't a right to, I simply
returned to my post. At half-past eleven I heard
Mr. Carleton's cry, and saw the lights go up all
over the house. Anything more, sir?"
"Not at present, Mr. Hunt. Miss Dupuy, did
you hear Mr. Carleton come in?"
Cicely Dupuy turned an angry face toward Mr.
Hunt and fairly glared at the mild-mannered man.
She waited a moment before answering the coro-
ner's question, and then as if with a sudden resolve
she spoke a sharp, quick "Yes."
"And that was at quarter after eleven?"
"It was later," declared Cicely. "For Mr.
Carleton told you himself that he went directly into
the library as soon as he came into the house, and
as I heard his cry at half-past eleven he must have
entered only a few moments before."
Schuyler Carleton stared at Cicely, and she re-
turned his gaze.


"I DECLINE TO SAY" 157
His face was absolutely inscrutable, a pallid
mask, that might have concealed emotion of any
sort. But there was a suggestion of fear in the
strange eyes, as they gazed at Cicely, and though
it was quickly suppressed it had been noted by those
most interested.
The girl looked straight at him, with deter-
mination written in every line of her face. It was
quite evident to the onlookers that a mental mes-
sage was passing between these two.
"You are sure, Mr. Hunt, that your statement
as to the time is correct?" said the coroner, turning
again to him.
"Perfectly sure, sir. It is my business to be
sure of the time."
"Mr. Carleton," said Mr. Benson, "there is an
apparent discrepancy here, which it is advisable for
you to explain. If you came into this house at
quarter after eleven, and rang the bells for help at
half-past eleven, what were you doing in the mean-
time?"
It was out at last. The coroner's question,
though quietly put, was equivalent to an accusation.
Every eye in the room was turned toward Carleton,
and every ear waited in suspense for his reply.


158 THE CLUE
At last the answer came. The dazed, uncertain
look had returned to Carleton's face and his voice
sounded mechanical, like that of an automaton, as
he replied, "I decline to say."
"I think, Mr. Carleton, you can scarcely realize
the gravity of the moment, or the mistake you are
making in refusing to answer this question."
"I have nothing to say," repeated Carleton, and
his pallor changed to a faint, angry flush of red.
"I am sorry," said Mr. Benson gently. He
seemed to have lost his pompous manner in his
genuine anxiety for his witness, and he looked sor-
rowfully at Carleton's impassive, yet stubborn face.
"As so much hinges on the question of who
wrote that paper," he resumed, " I will make a test
now that ought to convince us all. Miss Dupuy,
you say that you wrote it, I believe."
"I did, yes, sir," said Cicely, stammering a little
now, though she had been calm enough a few min-
utes before.
"Then you know the words on the paper,—by
rote?"
"Yes, sir," said Cicely, uncertain of where this
was leading.
"I will ask you, then, to take this paper and


• I DECLINE TO SAY" 159
pencil, your own pencil and write the same words
in the same way once more."
"Oh, don't ask me to do that!" implored Cicely,
clasping her hands and looking very distressed.
"I not only ask you, but I direct you to do it,
and do it at once."
An attendant handed pencil and paper to Cicely,
and, after a glance at Carleton, who did not meet
it, she began to write.
Though evidently agitated, she wrote clearly
and evenly, and the paper she handed to Coroner
Benson a moment later was practically an exact
duplicate of the one found on the library table.
"It does not require a handwriting expert," said
the coroner, "to declare that these two papers were
written by the same hand. The penmanship is
indeed similar to Miss Van Norman's, of whose
writing I have here many specimens, but it is only
similar. It is by no means identical. You may all
examine these at your leisure and can only agree to
what I say."
The district attorney, who had been comparing
the papers, laid them down with an air of finality
that proved his agreement with the statements made.
"And so," went on Mr. Benson, "granting, as


160 THE CLUE
we must, that Miss Dupuy wrote the paper, we have
nothing whatever to indicate that this case is a
suicide. We are, therefore, seeking a murderer,
and our most earnest efforts must be made to that
end. I trust, Mr. Carleton, now that you can no
longer think Miss Van Norman wrote the message,
that you will aid us in our work by stating frankly
how you were occupied during that quarter-hour
which elapsed between your entering the house and
your raising the alarm?"
But Carleton preserved his stony calm.
"There was no quarter-hour," he said; "I
may have stepped into the drawing-room a moment
before going to the library, but I gave the alarm
almost immediately on entering the house. Cer-
tainly immediately on my discovery of—of the
scene in the library."
Cicely looked defiantly at Mr. Hunt, who, in
his turn, looked perplexed. The man had no wish
to insinuate anything against Mr. Carleton, but as
he had said, it was his business to know the time,
and he knew that Mr. Carleton came into the house
at quarter after eleven, and not at half-past.
The pause that followed was broken by Coro-
ner Benson's voice. "There is nothing more to be


"I DECLINE TO SAY" 161
done at present. The inquest is adjourned until
to-morrow afternoon. But we have discovered that
there has been a crime committed. There is no
doubt that Miss Van Norman was murdered, and
that the crime took place between half-past ten and
half-past eleven last night. It is our duty to spare
no effort to discover the criminal. As an audience
you are now dismissed."
11


DOROTHY BURT 163
that Hunt man testified accurately," he said. "And
if so, Carleton was in the house just fifteen minutes
before he gave the alarm. Now, fifteen minutes is
an awfully short time to quarrel with anybody so
desperately that it leads to a murder."
"That's true; but they both have very quick
tempers. At least Madeleine had. She didn't often
do it, but when she did fly into a fury it was as
quick as a flash. I've never seen Mr. Carleton
angry, but I know he can be, for Maddy told me so."
"Still, a quarter of an hour is too short a time
for a fatal quarrel, I think. If Carleton killed her
he came here for that purpose, and it was done
premeditatedly."
"Why do you say ' if he killed her'? It's been
proved she didn't kill herself; it's been proved that
no one could enter the house without a latch-key,
and it's been proved that the deed was done in that
one hour between half-past ten and half-past eleven.
So it had to be Mr. Carleton."
"Miss French, you have a logical mind, and I
, think you'd make a clever little detective. But you
have overlooked the possibility that she was killed
by some one in the house."
"Some of us?" Kitty's look of amazement
almost made Fessenden smile.


164 THE CLUE
"Not you or Miss Gardner," he said. "But a
burglar might have been concealed in the house."
"I never thought of that!" exclaimed Kitty, her
eyes opening wide at the thought. "Why, he
might have killed us all!"
"It isn't a very plausible theory," said Fessen-
den, unheeding the girl's remark, "and yet I could
think of nothing else. Every instinct of my mind
denies Carleton's guilt. Why, he isn't that sort of
a man!"
"Perhaps he isn't as good as he looks," said
Kitty, wagging her head wisely. "I know a lot
about him. You know he wasn't a bit in love with
Maddy."
"You hinted that before. And was he really a
mere fortune-hunter? I can't believe that of Carle-
ton. I've known the man for years."
"He must have been, or else why did he marry
her? He's in love with another girl."
"He is! Who?"
"I don't know who. But Madeleine hinted it to
me only a few days ago. It made her miserable.
And that's why everybody thought she wrote that
paper that said,'I love S.,but he does not love me.'"
"And you don't know who this rival is?"


DOROTHY BURT 165
"No, but I know what she's like. She's the
'clinging rosebud ' effect."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that. You know Madeleine was a big,
grand, splendid type,—majestic and haughty; and
she thought Schuyler loved better some little, timid
girl, who would sort of look up to him, and need his
protection."
Fessenden looked steadily at Miss French.
"Are you imagining all this," he said, "or is it
true?"
"Both," responded Kitty, with a charming
little smile. "Maddy just hinted it to me, and I
guessed the rest. You know, I have detective in-
stinct too, as well as you."
"You have, indeed;" and Rob gave an admir-
ing glance to the pouting red lips, and roguish eyes.
"But tell me more about it."
"There isn't much to tell," said Kitty, looking
thoughtful, "but there's a lot to deduce."
"Well, tell me what there is to tell, and then
we'll both deduce."
It pleased Kitty greatly to imagine she was
really helping Fessenden, and she went glibly on:
"Why, you see, Maddy was unhappy,—we all


166 THE CLUE
know that,—and it was for some reason connected
with Schuyler. Yet they were to be married, all
the same. But sometimes Maddy has asked me,
with such a wistful look, if I didn't think men pre-
ferred little, kittenish girls to big, proud ones like
herself."
"And you, being a little, kittenish girl, said
yes?"
"Don't be rude," said Kitty, flashing a smile
at him. "I am kittenish in name only. And I am
not little!"
"You are, compared to Miss Van Norman's
type."
"Oh, yes; she was like a beautiful Amazon.
Well, she either had reason to think, or she imag-
ined, that Schuyler pretended to love her, and was
really in love with some dear little clinging rose-
bud."
"Clinging rosebud! What an absurd expres-
sion! And yet—by Jove!—it just fits her! And
Miss Van Norman said to me—oh, I say, Miss
French, don't you know who the rosebud is."
"No," said Kitty, wondering at his sudden look
of dismay.
"Well, I do! Oh, this is getting dreadful 


DOROTHY BURT 167
Come outside with me and let's look into this idea.
I hope it's only an idea!"
Throwing a soft fawn-colored cape round her,
and drawing its pink-lined hood over her curly hair,
Kitty went with Fessenden out on the lawn and
down to the little arbor where they had sat before.
"Did you ever hear of Dorothy Burt?" he
asked, almost in a whisper.
"No; who is she?"
"Well, she's your ' clinging rosebud,' I'm sure of
it! And I'll tell you why."
"First tell me who she is."
"She's Mrs. Carleton's companion. Schuyler's
mother, you know. She lives in the Carleton house-
hold, and she is the sweetest, prettiest, shyest little
thing you ever saw!' Clinging rosebud' just fits
her."
"Indeed!" said Kitty, who had suddenly lost
interest in the conversation. And indeed, few girls
of Kitty's disposition would have enjoyed this
enthusiastic eulogy of another.
"I don't admire that sort, myself," went on
Rob, who was tactfully observant; "I like a little
more spirit and vivacity." Kitty beamed once more.
"But she's a wonder, of her own class. I was there


168 THE CLUE
at dinner last night, you know, and I saw her for
the first time. And, though I thought nothing of
it at the time, I can look back now and see that she
adores Schuyler. Why, she scarcely took her eyes
off him at dinner, and she ate next to nothing.
Poor little girl, I believe she was awfully cut up
at his approaching marriage."
"And what was Schuyler's attitude toward
her?" Kitty was interested enough now.
Fessenden looked very grave and was silent for
a time.
"It's a beastly thing to say," he observed at last,
"but if Schuyler had been in love with that girl,
and wanted to conceal the fact, he couldn't have
acted differently from the way he did act."
"Was he kind to her?"
"Yes, kind, but with a restrained air, as if he
felt it his duty to show indifference toward her."
"Was she with you after dinner?"
Fessenden thought.
"I went to my room early; and Mrs. Carleton
had then already excused herself. Yes,—I left
Schuyler and Miss Burt in the drawing-room, and
later I saw them from my window, strolling through
the rose-garden."


DOROTHY BURT 169
"On his wedding eve!" exclaimed Kitty, with
a look akin to horror in her eyes.
"Yes; and I thought nothing of it, for I simply
assumed that he was devoted to Miss Van Norman,
and was merely pleasant to his mother's companion.
But—in view of something Miss Van Norman said
to me yesterday—can it be it was only yesterday ?—
the matter becomes serious."
"What did she say?"
"It seems like betraying a confidence, and yet
it isn't, for we must discover if it means anything.
But she said to me, with real agitation, 'Do you
know Dorothy Burt?' At that time, I hadn't met
Miss Burt, and had never heard of her, so I said:
'No; who is she?' 'Nobody,' said Miss Van
Norman, ' less than nobody! Never mention her to
me again!' Her voice, even more than her words,
betokened grief and even anger, so of course the
subject was dropped. But doesn't that prove her
anxious about the-girl, if not really jealous?"
"Of course it does," said Kitty. "I know
that's the one that has been troubling Madeleine.
Oh, how dreadful it all is!"
"And then, too," Fessenden said, still remi-
niscently, "Miss Van Norman said she wanted to


170 THE CLUE
go away from Mapleton immediately after her
wedding, and never return here again."
"Did she say that! Then, of course, it was
only so that Schuyler should never see the Burt
girl again. Poor, dear Maddy; she was so proud,
and so self-contained. But how she must have
suffered! You see, she knew Schuyler admired her,
and respected her and all that, and she must have
thought that, once removed from the presence of
the rosebud girl, he would forget her."
"But I can't understand old Schuyler marry-
ing Miss Van Norman if he didn't truly love her.
You know, Miss French, that man and I have been
stanch friends for years; and though I rarely see
him, I know his honorable nature, and I can't believe
he would marry one woman while loving another."
"He didn't," said Kitty in a meaning voice that
expressed far more than the words signified."
Fessenden drew back in horror.
"Don't!" he cried. "You can't mean that
Schuyler put Miss Van Norman out of the way to
clear the path for Miss Burt!"
"I don't mean anything," said Kitty, rather
contradictorily. "But, as I said, Maddy was not
killed by any one inside the house—I'm sure of


DOROTHY BURT 171
that—and no one from outside could get in, except
Schuyler—and he had a motive. Don't you always,
in detective work, look for the motive?"
"Yes, but this is too horrible!"
"All murders are ' too horrible.' But I tell you
it must have been Schuyler—it couldn't have been
Miss Burt!"
"Don't be absurd! That little girl couldn't kill
a fly, I'm sure. I wish you could see her, Miss
French. Then you'd understand how her very
contrast to Miss Van Norman's splendid beauty
would fascinate Schuyler. And I know he was
fascinated. I saw it in his repressed manner last
evening, though I didn't realize it then as I do
now."
"I have a theory," said Kitty slowly. "You
know Mr. Carleton went away yesterday afternoon
rather angry at Maddy. She had carried her flir-
tation with Tom a little too far, and Mr. Carleton
resented it. I don't blame him,—the very day
before the wedding,—but it was partly his fault,
too. Well, suppose he went home, rather upset
over the quarrel, and then seeing Miss Burt, and
her probably mild, angelic ways (I'm sure she has
them!)—suppose he wished he could be off with
Maddy, and marry Miss Burt instead."


172 THE CLUE
"But he wouldn't kill his fiancee, if he did think
that!"
"Wait a minute. Then suppose, after the even-
ing in the rose-garden with the gentle, clinging little
girl, he concluded he never could be happy with
Maddy, and suppose he came at eleven o'clock, or
whatever time it was, to tell her so, and to ask her
to set him free."
"On the eve of the wedding day? With the
house already in gala dress for the ceremony?"
"Yes, suppose the very nearness of the cere-
mony made it seem to him impossible to go through
with it."
"Well?"
"Well, and then suppose he did ask Madeleine
to free him, and suppose she refused. And she
wouldrefuse! I know her nature well enough to
know she never would give him up to the other
girl if she could help it. And then suppose, when
she refused to free him,—you know he has a fear-
'fully quick temper, and that awful paper-cutter lay
right there, handy,—suppose he stabbed- her in a
moment of desperate anger."
"I can't think it," said Rob, after a pause; " I've
tried, and I can't. But, suppose all you say is true


DOROTHY BURT 173
£S far as this; suppose he asked her to free him,
because he loved another, and suppose she was so
grieved and mortified at this, that in her own sudden
fit of angry jealousy,—you know she had a quick
temper, also,—suppose she picked up the dagger
and turned it upon herself, as she had sometimes
said she would do."
Kitty listened attentively. "It might be so,"
she said slowly; " you may be nearer the truth than
I. But I do believe that one of us must be right.
Of course, this leaves the written paper out of the
question entirely."
"That written paper hasn't been thoroughly ex-
plained yet," exclaimed the young man. "Now,
look here, Miss French, I'm not going to wait to be
officially employed on this case, though I am going
to offer Carleton my legal services, but I mean to
do a little investigating on my own account. The
sooner inquiries are made, the more information is
usually obtained. Can you arrange that I shall
have an interview with Miss Dupuy?"
"I think I can," said Kitty; "but if you let it
appear that you're inquisitive she won't tell you a
thing. Suppose we just talk to her casually, you
and I. I won't bother you."


174 THE CLUE
"Indeed you won't. You'll be of first-class help.
When can we see her?"
While they had been talking, other things had
been happening in the drawing-room. The people
who had been gathered there had all disappeared,
and, under the active superintendence of Miss Mor-
ton, the florist's men who had put up the decora-
tions were now taking them away. The whole room
was in confusion, and Kitty and Mr. Fessenden
were glad to escape to some more habitable place.
"Wait here," said Kitty, as they passed through
the hall, "and I'll be back in a moment."
Kitty flew upstairs, and soon returned, saying
that Miss Dupuy would be glad to talk with them
both in Madeleine's sitting-room.


XIII
AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY
This sitting-room was on the second floor,
directly back of Madeleine's bedroom, the bedroom
being above the library. Miss Dupuy's own room
was back of this and communicated with it.
The sitting-room was a pleasant place, with
large light windows and easy chairs and couches.
A large and well-filled desk seemed to prove the
necessity of a social secretary, if Miss Van Norman
cared to have any leisure hours.
Surrounded by letters and papers, Cicely sat at
the desk as they entered, but immediately rose to
meet them.
Kitty's tact in requesting the interview had
apparently been successful, for Miss Dupuy was
gracious and affable.
But after some desultory conversation which
amounted to nothing, Fessenden concluded a direct
course would be better.
"Miss Dupuy," he said, "I'm a detective, at
least in an amateur way."
175


AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY 177
"Well," returned Cicely slowly, "you may ask
questions, if you choose, Mr. Fessenden, and I
will answer or not, as I prefer."
"Thank you, Miss Dupuy* You may feel sure
I will ask only the ones I consider necessary to the
work I have undertaken. And first of all, was
Miss Van Norman in love with Carleton?"
"She was indeed, desperately so."
"Yet she seemed greatly attached to her cousin,
Mr. Willard."
"That was partly a cousinly affection, and
partly a sort of coquetry to pique Mr. Carleton."
"And was Carleton devoted to her?"
"Must I answer that?" Cicely's eyes looked
troubled.
"Yes, you must." Fessenden's voice was very
gentle.
"Then he was not devoted to her; in fact, he
loved another."
"Who is this other?"
"Dorothy Burt, his mother's companion, who
lives at the Carleton home."
"Did Miss Van Norman know this?"
"Yes, she learned of it lately, and it broke her
heart. That is why she was so uncertain and erratic
12


178 THE CLUE
in her moods; that is why she coquetted with Mr.
Willard, to arouse Schuyler Carleton's jealousy."
"This throws a new light on it all," said Fes-
senden gravely. "And this Miss Burt—did she
return Carleton's regard?"
"I don't know," said Cicely, and her agitation
seemed to increase, though she tried hard to con-
ceal it. "Of course Miss Van Norman didn't
speak openly of this matter, but I knew her so well
that I easily divined from her moods and her
actions that she knew she had a rival in Mr. Carle-
ton's affections."
"Then he cared more for her in time past?"
"Yes, until that girl came to live with his
mother. She's a designing little thing, and she just
twisted Mr. Carleton round her finger."
"Do you know her personally, Miss Dupuy?"
A look of intense hatred came over Cicely's
expressive face.
"No! I wouldn't meet her for anything. But
I have seen her, and I know perfectly well that Mr.
Carleton cares for her more than he did for Miss
Van Norman."
"Yet he was about to marry Miss Van
Norman."


AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY 179
"Yes; because they were engaged before he
saw the Burt girl. Then, you see, he didn't think
it honorable to refuse to marry her, and she"
"He had asked her, then, to give him back his
freedom?"
"Yes, he had. And Miss Van Norman very
rightly refused to do so."
"Oh, a," cried Kitty, "do you know this,
or are you only surmising it?"
"I know it, Miss French. In her sorrow over
the matter, Miss Van Norman often confided in
me as in a friend."
"And you were a good friend to her, I'm sure,"
said Fessenden heartily. "Now, Miss Dupuy, do
you think it could have been possible that Mr.
Carleton came here late last night to ask Miss Van
Norman once again to release him from the
marriage?"
"He might have done so," said Cicely in a
noncommittal tone. "He was very much annoyed
at her behavior with Mr. Willard in the afternoon."
"But that was on purpose to annoy him?"
"Yes, and it succeeded."
"How do you know all this? '*
"Miss Van Norman intimated as much just


180 THE CLUE
before dinner, when we were here alone. She
feared Mr. Carleton was so angry he wouldn't
come to dinner at all."
"And he didn't."
"No, he didn't."
"But, Miss Dupuy, it would scarcely be pos-
sible to think that if he did return later to ask his
release—it would not be possible to think that on
Miss Van Norman's refusal to release him he—
was so incensed against her that"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Cicely. "Of course he
didn't kill her! Of course he didn't! She killed
herself! I don't care what any one says—I know
she killed herself!"
"If so," said Fessenden, "we must prove it
by keeping on with our investigations. And now,
Miss Dupuy, will you tell me what was your errand
when you returned to the library late last night,
when the two doctors were alone there in charge
of the room?"
"I didn't!" declared Cicely, her cheeks flam-
ing and her blue eyes fairly glaring at her interroga-
tor.
"Please stick to the truth, Miss Dupuy," said
Fessenden coldly. "If you don't, we can't credit


AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY 181
any of your statements. You opened the door very
softly, and were about to enter, when you spied the
doctors and withdrew."
"I went to get that paper," said Cicely, some-
what sulkily.
"Why did you want that?"
"Because it was mine. I had a right to it."
"Then why didn't you go on in and get it?
The doctors' presence need have made no differ-
ence."
"I don't know why I didn't! I wish you'd stop
asking questions!"
"I will, in a moment. You are sure you wrote
that paper yourself?"
"Of course I am!" The answer was snapped
out pertly.
"And you wrote it meaning yourself? You
didn't write it with the intent that it should be
taken for Miss Van Norman's message?"
Cicely eyes dropped involuntarily. Then she
raised them, and stared straight at Fessenden.
"What do you mean?" she asked haughtily.
"Just what I say. Was that written paper an
expression of your own heart's secret?"
It must have been because of Fessenden's mag-


182 THE CLUE
netism, or compelling sympathy, but for some
reason Cicely took no offense at this, and answered
simply, "Yes."
"Strange," mused Rob, "how that man won
so many women's hearts."
"No, it isn't strange," said Cicely, also in slow,
thoughtful tones. And then, suddenly realizing the
admission she had made, and seeing how she had
revealed her own secret she flew into a rage.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "I didn't
refer to Mr. Carleton."
"Yes, you did," said Fessenden, so quietly that
again Cicely was silent, and Kitty sat surprised
almost to breathlessness.
"There is to be only truth between us," went
on Rob. You did mean Mr. Carleton, by the
letter 'S'; but have no fear, your secret shall be
respected. Now we will have only the truth—
remember that. So please tell me frankly at what
time you saw Mr. Carleton come into the house last
night?"
"Just a few moments before half-past eleven."
Cicely said this glibly, as if reciting a carefully-
conned lesson.
"Wait a moment—you forget that Mr. Hunt


AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY 183
fixed the time at quarter after eleven, and that he
saw you looking over the baluster at the same time."
With an agonized cry of dismay, Miss Dupuy
fainted into utter unconsciousness.
Perplexed and baffled in his inquiries, Fessenden
saw that for the moment Miss Dupuy's physical
condition was of paramount importance, and at
Kitty's request he rang for Marie. Even before
she came the others had placed Cicely gently on a
couch, and when the maid arrived Fessenden left
the room, knowing that the girl was properly cared
for.
Going downstairs again, he was about to make
his adieux to Mrs. Markham and leave the house,
when Kitty French, coming down soon after him,
asked him to stay a few minutes longer.
The sight of her pretty face drove more serious
thoughts from his mind, and he turned, more than
willing to follow where she led. "Oh, whistle, and
I'll come to you," he whispered. But Kitty had
weighty information to impart, and was in no mood
for trifling. They found a quiet corner, and then
Kitty told him that Cicely had regained conscious-
ness almost immediately, but that just before she
did so, she cried out sharply, " They must not think
Schuyler did it! They must not!"


184 THE CLUE
"And so," said Kitty, astutely, "you see, it's
as I told you. Mr. Carleton did kill Maddy, and
Cicely knows it, but she doesn't want other people
to find it out, because she's in love with him
herself!"
Rob Fessenden gave his companion an admiring
glance.
"That's good reasoning and sound logic," he
said; " and I'd subscribe to it if it were anybody but
old Schuyler. But I can't and won't believe that
man guilty without further evidence than that of a
fainting, hysterical woman."
"Everybody seems to be in love with Mr. Carle-!
ton," said Kitty, demurely.
"You're not, are you?" said Rob, so quickly
that Kitty blushed.
"No, I'm not," she declared. "He's a stun-
ning-looking man, and that superior, impassive way
of his catches some women, but I don't care for it.
I prefer a more enthusiastic temperament."
"Like mine," said Rob casually.
"Have you a temperament?" said Kitty saucily.
"It isn't at all noticeable."
"It will be, after you know me better. But
Miss French, since you've raised this question oi


186 THE CLUE
on the table to make it appear a suicide. This
would explain her stealthy attempt to regain pos-
session of the paper later."
"Why should she want it?"
"So that it couldn't be proved not to be in Miss
Van Norman's writing."
"It's ingenious on your part," said Kitty slowly,
"but it can't be true. Cicely may be in love with
Schuyler, but she wouldn't kill Maddy because of
that."
"Who can tell what a hysterical, jealous woman
will do?" said Rob, with the air of an oracle.
"And moreover, to my mind, that explains her
half-conscious exclamation of which you just told
me. When she said,' They must not think Schuyler
did it,' it meant that she knew he didn't do it, but
she didn't want suspicion to rest on him. That's
why she insists it was a suicide."
So in earnest was Fessenden that Kitty felt
almost convinced there was something in his theory.
"But it can't be," she said, at last, with an air
of finality. "It wouldn't be possible for Cicely to
do such a thing! I know her too well!"
"Then, Miss French, if that, to you, is a logical
argument, you must admit mine. It wouldn't be


AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY 187
possible for Carleton to do such a thing! I know
him too well!"
Kitty had to smile at the imitation of the strong
inflections she had used, and, too, she had to admit
that one opinion was as permissible as the other.
"You see," went on Rob quietly, "we're not
really assuming Miss Dupuy's guilt, we're only see-
ing where these deductions lead us. Suppose, for
the moment, that Miss Dupuy did, during that half-
hour in the library, have an altercation with Miss
Van Norman, and just suppose,—or imagine, if
you prefer the word,—that she turned the dagger
upon her friend and employer, wouldn't her subse-
quent acts have been just as they were? At Mr.
Carleton's alarm, she came downstairs, fully dressed;
later she tried to remove secretly that written paper;
always at serious questioning she faints or flies into
hysterics; and, naturally, when suspicion comes near
the man she cares for, she tries to turn it off. And
then, too, Miss French, a very strong point against
her is that she was the last one, so far as we know,
to see Miss Van Norman alive. Of course, the
murderer was the last one; but I mean, of the wit-
nesses, Miss Dupuy was the latest known to be
with Miss Van Norman. Thus, her evidence can-


188 THE CLUE
not be corroborated, and it may or may not be true.
If she is the guilty one, we cannot expect the truth
from her, and so we must at least admit that there
is room for investigation, if not suspicion."
"I suppose you are right," said Kitty slowly;
"a man's mind is said to be more logical. A
woman depends more on her intuition. Now, my
intuition tells me that Cicely Dupuy can not be the
guilty one."
"At risk of tiresome repetition," returned Fes-
senden, " I must say again that that is no more con-
vincing than my 'intuition' that Carleton can not
be the guilty one."
Kitty's smile showed her quick appreciation of
this point, and Rob went on:
"Though suspicion, so far, is cast in no other
direction, it is only fair to consider all the others in
the house. This will, of course, be done in due
time. I approve of Mr. Benson, and I think, though
his manners are pompous and at times egotistical,
he has a good mind and a quick intelligence. He
will do his part, I am sure, and then, if necessary,
others will be brought into the case. But, as
Carleton's friend, I shall devote all my energies to
clearing him from what I know is an unjust
suspicion."


AN INTERVIEW WITH CICELY 189
And then Rob Fessenden went away. Mrs.
Markham asked him to remain to dinner, but he
declined, preferring to go home with Carleton. He
said he would return next morning, and said too
that he meant to stay in Mapleton as long as he
could be of any service to any of his friends.
This decision was, of course, the result of his
great friendship for Carleton, and his general inter-
est in the Van Norman case, but it was also partly
brought about by the bewitching personality of
Kitty French and the impression she had made on
his not usually susceptible heart.
And being master of his own time, Fessenden
resolved to stay for a few days and observe develop-
ments along several lines.


XIV
THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD
Mrs. Carleton's dinner table that evening pre-
sented a very different atmosphere from the night
before.
The hostess herself was present only by a strong
effort of will power. Mrs. Carleton had been
greatly overcome by the shock of the dreadful news,
and, aside from the sadness and horror of the
tragedy, she was exceedingly disappointed at what
seemed to her the ruin of her son's future.
The Carletons were an old and aristocratic
family, though by no means possessed of great
fortune.
The alliance, therefore, with the wealth of the
Van Norman estate, and the power of the Van
Norman name, seemed to Mrs. Carleton the crown-
ing glory of her son's career, and she had been
devoutly thankful when the wedding-day was set.
Though stubbornly unwilling to believe it, she
had of late been forced to notice the growing attach-
ment between Schuyler and her own companion,
190


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 191
Miss Burt, and had it not been for the surety of
the approaching wedding, she would have dismissed
the girl. But so certain was she that her son's
ambitions, like her own, were centred on the Van
Norman name, she could not believe that Schuyler
would let himself become greatly interested in
Dorothy Burt.
But she did not allow for that mischievous Imp
of Romance who plays havoc with hearts without
saying " by your leave."
And partly because of her own dainty charm,
partly because of her contrast to Madeleine's mag-
nificence, Dorothy Burt crept into Schuyler Carle-
ton's affections before either of them realized it, and
when they did discover the surprising fact, it did
not seem to dismay them as it should have done.
But it troubled them; for Schuyler well knew
that honor, expediency, and good judgment all
held him bound to Miss Van Norman, and Dorothy
Burt knew it equally well.
And, whether or not with an ulterior motive,
she had made no claim on him from the first. She
had admitted her love for him, but in the same
breath had avowed her appreciation of its hope-
lessness. Even if he hinted at a possible transfer of


192 THE CLUE
his allegiance, she had hushed him at once, saying
it was impossible for him to do otherwise than to
be true to his troth, and that he must forget her, as
she should—try to—forget him.
This nobility on her part only made Carleton
love her more, and though continuing to admire his
beautiful fiancee, his real affection was all for little
Dorothy.
She came to dinner that night, soft and lovely in
a simple white frock, her pathetic eyes wide open in
grief and sorrow, her rosebud mouth drooping and
tremulous at the corners.
Fessenden watched her. Without appearing to
do so, he noted every expression that flitted across
her baby face.
And he was greatly disturbed.
The night before he had paid slight attention
to her. To be sure, Miss Van Norman had spoken
her name in the afternoon, but it had meant little
to him, and, thinking of her merely as Mrs. Carle-
ton's companion, or secretary, he wasn't sure which,
he had been conventionally polite and no more.
But to-night she was a factor in the case, and must
be reckoned with.
As Fessendes watched her, he saw, with a grow-


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 193
ing conviction, as sure as it was awful, that she was
relieved at Miss Van Norman's death.
Gentle, tender little girl as she seemed, it was
nevertheless true that the removal of the obstacle
between Carleton and herself gave her only joy.
She tried to hide this. She cleverly simulated grief,
horror, surprise, interest,—all the emotions called
forth by the conversation, which unavoidably pur-
sued only one course. In fact, Miss Burt took her
cue every time from Mrs. Carleton, and expressed
opinions that invariably coincided with hers.
It began to dawn upon Fessenden that the girl
was unusually clever, the more so, he thought, that
she was consciously concealing her cleverness by
a cloak of demure innocence, and careful unostenta-
tion. Never did she put herself forward; never did
she show undue interest in Schuyler, personally.
Fessenden reasoned that the game being now in
her own hands, she could afford to stand back and
await developments.
Then came the next thought: how came the
game so fortuitously into her own hands? Was
it, even indirectly, due to her own instigation?
"Pshaw!" he thought to himself. "I'm grow-
ing absurdly suspicious. I won't believe wrong of
13


194 THE CLUE
that girl until I have some scrap of a hint to base
it on."
And yet he knew in his own heart if Dorothy
Burt had wanted to connive in the slightest degree
in the removal of her rival, she was quite capable
of doing so, notwithstanding her very evident
effect of pretty helplessness.
"When an excessively clever young woman
assumes an utterly inefficient air," he thought, "it
must be for some undeclared purpose; " and he felt
an absurd thrill of satisfaction that though Kitty
French was undeniably clever, she put on no
ingenue arts to hide it.
Then Kitty's phrase of "a clinging rosebud"
came to his mind, and he realized its exceeding
aptness to describe Dorothy Burt. Her appealing
eyes and wistful, curved mouth were enough to lure
a man who loved her to almost any deed of daring.
"Even murder?" flashed into his brain, and
he recoiled at the thought. Old Schuyler might
have been made to forget his fealty; he might have
been unable to steel his heart against those subtle
charms; he might have thrown to the winds his
honor and his faith; but surely, never, never, could
he have committed that dreadful deed, even for
love of this angel-faced siren.


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 195
"Could she?"
The words fairly burned into Fessenden's brain.
The sudden thought set his mind whirling. Could
she? Why, no, of course not! Absurd! Yes, but
could she? What? That child? That baby-girl?
Those tiny, rose-leaf hands! Yes, but could she?
"No!" said Fessenden angrily, and then real-
ized that he had spoken aloud, and his hearers were
looking at him with indulgent curiosity.
"Forgive me," he said, smiling as he looked
at Mrs. Carleton. "My fancy took a short but dis-
tant flight, and I had to speak to it sternly by way
of reproof."
"I didn't know a lawyer could be fanciful,"
said Mrs. Carleton. "I thought that privilege was
reserved for poets."
"Thank you for a pretty compliment to our
profession," said Rob. "We lawyers are too often
accused of giving rein to our fancy, when we should
be strapped to the saddle of slow but sure Truth."
"But can you arrive anywhere on such a prosaic
steed?" asked Miss Burt, smiling at his words.
"Yes," said Rob; "we can arrive at facts."
What prompted him to speak so curtly, he didn't
know; but his speech did not at all please Miss


196 THE CLUE
Burt. Her color flew to her cheeks, though she
said nothing, and then, as Mrs. Carleton rose from
the table, the two ladies smiled and withdrew, leav-
ing Rob alone with his host.
"It's all right, old boy, of course," said Carle-
ton, " but did you have any reason for flouting poor
little Dorothy like that?"
"No, I didn't," said Fessenden honestly and
apologetically. "I spoke without thinking, and I'm
sorry for it."
"All right—it's nothing. Now, Rob, old fel-
low, you can't deceive me. I saw a curious expres-
sion in your eyes as you looked at Miss Burt to-
night, and—well, there is no need of words between
us, so I'll only tell you you're all wrong there.
You look for hidden meanings and veiled allusions
in everything that girl says, and there aren't any.
She's as frank and open-natured as she can be,
and—forgive me—but I want you to let her alone."
Fessenden was astounded. First, at Carleton's
insight in discovering his thoughts, and second, at
Carleton's mistaken judgment of Miss Burt's
nature.
But he only said, "All right, Schuyler; what
you say, goes. Would you rather not talk at all


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 197
about the Van Norman affair?" Fessenden spoke
thus casually, for he felt sure it would make it
easier for Carleton than if he betrayed a deeper
interest.
"Oh, I don't care. You know, of course, how
deeply it affects me and my whole life. I know
your sympathy and good-fellowship. There's not
much more to say, is there?"
"Why, yes, Carleton; there is. As your friend,
and also in the interests of justice, I am more than
anxious to discover the villain who did the horrid
deed, and though the inquest people are doing all
they can, I want to add my efforts to theirs, in hope
of helping them,—and you."
"Don't bother about me, Rob. I don't care if
they never discover the culprit. Miss Van Norman
is gone; it can't restore her to life if they do learn
who killed her."
Fessenden looked mystified.
"That's strange talk, Schuyler,—but of course
you're fearfully upset, and I suppose just at first
it isn't surprising that you feel that way. But
surely,—as man to man, now,—you want to find
and punish the wretch that put an end to that beau-
tiful young life."


198 THE CLUE
"Yes,—I suppose so;" Carleton spoke hesi-
tatingly, and drew his hand across his brow in the
same dazed way he did when in the witness box.
"You're done up, old man, and I'm not going
to bother you to-night. But I'm on the hunt, if you
aren't, and I'm going ahead on a few little trails,
hoping they'll lead to something of more impor-
tance. By the way, what were you doing in those
few minutes last night between your entering the
house and entering the library?"
Carleton stared at his guest.
"I don't know what you mean," he said.
"Yes, you do. You went in at eleven-fifteen,
and you called for help at eleven-thirty."
"No,—it didn't take as long as that." Carle-
ton's eyes had a far-away look, and Rob grasped
his arm and shook him, as he said:
"Drop it, man! Drop that half-dazed way of
speaking! Tell me, clearly, what did you do in
that short interval?"
"I refuse to state," said Carleton quietly, but
with a direct glance now that made Fessenden cease
his insistence.
"Very well," he said; "it's of no consequence.
Now tell me what you were doing last evening
before you went over to the house?"


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 199
At this Carleton showed a disposition to be both
haughty and ironical.
"Am I being questioned," he said, "and by
you? Well, before I went to Miss Van Norman's
I was walking in the rose-garden with Miss Burt.
You saw me from your window."
"I did," said Rob gravely. "Were you with
Miss Burt until the time of your going over to the
Van Norman house?"
"No," said Carleton, with sarcastic intonation.
"I said good-night to Miss Burt about three-quar-
ters of an hour before I started to go over to Miss
Van Norman's. Do you want to know what I did
during that interval?"
"Yes."
"I was in my own room—my den. I did what
many a man does on the eve of his wedding. I
burned up a few notes,—perhaps a photograph or
two,—and one withered rose-bud,—a 'keepsake.'
Does this interest you?"
"Not especially, but, Schuyler, do drop that
resentful air. I'm not quizzing you, and if you
don't want to talk about the subject at all, we
won't."
"Very well—I don't."


200 THE CLUE
"Very well, then."
The two men rose, and as Carleton held out his
hand Rob grasped it and shook it heartily, then they
went to the drawing-room and rejoined the ladies.
The Van Norman affair was not mentioned
again that evening.
All felt a certain oppression in the atmosphere,
and all tried to dispel it, but it was not easy. Unin-
teresting topics of conversation were tossed from
one to another, but each felt relieved when at last
Mrs. Carleton rose to go upstairs and the evening
was at an end.
Fessenden went to his room, his brain a whirl-
wind of conflicting thoughts.
He sat down by an open window and endeavored
to classify them into some sort of order.
First, he was annoyed at Carleton's inexplicable
attitude. Granting he was in love with Miss Burt,
he had no reason to act so unconcerned about the
Van Norman tragedy. And yet Schuyler's was a
peculiar nature, and doubtless all this strange be-
havior of his was merely the effort to hide his real
sorrow.
But again, if he were in love with Miss Burt,
his sorrow for the loss of Madeleine was for the


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 201
loss of her fortune and not herself. This Fessen-
den refused to believe, but the more he refused to
believe it, the more it came back to him. Then there
was his new notion, that came to him at dinner,
about Miss Burt. Carleton said she was the ingenu-
ous, timid girl she looked, but Rob couldn't believe
it. Executive ability showed in that determined
little chin. Veiled cunning lurked in the shadows
of those innocent eyes. And the girl had a motive.
Surely she wanted her rival out of her way. Then
she had said good-night to Schuyler nearly an hour
before he went over to Madeleine's. Could she
have—but, nonsense! Even if she had been so in-
clined, how could she have entered the house? Ah,
that settled it! She couldn't. And Fessenden was
honestly glad of it. Honestly glad that he had
proved to himself that Miss Burt—lovely, alluring
little Dorothy Burt—was not the hardened criminal
for whom he was looking!
Then it came back to Schuyler. No! Never
Schuyler! But if not he, then who? And what was
he doing in that incriminating interval, and why
wouldn't he tell?
And then, idly gazing from his window Rob
saw again two figures walking in the rose-garden


202 THE CLUE
And they were the same two that he had seen there
the evening before.
Schuyler Carleton and Dorothy Burt were stroll-
ing,—no, now they were standing, standing close to
each other in earnest conversation.
Rob was no eavesdropper, and of course he
couldn't hear a word they said, but somehow he
found it impossible to take his eyes from those two
figures.
Steadily they talked,—so engrossed in their con-
versation that they scarcely moved; then Schuyler's
arm went slowly round the girl's shoulders.
Gently she drew away, and he did not then again
offer a caress.
Rob sat looking at them, saying frankly to him-
self that he was justified in doing so, since his
motive effaced all consideration of puerile con-
ventions. If that girl were really the designing
young woman he took her to be,—more, if she
could be the author, directly or indirectly, of that
awful crime,—then Fessenden vowed he would save
Schuyler from her fascinations at the risk of break-
ing their own lifelong friendship.
After further rapt and earnest conversation,
Carleton took Miss Burt gently in his arms and


THE CARLETON HOUSEHOLD 203
kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then, draw-
ing her arm through his own, they turned and
walked slowly to the house.
A few moments later Rob heard the girl's light
footsteps as she came up to her room, but Carleton
stayed down in the library until long after all the
rest of the household were sleeping.


XV
FESSENDEN'S DETECTIVE WORK
Next morning Rob went over to the Van Nor-
man house with a clearly developed plan of action.
He declared to himself that he would allow no cir-
cumstance to shake his faith in his friend, that he
would hold Carleton innocent of all wrongdoing in
the affair, and that he would put all his ingenuity
and cleverness to work to discover the criminal or
any clue that might lead to such a discovery.
Although some questions he had wished to ask
Cicely Dupuy were yet unanswered, Fessenden had
discovered several important facts, and, after being
admitted to the house, he looked about him for a
quiet spot to sit down and tabulate them in black
and white. The florist's men were still in the
drawing-room, so he went into the library. Here he
found only Mrs. Markham and Miss Morton, who
were apparently discussing a question on which they
held opposite opinions.
"Come in, Mr. Fessenden," said Mrs. Mark-
ham, as he was about to withdraw. "I should be
204


FESSENDEN'S DETECTIVE WORK 205
glad of your advice. Ought I to give over the reins
of government at once to Miss Morton?"
"Why not?" interrupted Miss Morton, herself.
"The house is mine; why should I not be mistress
here?"
Fessenden repressed a smile. It seemed to
him absurd that these two middle-aged women
should discuss an issue of this sort with such pre-
cipitancy.
"It seems to me a matter of good taste," he
replied. "The house, Miss Morton, is legally yours,
but as its mistress, I think you'd show a more
gracious manner if you would wait for a time
before making any changes in the domestic arrange-
ments."
Apparently undesirous of pursuing the gracious
course he recommended, Miss Morton rose abruptly
and flounced out of the room.
"Now she's annoyed again," observed Mrs.
Markham placidly. "The least little thing sets her
off."
"If not intrusive, Mrs. Markham, won't you
tell me how it comes about that Miss Morton inher-
its this beautiful house? Is she a relative of the
Van Normans?"


206 THE CLUE
"Not a bit of it. She was Richard Van Nor-
man's sweetheart, years and years and years ago.
They had a falling-out, and neither of them ever
married. Of course he didn't leave her any of his
fortune. But only a short time ago, long after her
uncle's death, Madeleine found out about it from
some old letters. She determined then to hunt up
this Miss Morton, and she did so, and they had
quite a correspondence. She came here for the
wedding, and Madeleine intended she should make a
visit, and intended to give her a present of money
when she went away. In the meantime Madeleine
had made her will, though I didn't know this until
to-day, leaving the place and all her own money to
Miss Morton. I'm not surprised at this, for Tom
Willard has plenty, and as there was no other heir,
I know Madeleine felt that part of her uncle's for-
tune ought to be used to benefit the woman he had
loved in his youth."
"That explains Miss Morton, then," said Fes-
senden. "But what a peculiar woman she is!"
"Yes, she is," agreed Mrs. Markham, in her
serene way. "But I'm used to queer people.
Richard Van Norman used to give way to the most
violent bursts of temper I ever saw. Maddy and


FESSENDEN'S DETECTIVE WORK 207
Tom are just like him. They would both fly into
furious rages, though I must say they didn't do it
often, and never unless for some deep reason."
"And Mr. Carleton—has he a high temper?"
Mrs. Markham's brow clouded. "I don't un-
derstand that man," she said slowly. "I don't
think he has a quick temper, but there's something
deep about him that I can't make out. Oh, Mr.
Fessenden, do you think he killed our Madeleine?"
"Do you?" said Fessenden suddenly, looking
straight at her.
"I do," she said, taken off her guard. "That
is, I couldn't believe it, only, what else can I think?
Mr. Carleton is a good man, but I know Maddy
never killed herself, and I know the way this house
is locked up every night. No burglar or evil-doer
could possibly get in.'
"But the murderer may have been concealed in
the house for hours beforehand."
"Nonsense! That would be impossible, with
a house so full of people, and the wedding prepara-
tions going on, and everything. Besides, Mr. Hunt
would have heard any intruder prowling around;
and then again, how could he have gone out?
Everything was bolted on the inside, except the


g08 THE CLUE
front door, and had he gone out that way he must
surely have been heard."
"Well reasoned, Mrs. Markham! I think, with
you, we may dismiss the possibility of a burglar.
The time was too short for anything except a defi-
nitely premeditated act. And yet I cannot believe
the act was that of Schuyler Carleton. I know that
man very well, and a truer, braver soul never
existed."
"I know it," declared Mrs. Markham, "but I
think I'm justified in telling you this. Mr. Carleton
didn't love Madeleine, and he did love another girl.
Madeleine worshipped him, and I think he came last
night to ask her to release him, and she refused,
and then—and then"
Something about Mrs. Markham's earnest face
and sad, distressed voice affected Fessenden deeply,
and he wondered if this theory she had so clearly,
though hesitatingly, stated, could be the true one.
Might he, after all, be mistaken in his estimate of
Schuyler Carleton, and might Mrs. Markham's
suggestion have even a foundation of probability?
They were both silent for a few minutes, and
then Mr. Fessenden said, " But you thought it was
suicide at first."


FESSENDEN'S DETECTIVE WORK 211
"Yes, I know it, but I've changed my mind."
"Oh, you have; just for a change, I suppose."
"No," said Kitty, more seriously; " but because
I've heard a lot of Cicely's ranting,—for that's
what it is,—and while it's been only disconnected
sentences and sudden exclamations, yet it all points
to a guilty knowledge of some sort, which she's
trying to conceal. I don't say I suspect her, Mr.
Fessenden, but I do suspect that she knows a lot
more important information than she's told."
"Miss Dupuy's behavior has certainly invited
criticism," began Rob, but before he could go
further, the French girl, Marie, appeared at the
door, and seemed about to enter.
"What is it, Marie?" said Kitty kindly. "Are
you looking for me?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," said Marie, " and I would
speak with monsieur too. I have that to say which
is imperative. Too long already have I kept the
silence. I must speak at last. Have I permission?"
"Certainly," said Fessenden, who saw that
Marie was agitated, but very much in earnest.
"Tell us what you have to say. Do not be afraid."
"I am afraid," said Marie, "but I am afraid
of one only. It is the Miss Morton, the stranger
lady."


212 THE CLUE
"Miss Morton?" said Kitty, in surprise. "She
won't hurt you; she has been very good to you,"
"Ah, yes, mademoiselle; but too good. Miss
Morton has been too kind, too sweet, to Marie! It
is that which troubles me."
"Well, out with it, Marie," said Rob. "Close
that door, if you like, and then speak out, without
any more beating around the bush."
"No, monsieur, I will no longer beat the bush;
I will now tell."
Marie carefully closed the door, and then began
her story:
"It was the night of the—of the horror. You
remember, Miss French, we sat all in this very
room, awaiting the coming of the great doctor—
the doctor Leonard."
"Yes," said Kitty, looking intently at the girl;
"yes, I know most of you stayed here waiting,—
but I was not here; Doctor Hills sent Miss Gardner
and me to our rooms."
"Yes; it is so. Well, we sat here, and Miss
Morton rose with suddenness and left the room. I
followed, partly that I thought she might need my
services, and partly—I confess it—because I trusted
her not at all, and I wished to assure myself that


FESSENDEN'S DETECTIVE WORK 213
all was well. I followed her,—but secretly,—and
I—shall I tell you what she did?"
Kitty hesitated. She was not sure she should
listen to what was, after all, servants' gossip about
a guest of the house.
But Fessenden looked at it differently. He
knew Marie had been the trusted personal maid of
Miss Van Norman, and he deemed it right to hear
the evidence that she was now anxious to give.
"Go on, Marie," he said gravely. Be careful to
tell it exactly as it happened, whatever it is."
"Yes, m'sieur. Well, then, I softly followed
Miss Morton, because she did not go directly to
her own room, but went to Miss Van Norman's
sitting-room and stood before the desk of Miss
Madeleine."
"You are sure, Marie?" said Kitty, who
couldn't help feeling it was dishonorable to listen to
this.
"Please, Miss French, let her tell the story in
her own way," said Rob. "It is perhaps of the
utmost importance, and may lead to great results."
Then Marie went uninterruptedly on.
"She stood in front of the desk, m'sieur; she
searched eagerly for papers, reading and discarding


214 THE CLUE
several. Then she found some, which she saw with
satisfaction, and hastily concealed in her pocket.
Miss Morton is a lady who yet has pockets in her
gowns. With the papers in her pocket, then, Miss
Morton looks about carefully, and, thinking herself
unobserved, creeps, but stealthily, to her own room.
There—m'sieur, I was obliged to peep at the key-
hole—there she lighted a fire in her grate, and
burned those papers. With my eyes I saw her.
Never would I have told, for it was not my affair,
but that I fear for Miss Dupuy. It is in the air
that she knows secrets concerning Miss Van Nor-
man's death. Ah, if one would know secrets, one
should question Miss Morton."
"This is a grave charge you bring against the
lady, Marie," said Fessenden.
"Yes, monsieur, but it is true."
"I know it is true," said Kitty; "I have not
mentioned it before, but I saw Miss Morton go to
Madeleine's room that night, and afterward go to
her own room. I knew nothing, of course, of the
papers, and so thought little of the whole incident,
but if she really took papers from Madeleine's desk
and burned them, it's indeed important. What
could the papers have been?"


FESSENDEN'S DETECTIVE WORK 215
"You know she inherited," began Fessenden.
"Oh, a will!" cried Kitty.
"Marie, you may go now," Rob interrupted;
"you did right to tell us this, and rest assured you
shall never be blamed for doing so. You will prob-
ably be questioned further, but for the present you
may go. And thank you."
Marie curtseyed and went away.
"She's a good girl," said Kitty. "I always
liked her; and she must have heard, as I did, so
much of Cicely's chatter, that she feared some sort
of suspicion would fall on Cicely, and she wanted
to divert it toward Miss Morton instead."
"As usual, with your quick wits, you've gone
right to the heart of her motive," said Rob; "but
it may be more serious than you've yet thought of.
Miss Morton inherits, you know."
"Yes, now," said Kitty significantly, "since
she burnt that other will."
"What other will?"
"Oh, don't you see? The will she burnt was
a later one, that didn't give her this house. She
burnt it so the earlier one would stand."
"How do you know this?"
"I don't know it, except by common sense!


216 THE CLUE
What else would she take from Maddy's desk and
burn except a will? And, of course, a will not in
her favor, leaving the one that did bequeath the
house to her to appear as the latest will."
"Does this line of argument take us any
further?" said Rob, so seriously that Kitty began
to think.
"You don't mean," she whispered, "that Miss
Morton—in order to"
"To receive her legacy"
"Could—no, she couldn't! I won't even think
of it!"
"But you thought of Miss Dupuy. Miss
French, as I told you yesterday, we must think of
every possible person, not every probable one.
These suggestions are not suspicions—and they
harm no one who is innocent."
"I suppose that is so. Well, let us consider
Miss Morton then, but of course she didn't really
kill Maddy."
"I trust not. But I must say I could sooner
believe it of a woman of her type than Miss
Dupuy's."
"But Cicely didn't either! Oh, how can you
say such dreadful things!"


XVI
SEARCHING FOR CLUES
Believing that Marie's information about Miss
Morton was of deep interest, Rob started off at
once to confer with Coroner Benson about it.
As he walked along he discussed the affair with
himself, and was shocked to realize that for the
third time he was suspecting a woman of the
murder.
"But how can I help it?" he thought impa-
tiently. "The house was full of women, and not a
man in it except the servants, and no breath of
suspicion has blown their way. And if a woman
did do it, that unpleasant Morton woman is by far
the most likely suspect. And if she was actuated
by a desire to get her inheritance, why, there's the
motive, and she surely had opportunity. It's a
tangle, but we must find something soon to guide
us. A murder like that can't have been done with-
out leaving some trace somewhere of the criminal."
And then Fessenden's thoughts drifted away to
Kitty French, and he was quite willing to turn the
218


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 219
responsibility of his new information over to Mr.
Benson. On his way to the coroner's office he
passed the Mapleton Inn. An impulse came to him
to investigate Tom Willard's statements, and he
turned back and entered the small hotel.
He thought it wiser to be frank in the matter
than to attempt to obtain underhand information.
Asking to speak with the proprietor alone, he said
plainly:
"I'm a detective from New York City, and my
name is Fessenden. I'm interested in investigating
the death of Miss Van Norman. I have no suspi-
cions of any one in particular, but I'm trying to
collect a few absolute facts by way of making a
beginning. I wish you, therefore, to consider this
conversation confidential."
Mr. Taylor, the landlord of the inn, was flattered
at being a party to a confidential conversation with
a real detective, and willingly promised secrecy in
the matter.
"Then," went on Fessenden, "will you tell me
all you know of the movements of Mr. Willard last
evening?"
Mr. Taylor looked a bit disappointed at this
request, for he foresaw that his story would be but


220 THE CLUE
brief. However, he elaborated the recital and spun
it out as long as he possibly could. But after all his
circumlocution, Fessenden found that the facts were
given precisely as Willard had stated them himself.
The bellboy who had carried up the suitcase was
called in, and his story also agreed.
"Yessir," said the boy; " I took up his bag, and
he gimme a quarter, just like any nice gent would.
'N'en I come downstairs, and after while the gent's
bell rang, and I went up, and he wanted ice water.
He was in his shirt sleeves then, jes' gittin' ready
for bed. So I took up the water, and he said,
'Thank you,' real pleasant-like, and gimme a dime.
He's a awful nice man, he is. He had his shoes off
that time, 'most ready for bed. And that's all I
know about it."
All this was nothing more nor less than Fessen-
den had expected. He had asked the questions
merely for the satisfaction of having verbal cor-
roboration of Tom's own story.
With thanks to Mr. Taylor, and a more material
token of appreciation to the boy, he went away.
On reaching the coroner's office, he was told that
Mr. Benson was not in. Fessenden was sorry, for
he wanted to discuss the Morton episode with him.


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 221
He thought of going to Lawyer Peabody's, who
would know all about Miss Van Norman's will, but
as he sauntered through one of the few streets the
village possessed, he was rather pleased than other-
wise to see Kitty French walking toward him.
She greeted him with apparent satisfaction, and
said chummily, "Let's walk along together and
talk it over."
Immediately coroner and lawyer faded from
Rob's mind, he willingly fell into step beside her,
and they walked along the street which soon merged
itself into a pleasant country road.
Fessenden told Kitty of his conversation at the
inn, but she agreed that it was unimportant.
"Of course," she said, "I suppose it was a
good thing to have some one else say the same as
Tom said, but as Tom wasn't even in the house, I
don't see as he is in the mystery at all. But there's
no use of looking further for the criminal. It was
Schuyler Carleton, just as sure as I stand here."
Kitty very surely stood there. They had paused
beneath an old willow tree by the side of the road,
and Kitty, leaning against a rail fence, looked like
a very sweet and winsome Portia, determined to
mete out justice.


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 223
French to look at any young man admiringly was
apt to be a bit disturbing to the young man's peace
of mind.
It proved so in this case, and though Fessenden
whispered to his own heart that he would attend
first to the vindication of his friend Carleton, his
own heart whispered back that after that, Miss
French must be considered.
"And so," said Rob, as they turned back home-
ward, "I'm going to work upon this line. I'm going
to look for clues; real, material, tangible clues, such
as criminals invariably leave behind them."
"Do!" cried Kitty. "And I'll help you. I
know we can find something."
"You see," went on Fessenden, his enthusiasm
kindling from hers, " the actual stage of the tragedy
is so restricted. Whatever we find must be in the
Van Norman house."
"Yes, and probably in the library."
"Or the hall," he supplemented.
"What kind of a thing do you expect to find?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. In the Sherlock
Holmes stories it's usually cigar ashes or something
like that. Oh, pshaw! I don't suppose we'll find
anything."


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 225
assume that, you know, in order to detect the real
criminal."
"Yes, I know I said so; but I don't believe that
game will work, after all."
"I don't believe you're much of a detective, any
way," said Kitty, so frankly that Fessenden agreed.
"I don't believe I am," he said honestly. "With
the time, place, and number of people so limited, it
ought to be easy to solve this mystery at once."
"I think it's just those very conditions that
make it so hard," said Kitty, sighing.
And so completely under her spell was Fessen-
den by this time that he emphatically agreed with
her.
When they reached the Van Norman house they
found it had assumed the hollow, breathless air that
invades a house where death is present.
All traces of decoration had been removed from
the drawing-room, and it, like the library, had been
restored to its usual immaculate order. The scent
of flowers, however, was all through the atmos-
phere, and a feeling of oppression hovered about
like a heavy cloud.
Involuntarily Kitty slipped her hand in Rob's as
they entered.
15


226 THE CLUE
Fessenden, too, felt the gloom of the place, but
he had made up his mind to do some practical work,
and detaining Harris, who had opened the door for
them, he said at once, "I want you to open the
blinds for a time in all the rooms downstairs. Miss
French and I are about to make a search, and, unless
necessary, let no one interrupt us."
"Very good, sir," said the impassive Harris,
who was becoming accustomed to sudden and unex-
pected orders.
They had chosen their time well for the search,
and were not interrupted. Most of the members
of the household were in their own rooms; and
there happened to be no callers who entered the
house.
Molly Gardner had gone away early that morn-
ing. She had declared that if she stayed longer
she should be downright ill, and, after vainly trying
to persuade Kitty to go with her, had returned alone
to New York.
Tom Willard and Lawyer Peabody were in
Madeleine's sitting-room, going over the papers in
her desk, in a general attempt to learn anything of
her affairs that might be important to know. They
had desired Miss Dupuy's presence and assistance,


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 227
but that young woman refused to go to them, saying
she was still too indisposed, and remained, under
care of Marie, in her own room.
Fessenden suggested that Kitty should make
search in the library while he did the same in the
drawing-room; and that afterward they should
change places.
Kitty shivered a little as she went into the room
that had been the scene of the tragedy, but she was
really anxious to assist Fessenden, and also she
wanted to do anything, however insignificant, that
would help in the least toward avenging poor
Maddy's death.
And yet it was seemingly a hopeless task.
Though she carefully and systematically scrutinized
walls, rugs and furniture, not a clue could she find.
She was on her hands and knees under a table
when Tom Willard came into the room.
"What are you doing?" he said, unable to
repress a smile as Kitty, with her curly hair a bit
dishevelled, came scrambling out.
"Hunting for clues," she said briefly.
"There are no clues," said Tom gravely. "It's
the most inexplicable affair all 'round."
"Then you have no suspicion of any one?"


228 THE CLUE
"My dear Miss French," said .Tom, looking at
her kindly, as one might at a child, but speaking
decidedly; "don't let the amusement of amateur
detective work lead you into making unnecessary
trouble for people. If detective work is to be done,
leave it to experienced and professional hands. A
girl hunting for broken sleeve-links or shreds of
clothing is foolishly theatrical."
Willard's grave but gentle voice made Kitty
think that she and Fessenden were acting childishly,
but after Tom, who had come on an errand, had
left the room, Kitty confided to herself that she
would rather act foolishly at Rob Fessenden's bid-
ding than to follow the wise advice of any other
man.
This was saying a good deal, but as she said it
only to herself, she felt sure her confidence would
not be betrayed.
Not half an hour had elapsed when Kitty ap-
peared at the drawing-room door with a discon-
tented face, and said, "There's positively nothing
in the library that doesn't belong there. It has been
thoroughly swept, and though there may have been
many clues, they've all been swept and dusted
away."


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 229
"Same here," said Fessenden dejectedly.
"However, let's change rooms, so we can both feel
sure." Then Kitty searched the drawing-room,
and Rob the library, and they both scrutinized every
inch of the hall.
"I didn't find so much as a thread," said Kitty,
as they sat down on a great carved seat in the hall
to compare notes.
"I didn't either," said Rob, "with one insig-
nificant exception; in the drawing-room I found this,
but it doesn't mean anything."
As he spoke he drew from his pocket a tiny
globule of a silver color.
"What is it?" asked Kitty, taking it with her
finger-tips from the palm of his hand.
"It's a cachou."
"And what in the world is a cachou? What
is it for?"
"Why, it's a little confection filled with a sort
of spice. Some men use them after smoking, to
eradicate the odor of tobacco."
"Eat them, do you mean? Are they good to
eat?" and impulsive Kitty was about to pop the
tiny thing into her mouth, when Rob caught her
hand.


230 THE CLUE
"Don't!" he cried. "That's my only clue,
after all this search, and it may be of importance."
He rescued the cachou from Kitty's fingers, and
then, slipping it into his pocket, he continued to
hold the hand from which he had taken it.
And then, somehow, detective work seemed for
a moment to lose its intense interest, and Rob and
Kitty talked of other things.
Suddenly Kitty said: "Tom Willard thinks
we're foolish to hunt for clues."
"I think he's right," said Fessenden, smiling,
"since we didn't find anything."
"Oh, he didn't exactly say you were foolish,
but he said I was. He said it was silly for a girl
to hunt around under tables and chairs."
"He had no right to say so. It isn't silly for
you to do anything you want to do. But I know
what Willard meant. He thinks, as lots of people
do, that there's no sense in expecting to find material
evidences of crime—or, rather, of the criminal.
And I suppose he's right. Whoever murdered Miss
Van Norman certainly left no tangible traces. But
I'm glad we hunted for them, for now I feel cer-
tain there were none left; otherwise, I should always
have thought there might have been."


SEARCHING FOR CLUES 231
"How much more sensible you are than Mr.
Willard," said Kitty, with an admiring glance that
went straight to the young man's heart, and stayed
there. "And, too, you always make use of ' clues'
if you do find them. Look how cleverly you de-
duced about the soft and hard lead pencils."
"Oh, that was nothing," said Fessenden mod-
estly, though her praise was ecstasy to his soul.
"Indeed it was something! It was great work.
And I truly believe you'll make as great a deduction
from that little thing you found this morning. What
do you call it?"
"A cachou."
"Yes, a cachou. The whole discovery of the
murderer may hinge on that tiny clue we found."
"It may, but I can hardly hope so."
"I hope so,—for I do want to prove to Tom
Willard that our search for clues wasn't silly, after
all."
And Fessenden's foolish heart was so joyed at
Kitty's use of " we " and " our " that he cared not a
rap for Willard's opinion of his detective methods.


XVII
MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS
That afternoon another session of the inquest
was held.
Fessenden had told Coroner Benson of Marie's
disclosures concerning Miss Morton, and in con-
sequence that lady was the first witness called.
The summons was a complete surprise to her.
Turning deathly white, she endeavored to answer to
her name, but only gave voice to an unintelligible
stammer.
The coroner spoke gently, realizing that his
feminine cloud of witnesses really gave him a great
deal of trouble.
"Please tell us, Miss Morton," he said, "what
was your errand when you left the library and went
upstairs, remaining there nearly half an hour, on
the night of Miss Van Norman's death?"
"I didn't do any such thing!" snapped Miss
Morton, and though her tone was defiant now, her
expression still showed fear and dismay.
"You must have forgotten. Think a moment.
232


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 233
You were seen to leave the library, and you were
also seen after you reached the upper floors. So try
to recollect clearly, and state your errand upstairs
at that time."
"I—I was overcome at the tragedy of the occa-
sion, and I went to my own room to be alone for
a time."
"Did you go directly from the library to your
own room?"
"Yes."
"Without stopping in any other room on the
way?"
"Yes."
"Think again, please. Perhaps I had better tell
you, a witness has already told of your stopping
on the way to your own room."
"She told falsely, then. I went straight to my
bedroom."
"In the third story?"
"Yes."
Coroner Benson was a patient man. He had
no wish to confound Miss Morton with Marie's
evidence, and too, there was a chance that Marie had
not told the truth. So he spoke again persuasively:
"You went there afterward, but first you


234 THE CLUE
stopped for a moment or two in Miss Van Norman's
sitting-room."
"Who says I did?"
"An eye-witness, who chanced to see you."
"Chanced to see me, indeed! Nothing of the
sort! It was that little French minor, Marie, who is
everlastingly spying about! Well, she is not to be
believed."
"I am sorry to doubt your own statement, Miss
Morton, but another member of the household also
saw you. Denial is useless; it would be better for
you to tell us simply why you went to Miss Van
Norman's room at that time."
"It's nobody's business," snapped Miss Morton.
"My errand there had nothing to do in any way
with Madeleine Van Norman, dead or alive."
"Then, there is no reason you should not tell
frankly what that errand was."
"I have my own reasons, and I refuse to tell."
Mr. Benson changed his tactics.
"Miss Morton," he said, "when did you first
know that you were to inherit this house and also
a considerable sum of money at the death of Miss
Van Norman?"
The effect of this sudden question was startling.
■


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 285
Miss Morton seemed to be taken off her guard. She
turned red, then paled to a sickly white. Once or
twice she essayed to speak, but hesitated and did not
do so.
"Come, come," said the coroner, "that cannot
be a difficult question to answer. When was your
first intimation that you were a beneficiary by the
terms of Miss Van Norman's will?"
And now Miss Morton had recovered her
bravado.
"When the will was read," she said in cold,
firm accents.
"No; you knew it before that. You learned it
when you went to Miss Van Norman's room and
read some papers which were in her desk. You
read from a small private memorandum book that
she had bequeathed this place to you at her death."
"Nothing of the sort," returned the quick,
snappy voice. "I knew it before that."
"And you just said you learned of it first when
the will was read!"
"Well, I forgot. Madeleine told me the day I
came here last year that she had made a will leaving
the house to me, because she thought it should have
been mine any way."


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 237
The coroner's voice was not persuasive now; it
was accusing, and his face was stern as he awaited
her reply.
Again Miss Morton's face blanched to white.
Her thin lips formed a straight line, and her eyes
fell, but her voice was strong and sibilant, as she
fairly hissed:
"How dare you! Of what do you accuse me?"
"Of burning a paper which you took secretly
from Miss Van Norman's private desk."
A moment's hesitation, and then, " I did not do
it," she said clearly.
"But you were seen to do it."
"By whom?"
"By a disinterested and credible witness."
"By a sly, spying French servant!"
"It matters not by whom; you are asked to
explain the act of burning that paper."
"I have nothing to explain. I deny it."
And try as he would Mr. Benson could not pre-
vail upon Miss Morton to admit that she had burned
a paper.
He confronted her with the witness, Marie, but
Miss Morton coldly refused to listen to her, or to
pay any attention to what she said. She insisted


238 THE CLUE
that Marie was not speaking the truth, and as the
matter rested between the two, there was nothing
more to be done.
Kitty French said that she saw Miss Morton go
into Madeleine's room, and afterward go upstairs
to her own room, but she knew nothing about the
papers in question.
Still adhering to her denial of Marie's story,
Miss Morton was excused from the witness stand.
Another witness called was Dorothy Burt. Fes-
senden was sorry that this had to be, for he dreaded
to have the fact of Carleton's infatuation for this
girl brought into public notice.
Miss Burt was a model witness, as to her man-
ner and demeanor. She answered promptly and
clearly all the coroner's questions, and at first Rob
thought that perhaps she was, after all, the innocent
child that Carleton thought her.
But he couldn't help realizing, as the cross-
questioning went on, that Miss Burt really gave
very little information of any value. Perhaps
because she had none to give, perhaps because she
chose to withhold it.
"Your name?" Mr. Benson had first asked.
"Dorothy Burt," was the answer, and the
/


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 239
modest voice, with a touch of sadness, as befitting
the occasion, seemed to have just the right ring to
it.
"Your occupation?"
"I am companion and social secretary to Mrs.
Carleton."
"Do you know of anything that can throw any
light on any part of the mystery surrounding the
death of Miss Van Norman?"
Miss Burt drew her pretty eyebrows slightly
together, and thought a moment.
"No," she said quietly; "I am sure I do not."
So gentle and sweet was she, that many a ques-
tioner would have dismissed her then and there;
but Mr. Benson, hoping to get at least a shred of
evidence bearing on Schuyler Carleton's strange
behavior, continued to question her.
"Tell us, please, Miss Burt, what you know of
Mr. Carleton's actions on the night of Miss Van
Norman's death."
"Mr. Carleton's actions?" The delicate eye-
brows lifted as if in perplexity at the question.
"Yes; detail his actions, so far as you know
them, from the time he came home to dinner that
evening."


240 THE CLUE
"Why, let me see;" pretty Dorothy looked
thoughtful again. "He came to dinner, as usual.
Mr. Fessenden was there, but no other guest. After
dinner we all sat in the music room. I played a
little,—just some snatches of certain music that
Mrs. Carleton is fond of. Mr. Carleton and Mr.
Fessenden chatted together."
Rob raised his own eyebrows a trifle at this.
Carleton had not been at all chatty; indeed, Fessen-
den and Mrs. Carleton had sustained the burden of
the conversation; and while Miss Burt had played,
it had been bits of romantic music that Rob felt
sure had been for Schuyler's delectation more than
his mother's.
"Is that all? " said Mr. Benson.
"Yes, I think so," said Miss Burt; " we all went
to our rooms early, as the next day was the day
appointed for Mr. Carleton's wedding, and we
assumed he wanted to be alone."
Rob looked up astounded. Was she going to
make no mention of the stroll in the rose-garden?
He almost hoped she wouldn't, and yet that was
certainly the evidence Mr. Benson was after.
"You said good-night to Mr. Carleton at what
time, then?" was the next rather peculiar question.


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 241
It might have been imagination, but Fessenden
thought the girl was going to name an earlier hour,
then, catching sight of Rob's steady eyes upon her,
she hesitated an instant, and then said: "About
ten o'clock, I think."
"Mrs. Carleton and Mr. Fessenden went to
their rooms at the same time?"
Dorothy Burt turned very pale. She shot a
quick glance at Schuyler Carleton and another at
Fessenden, and then said in a low tone: "They had
gone upstairs a short time before."
"And you remained downstairs for a time with
Mr. Carleton?"
"Yes." The answer, merely a whisper, seemed
forced upon her lips.
"Where were you?"
Again the hesitation. Again the swift glances
at Carleton and Rob, and then the low answer:
"In the rose-garden."
Fessenden understood. The girl had no desire
to tell these things, but she knew that he knew the
truth, and so she was too clever to lie uselessly.
"How long were you two in the rose-garden,
Miss Burt?"
Another pause. Somehow, Fessenden seemed to
16


242 THE CLUE
see the workings of the girl's mind. If she desig-
nated a long time it would seem important. If too
short a time, Rob would know of her inaccuracy.
And if she said she didn't know, it would lend a
meaning to the rose-garden interview which it were
better to avoid.
"Perhaps a half-hour," she said, at last, and,
though outwardly calm, her quickly-drawn breath
and shining eyes betokened a suppressed excite-
ment of some sort.
"And you left Mr. Carleton at ten o'clock?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what he did after that?"
"I do not!" the answer rang out clearly, as if
Miss Burt were glad to be well past the danger
point of the dialogue. But it came back at her
with the next question.
"What was the tenor of your conversation with
Mr. Carleton in the rose garden?"
At this Dorothy Burt's calm gave Way. She
trembled, her red lower lip quivered, and her eye-
lids fluttered, almost as if she were about to faint.
But, by a quick gesture, she straightened herself
up, and, looking her interlocutor in the eyes said:
"I trust I am not obliged to answer that very
personal question."


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 243
Like a flash it came to Fessenden that her per-
turbation had been merely a clever piece of acting.
She had trembled and seemed greatly distressed in
order that Mr. Benson's sympathy might be so
aroused that he would not press the question.
And indeed it required a hardened heart to
insist on an answer from the lovely, agitated girl.
But Mr. Benson was not so susceptible as some
younger men, and, moreover, he was experienced in
the ways of witnesses.
"I am sorry to be so personal, Miss Burt," he
said firmly; "but I fear it is necessary for us to
learn the purport of your talk with Mr. Carleton
at that time."
Dorothy Burt looked straight at Schuyler
Carleton.
Neither gave what might be called a gesture,
and yet a message and a response flashed between
the two.
Rob Fessenden, watching intently, translated it
to mean a simple negative on Schuyler's part, but
the question in the girl's eyes he could not read.
Carleton's "No," however, was as plain as if
spoken, and, apparently comprehending, Miss Burt
went evenly on.


Mi THE CLUE
"We talked," she said, "on such subjects as
might be expected on the eve of a man's wedding-
day. We discussed the probability of pleasant
weather, mention was made of Miss Van Norman
and her magnificent personality. The loneliness of
Mrs. Carleton after her son's departure was touched
upon, and, while I cannot remember definitely, I
think our whole talk was on those or kindred topics."
"Why did you so hesitate a moment ago, when
I asked you to tell this?"
Dorothy opened her lovely eyes in surprise.
"Hesitate! Why, I didn't. Why should I?"
Mr. Benson was at last put to rout. She had
hesitated—more than hesitated; she had been dis-
tinctly averse to relating what she now detailed as
a most indifferent conversation, but, in the face of
that expression of injured innocence, Mr. Benson
could say no more on that subject.
"When you left Mr. Carleton," he went on,
"did you know he was about to come over here to
Miss Van Norman's?"
Again the telegraphic signals between Miss Burt
and Carleton.
Quick as a flash—invisible to most of the on-
lookers, but distinctly seen by Fessenden—a ques-
tion was asked and answered.


MISS MORTON'S STATEMENTS 245
"No," she said quickly; "I did not."
"You left him at ten o'clock, then, and did not
see him again that night?"
"That is correct."
"And you have no idea how he was occupied
from ten o'clock, on?"
"I have not."
"That's all at present, Miss Burt."
The girl left the witness-stand looking greatly
troubled.
But the suspicious Mr. Fessenden firmly believed
she looked troubled because it made her more pret-
tily pathetic.
He wasn't entirely right in this, but neither was
Dorothy Burt quite as ingenuous as she appeared.


CARLETON IS FRANK 247
He himself asserted there was little, if any, time
therein unaccounted for.
Tom Willard, of course, repeated his story, and
it was publicly corroborated by witnesses from the
hotel. Tom had changed some during these few
days. The sudden accession of a large fortune
seemed to burden him rather than to bring him
joy. But no one wondered at this when they
remembered the sad circumstances which gave him
his wealth, and remembered, too, what was no secret
to anybody, that he had deeply loved his cousin
Madeleine. Of the other witnesses, Cicely Dupuy
was the only one whose later evidence was not
entirely in accordance with her earlier statements.
She often contradicted herself, and when in the
witness chair was subject to sudden fainting attacks,
whether real or assumed no one was quite sure.
And so, after the most exhaustive inquiry and
the most diligent sifting of evidence, the jury could
return only the time-worn verdict, "Death at the
hands of some person or persons unknown."
But in addition to this it was recommended by
the jury that Schuyler Carleton be kept under sur-
veillance. There had not been enough evidence to
warrant his arrest, but the district attorney was so


CARLETON IS FRANK 249
turned Rob moodily. "I showed it to some of
the servants, and they said they had never seen such
a thing before. Harris was quite sure that none of
the men who came here ever use them. I asked
Carleton, just casually, for one the other day, and
he said he didn't have any and never had had any.
I asked Willard for one at another time, and he said
the same thing. It must have been dropped by some
of the decorator's men; they seemed a Frenchy
crowd, and I've been told the French are addicted
to these things." Rob took the tiny silver sphere
from his pocket and looked at it as he talked.
"Besides, it wouldn't mean a thing if it had belonged
to anybody. I just picked it up because it was the
only thing I could find in the drawing-room that
wasn't too heavy to lift."
Rob put his useless clue back into his pocket
with a sigh. "I'm going to give it up," he said,
"and go back to New York. I've stayed here in
Mapleton over a week now, hoping I could be of
some help to poor old Carleton; but I can't—and
yet I know he's innocent! Fairbanks, the detective
on the case, is pleasant to work with, and I like
him; but if he can't find out anything, of course I
needn't hope to. I'd stay on, though, if I thought


CARLETON IS FRANK 251
other hand, if he is guilty, you'll probably learn the
fact from his manner."
Rob thought it over. "Kitty," he said at last,
"you're a trump. I believe you have hit upon the
only thing there is to try, and I'll try it before I
decide to go to New York. I'll stay in Mapleton a
day or two longer, for the more I think about it,
the more I think I haven't been fair or just to the
old boy in not even asking for his confidence."
"It isn't that so much, but you must assure him
of your belief in him. Tell him you know he is
innocent."
"I do know it'
"Yes, I know that has been your firm conviction
all along, though it isn't mine. But don't tell him
it isn't mine; just tell him of your own confidence
and sympathy and faith in him, and see what
happens."
"A woman's intuitions are always ahead of a
man's," declared Rob heartily. "I'll do just as you
say, Kitty, and I'll do it whole-heartedly, and to the
best of my ability."
Kitty was still staying in the Van Norman
house, which had not yet been, and probably would
not soon be, known by any other name.


CARLETON IS FRANK 255
Rob, I can't blame them. Everything is against
me.
"I admit there are some things that must be
explained away; and, Schuyler, if I'm to be your
lawyer, or, rather, since I am your lawyer, I must
ask you to be perfectly frank with me."
Carleton looked troubled. He was not of a
frank nature, and it was always difficult for him to
confide his personal affairs to anybody. Fessenden
saw this, and resolved upon strong measures.
"You must tell me everything," he said some-
what sternly. "You must do this at the sacrifice of
your own wishes. You must ignore yourself, and
lay your whole heart bare to me, for the sake of
your mother, and—for the sake of the woman you
love."
Schuyler Carleton started as if he had been
physically struck.
"What do you mean?" he cried.
"You know what I mean," said Fessenden
gently. "You did not love the woman you were
about to marry. You do love another. Can you
deny it?"
"No," said Carleton, settling back into his
apathy. "And since you know that, I may as well


«56 THE CLUE
tell you allI admired and respected Madeleine
Van Norman, and when I asked her to marry me I
thought I loved her. After that I met some one
else. You know this?"
"Yes; Miss Burt."
"Yes. She came into this house as my mother's
companion, and almost from the first time I saw
her I knew that she and not Madeleine was the one
woman in the world for me. But, Fessenden, never
by word or look did I betray this to Miss Burt
while Madeleine lived. If she guessed it, it was only
because of her woman's intuition. I was always
loyal to Madeleine in word and deed, if I could not
be in thought."
"Was it not your duty to tell Madeleine this?"
"I tried several times to do so, but, though I
hate to sound egotistical, she loved me very deeply,
and I felt that honor bound me to her."
"I'm not here to preach to you, and that part of
it is, of course, not my affair. I know your nature,
and I know that you were as loyal to Miss Van
Norman as you would have been had you never seen
Miss Burt, and I honor and respect you for it. But
you were jealous of Willard?"
"My nature is insanely jealous, yes. And


CARLETON IS FRANK 257
though he was her cousin, I knew Willard was
desperately in love with her, and somehow it always
made me frantic to see him showing affection
toward the woman I meant to make my wife."
"She was not in love with Willard?"
"Not in the least. Madeleine's heart beat only
for me, ungrateful wretch that I am. Her little
feints at flirting with Willard were only to pique me.
I knew this, and yet to see them together always
roused that demon of jealousy which I cannot con-
trol. Fessenden, aside from all else, how can people
think I killed the woman who loved me as she did?"
"Of course that argument appeals to you, and
of course it does to me. But you must see how
others, not appreciating all this, and even suspecting
or surmising that your heart was not entirely with
your intended bride—you must see that some
appearances, at least, are against you."
"I do see; and I see it so plainly that even to
me those appearances seem conclusive of my guilt."
"Never mind what they seem to you, old man;
they don't seem so to me, and now I'm going to get
to work. First, as I told you, you are going to be
frank with me. What were you doing in the Van
Norman house before you went into the library?"
17


CARLETON IS FRANK 259
opportunity to fasten it up in that floral bower,
unobserved. But the workmen were busy there
when I came away, and I knew there would be many
people about the next morning; so I decided to
return late at night to do my errand. I had no
thought of seeing Madeleine. There were no bright
lights in the house, and the drawing-room itself
was dark save for what light came in from the hall.
I did go into the house, I suppose, at about quarter
after eleven. I didn't note the time, but I dare say
Mr. Hunt was correct. Without glancing toward
the library then, I went at once to the drawing-room
and hid the reliquary among the garlands that
formed the top of that bower. As I stood there, I
thought over what I was about to do the next day.
It seemed to me that I was doing right, and I
vowed to myself to be a true and loving husband to
my chosen wife. I stood there some time, thinking,
and then turned to go away. As I left the room I
noticed a low light in the library, and it occurred
to me that if any one should be in there it would
be wiser to make my presence known. So I crossed
the hall and went into the library. The rest you
know. The sudden shock of seeing Madeleine as
she was, just as I had come from what was to have


260 THE CLUE
been our bridal bower, nearly unhinged my mind.
I picked up the dagger, I turned on lights and rang
bells, not knowing what I did. Now I have told
you the truth, and if my demeanor has seemed
strange, can you wonder at it in a man who experi-
enced what I did, and then is suspected of being
the criminal?"
"Indeed, no," said Fessenden, grasping his
friend's hand in sincere sympathy. "It was a ter-
rible experience, and the injustice of the suspicion
resting on you makes it a hundredfold more
horrible."
"When I went back to the house next morning
I watched for an opportunity, and managed, unob-
served, to remove the reliquary from its floral hid-
ing-place. I shall never use it now. There are
some men fated not to know happiness, and I am
of those.'
"Let us hope not," said Fessenden gently.
"But whatever the future may hold, let us now
keep to the business at hand, and use every possible
means to discover the evil-doer."
A


XIX
THE TRUTH ABOUT MISS BURT
Confidential relations thus being established
between the two men, Fessenden wished very much
to learn a little more concerning Dorothy Burt, but
found it a difficult subject to introduce.
It was, therefore, greatly to his satisfaction
when Carleton himself led up to it.
"I've been frank with you, Rob," he said, "but
perhaps there's one more thing I ought to confess."
"Nonsense, man, I'm not your father confessor.
If you've any facts, hand them over, but don't feel
that you must justify yourself to me."
"But I do want to tell you this, for it will help
you to understand my sensitiveness in the whole
matter. As you know, Rob, I do love Dorothy
Burt, and it is only since Madeleine's death that I
have allowed myself to realize how much I love
her. I shall never ask her to marry me, for the
stigma of this dreadful affair will always remain
attached to my name, and suspicion would more than
ever turn to me, if I showed my regard for Dorothy.
261


262 THE CLUE
As I told you, I never spoke a word of love to her
while Madeleine was alive. But she knew,—she
couldn't help knowing. Brave little girl that she is,
she never evinced that knowledge, and it was only
when I surprised a sudden look in her eyes that I
suspected she too cared for me. And yet, though
we never admitted it to each other, Madeleine sus-
pected the truth, and even taxed me with it. Of
course I denied it; of course I vowed to Madeleine
that she, and she only, was the woman I loved;
because I thought it the right and honorable thing
to do. If she hadn't cared so much for me herself,
I might have asked her to release me; but I never
did, and never even thought of doing so—until—
that last evening. Then—well, you know how she
had favored Willard in preference to me in the after-
noon, and, though I well knew it was only to tease
me, yet it did tease me, and I came home really
angry at her. It was an ill-advised occasion for
her to favor her cousin."
"I agree with you; but from the little I know
of Miss Van Norman's nature, I judge she was
easily piqued and quick to retaliate."
"Yes, she was; we were both too quick to take
offense, but, of course, the real reason for that was


THE TRUTH ABOUT MISS BURT 263
the lack of true faith between us. Well, then I
came home, angered, as I said, and Dorothy was
so—so different from Madeleine, so altogether
sweet and dear, so free from petty bickering or
sarcasm, that for the first time I felt as if I ought
not to marry the woman I did not love. I brooded
over this thought all through the dinner hour and
the early evening. Then you and mother left us,
and I asked Dorothy to go for a little stroll in the
garden. She refused at first—I think the child was
a little fearful of what I might say—but I said
nothing of the tumult in my heart. I realized,
though, that she knew I loved her, and that—she
cared for me. I had thought she did, but never
before had I felt so sure of it,—and the knowledge
completely unmanned me. I bade her good night
abruptly, and rather coldly, and then I went into
the library and fought it out with myself. And I
concluded that my duty was to Madeleine. I con-
fess to a frantic desire to go to her and ask her,
even at that last minute, to free me from my troth,
and then I thought what a scandal it would create,
and I knew that even if Dorothy and I both suffered,
it was Madeleine's right to leave matters as they
were. Having decided, I proceeded to carry out my


264 THE CLUE
earlier intention of going over to the Van Norman
house with the reliquary. It was so late then that
I had no thought of seeing Madeleine, but—and
this, Rob, is my confession—on the way there, I
still had a lingering thought that if I should see
Madeleine I would tell her the truth, and leave it
to her generosity to set me free. And it was this
guilty knowledge—this shameful weakness on my
part—that added to my dismay and horror at find-
ing her—as she was, in the library. I read that
awful paper,—I thought of course, then, she had
taken her own life, and I feared it was because she
knew of my falseness and treachery. This made
me feel as if I were really her murderer, quite as
much as if I had struck the actual blow."
"Don't take it like that, Schuyler; that's mor-
bid imagination. You acted loyally to Miss Van
Norman to the last, and though the whole situation
was most unfortunate, you were not really to blame.
No man can rule his own heart, and, any way, it
is not for me to comment on that side of the
matter. But since you have spoken thus frankly
of Miss Burt, I must ask you how, with your slight
acquaintance, you are so sure she is worthy of your
regard."


THE TRUTH ABOUT MISS BURT 265
"Our acquaintance isn't so slight, Rob. She
has been some time with mother,—more than six
months,—and we have been good friends from the
first. And I know her, perhaps by Love's intui-
tion,—but I know her very soul,—and she is the
truest, sweetest nature God ever made."
"But—forgive me—she has impressed me as
being not quite so frank and ingenuous as she
appears."
"That's only because you don't know her, and
you judge by your own uncertain and mistaken
impressions."
"But—when she gave her evidence at the in-
quest—she seemed to hesitate, and to waver as to
what she should say. It did not have the ring of
truth, though her manner was charming and even
naive."
"You misjudge her, Rob. I say this because I
know it. And I can't blame you, for, knowing of
my engagement to Madeleine, you are quite right
to disapprove of my interest in another woman."
"It isn't disapproval exactly."
"Well, it isn't suspicion, is it? You don't think
that Dorothy had any hand in the tragedy, do you?"
Carleton spoke savagely, with an abrupt change


266 THE CLUE
from his former manner, and as he heard his friend's
words, Rob knew that he himself had no more sus-
picion of Dorthy Burt than he had of Carleton. She
had testified in a constrained, uncertain manner,
but that was not enough to rouse suspicion of her
in any way.
"Of course not!" Fessenden declared heartily.
"Don't be absurd. But have I your permission to
put a few questions to Miss Burt, not in your
presence?" .
"Of course you have. I trust you to be kind
and gentle with her, for she is a sensitive little
thing; but I know whatever you may say to her, or
she to you, will only make you see more clearly
what a dear girl she is."
Fessenden was far from sure of this, but, having
gained Carleton's permission to interview Miss
Burt, he said no more about her just then.
For a long time the two men discussed the situa-
tion. But the more they talked the less they seemed
able to form any plausible theory of the crime. At
last Fessenden said, "There is one thing certain:
if we are to believe Harris's statement about the
locks and bolts, no one could have entered from the
outside."


THE TRUTH ABOUT MISS BURT 267
"No," said Carleton; "and so we're forced to
turn our attention to some one inside the house.
But each one in turn seems so utterly impossible.
We cannot even suggest Mrs. Markham or Miss
Morton"
"I don't altogether like that Miss Morton. She
acted queerly from the beginning."
"Not exactly queerly; she is not a woman of
good breeding or good taste, but she only arrived
that afternoon, and it's too absurd to picture her
stabbing her hostess that night."
"I don't care how absurd it is; she profited by
Miss Van Norman's death, and she was certainly
avid to come into her inheritance at once."
"Yes, I know," said Schuyler almost impa-
tiently. "But I saw Miss Morton when she first
came downstairs, and though she was shocked, she
really did nobly in controlling herself, and even in
directing others what to do. You see, I was there,
and I saw them all, and I'm sure that Miss Morton
had no more to do with that dreadful deed than I
had."
"Then what about her burning that will as soon
as Miss Van Norman was dead?"
"I don't believe it was a will; and, in fact, I'm
not sure she burned anything."


THE TRUTH ABOUT MISS BURT 269
cent. But does it not seem to you there are some
questions to be answered concerning Miss Dupuy?"
Fessenden sat thinking for a long time. Surely
these two men were just and even generous, and
unwilling to suspect without cause.
"There are points to be explained," said Rob
slowly; "and, Schuyler, since we are talking
frankly, I must ask you this: do you know that Miss
Dupuy is very much in love with you?"
"How absurd! That cannot be. Why, I've
scarcely ever spoken to the girl."
"That doesn't matter—the fact remains. Now,
you know she wrote that paper which stated that
she loved S., but he did not love her. That initial
designated yourself, and, because of this unfortunate
attachment, Cicely was of course jealous, or rather
envious, of Madeleine. I have had an interview
with Miss Dupuy, in which she gave me much more
information about herself than she thought she did,
and one of the facts I discovered—from what she
didn't say, rather than what she did—was her hope-
less infatuation for you."
"It's difficult to believe this, but now that you
tell me it is true, I can look back to some episodes
which seem to indicate it. But I cannot think it
would lead to such desperate results."


270 THE CLUE
"There's one thing certain: when we do find the
criminal it will have to be somebody we never would
have dreamed of; for if there were any probable
person we would suspect him already. Now, merely
for the sake of argument, let us see if Cicely did not
have 'exclusive opportunity' as well as yourself.
Remember she was the last one who saw Miss Van
Norman alive. I mean, so far as we have had any
witness or evidence. This fact in itself is always a
matter for investigation. And granting the fact of
two women, both in love with you, one about to
marry you, and the other perhaps insanely jealous;
a weapon at hand, no one else astir in the house—
is there not at least occasion for inquiry?"
Carleton looked aghast. He took up the story,
and in a low voice said, " I can add to that. When
I came in, as Hunt has testified, Cicely was leaning
over the banister, still fully dressed. When I cried
out for help fifteen minutes later, Cicely was the first
to run downstairs. She asked no questions, she did
not look toward the library, she glared straight at
me with an indescribable expression of fear and
horror. I cannot explain her attitude at that
moment, but if this dreadful thing we have dared to
think of could be true, it would perhaps be a reason."


THE TRUTH ABOUT MISS BURT 271
"And then, you know, she tried to get posses-
sion secretly of that slip of paper, after it had served
its purpose."
"Yes, and also after you, by clever observation,
had discovered that she wrote it, and not Made-
leine."
"Their writing is strangely alike."
"Yes; even I was deceived, and I have seen
much of Madeleine's writing. Fessenden—this is
an awful thing to hint—but do you suppose some of
the notes I have had purporting to be from Miss
Van Norman could have been written by Miss
Dupuy?"
"Why not? Several people have said the sec-
retary often wrote notes purporting to be from the
mistress."
"Oh, yes; formal society notes. But I don't
mean that. I mean, do you suppose Cicely could
have written of her own accord—even unknown to
Madeleine—as if—as if, you know, it were Made-
leine herself writing?"
"Oh, on purpose to deceive you!"
"Yes, on purpose to deceive me. It could easily
be done. I've seen so much of both their penman-
ship, and I never noticed it especially. I've always


272 THE CLUE
taken it for granted that a purely personal note was
written by Madeleine herself. But now—I
wonder."
"Do you mean notes of importance?"
"I mean notes that annoyed me. Notes that
voluntarily referred to her going driving or walking
with Willard, when there was no real reason for
her referring to it. Could it be that Cicely—bah!
I cannot say it of any woman!"
"I see your point; and it is more than possible
that Miss Dupuy, knowing of the strained relations
between you and Miss Van Norman, might have
done anything she could to widen the breach. It
would be easy, as she wrote so much of the corre-
spondence, to do this unnoticed."
"Yes, that's what I mean. Often Madeleine's
notes would contain a gratuitous bit of information
about her and Willard, and though she frequently
teased me when we were together, I was surprised
at her writing these things. I feel sure now that
sometimes, at least, they were the work of Miss
Dupuy. I can't describe it exactly, but that would
explain lots of things otherwise mysterious."
"This is getting beyond us," said Rob, with a
quick sigh. "I think it my duty to report this to


276 THE CLUE
"I do realize that," said Rob; "but to an inter-
ested observer it looks different. Why, if Mr. Carle-
ton were the guilty man, he surely would not tell
me so frankly the story of his interest in Miss
Burt."
This was certainly true, and Mr. Fairbanks
agreed to it.
Rob had been obliged to tell the detective the
facts of the case, though dilating as little as pos-
sible on Carleton's private affairs.
"At any rate," said Mr. Fairbanks, "we will
not consider Mr. Carleton for the present, but turn
toward the new trail, and it may lead us, at least, in
the right direction. If Miss Dupuy is innocent,
our investigations can do her no harm, and if she
knows more than she has told, we may be able to
learn something of importance. But she is of such
a hysterical nature, it is difficult to hold a satisfac-
tory conversation with her."
"Perhaps it would be advisable for me to talk
to her first," said Rob. "I might put her more at
her ease than a formidable detective could, and
then I could report to you what I learn."
"Yes," agreed the other; "you could choose an
expedient time, and, being in the same house, Miss
French might help you."


284 THE CLUE
meant only spending the night in New York, and
returning to Mapleton next day, if his plan failed.
He had a strong conviction that Marie knew
Cicely's address, although she had denied it. If
this were true, Kitty could possibly learn it from
her, and let him know in time to hunt up Cicely in
New York. And if Marie really did not know the
address, there was no harm done, after all.
The excitement of the chase stimulated Rob's
mental activity, and he gave rein to his imagination.
If Cicely Dupuy were guilty, she would act
exactly as she had done, he thought. A calmer,
better-balanced woman would have stayed at Maple-
ton and braved it out, but Miss Dupuy's excitable
temperament would not let her sleep or rest, and
made it impossible for her to face inquiry discreetly.
Rob purposed, if he received the address he
hoped for, to go to see the girl in New York, and
by judicious kindliness of demeanor to learn more
from her about the case than she would tell under
legal pressure.
As it turned out, whatever might be his powers
of detective acumen, his intuition regarding Marie's
information was correct.
Kitty French, quickly catching the tenor of the


CICELY'S FLIGHT 285
telegram, took Marie aside, and commanded her to
give up the address. Marie volubly protested and
denied her knowledge, but Kitty was firm, and the
stronger will conquered.
Luckily, Marie at last told, and Kitty went her-
self to send the telegram.
Marie accompanied her, as it was then well after
dusk, but Kitty did not permit the girl to enter the
telegraph office with her.
And so, by ten o'clock that evening, Rob Fes-
senden received from the hotel clerk a telegram
bearing an address in West Sixty-sixth Street,
which not only satisfied his wish, but caused him to
feel greatly pleased at his own sagacity.
It was too late to go up there that evening, and
so the amateur detective was forced to curb his
impatience until the next morning. He was afraid
the bird might have flown by that time, but there
was no help for it. He thought of telephoning, but
he didn't know the name of the people Cicely had
gone to, and too, even if he could succeeded in
getting the call, such a proceeding would only
startle her. So he devoted the rest of the evening
to writing a letter to Kitty French, ostensibly to
thank her for her assistance, but really for the


286 THE CLUE
pleasure of writing her. This he posted at mid-
night, thinking that if he should be detained longer
than he anticipated, she would then understand why.
Next morning the eager young man ate his
breakfast, and read his paper, a bit impatiently,
while he waited for it to be late enough to start.
Soon after nine, he called a taxicab and went to
the address Kitty had sent him.
Only the house number had been told in the
message, so when Fessenden found himself in the
vestibule of an apartment house, with sixteen names
above corresponding bells, he was a bit taken aback.
"I wish I'd started earlier," he thought, "for
it's a matter of trying them all until I strike the
right one."
But he fancied he could deduce something from
the names themselves, at least, for a start.
Eliminating one or two Irish sounding names,
also a Smith and a Miller, he concluded to try first
two names which were doubtless French.
The first gave him no success at all, but, undis-
couraged, he tried the other.
"I wish to see Miss Dupuy," he said, to the
woman who opened the door.
"She is not here," was the curt answer. But


CICELY'S FLIGHT 287
the intelligence in the woman's eye at the mention
of the name proved to Fessenden that at least this
was the place.
"Don't misunderstand," he said gently. "I
want to see Miss Dupuy merely for a few moments'
friendly conversation. It will be for her advantage
to see me, rather than to refuse."
"But she is not here," repeated the woman.
"There is no person of that name in my house."
"When did she go?" asked Rob quietly—so
quietly that the woman was taken off her guard.
"About half an hour ago," she said, and then,
with a horror-stricken look at her own thoughtless-
ness, she added hastily, "I mean my friend went.
Your Miss Dupuy I do not know."
"Yes, you do," said Rob decidedly, "and as she
has gone, you must tell me at once where she went."
The woman refused, and not until after a some-
what stormy scene, and some rather severe threats
on Fessenden's part did she consent to tell that
Cicely had gone to the Grand Central Station.
More than this she would not say, and thinking he
was wasting valuable time on her, Rob turned and,
racing down the stairs, for there was no elevator,
he jumped in his cab and whizzed away to the
station.


XXI
A SUCCESSFUL PURSUIT
Before he entered the station he looked through
the doorway, and to his delight saw the girl for
whom he was looking.
He did not rush madly into the station, but
paused a moment, and then walked in quietly, think-
ing that if his quest should be successful he must not
frighten the excitable girl.
Cicely sat on one of the benches in the waiting-
room. In her dainty travelling costume of black,
and her small hat with its black veil, she looked so
fair and young that Rob felt sudden misgivings as
to his errand. But it must be done, and, quietly
advancing, he took a seat beside her.
"Where are you going, Miss Dupuy?" he asked
in a voice which was kinder and more gentle than he
y himself realized.
She looked up with a start, and said in a low
voice, "Why do you follow me? May I not be
left alone to go where I choose?"
"You may, Miss Dupuy, if you will tell me
288


A SUCCESSFUL PURSUIT 289
where you are going, and give me your word of
honor that you will return if sent for."
"To be put through an examination! No, thank
you. I'm going away where I hope I shall never
see a detective or a coroner again!"
"Are you afraid of them, Miss Dupuy?"
The girl gave him a strange glance; but it
showed anxiety rather than fear. However, her
only reply was a low spoken "Yes."
"And why are you afraid?"
"I am afraid I may tell things that I don't want
to tell." The girl spoke abstractedly and seemed to
be thinking aloud rather than addressing her ques-
tioner.
It may be that Fessenden was influenced by her
beauty or by the exquisite femininity of her dainty
contour and apparel, but aside from all this he re-
ceived a sudden impression that what this girl said
did not betoken guilt. He could not have explained
it to himself, but he was at the moment convinced
that though she knew more than she had yet told,
Cicely Dupuy was herself innocent.
"Miss Dupuy," he said very earnestly, "won't
you look upon me as a friend instead of a foe? I
am quite sure you can tell me more than you have
19


290 THE CLUE
told about the Van Norman tragedy. Am I wrong
in thinking you are keeping something back?"
"I have nothing to tell," said Cicely, and the
stubborn expression returned to her eyes.
It did not seem a very appropriate place in which
to carry on such a personal conversation, but Fes-
senden thought perhaps the very publicity of the
scene might tend to make Miss Dupuy preserve her
equanimity better than in a private house. So he
went on:
"Yes, you have several things to tell me, and I
want you to tell me now. The last time I talked to
you about this matter I asked you why you gave
false evidence as to the time that Mr. Carleton
entered the Van Norman house that evening, and
you responded by fainting away. Now you must
tell me why that question affected you so seriously."
"It didn't. I was nervous and overwrought,
and I chanced to faint just then."
Fessenden saw that this explanation was untrue,
but had been thought up and held ready for this
occasion. He saw, too, that the girl held herself
well in hand, so he dared to be more definite in his
inquiries.
"Do you know, Miss Dupuy, that you are seri-
>


A SUCCESSFUL PURSUIT 291
ously incriminating yourself when you give false
evidence?"
"I don't care," was the answer, not flippantly
given, but with an earnestness of which the speaker
herself seemed unaware.
And Fessenden was a good enough reader of
character to perceive that she spoke truthfully.
The only construction he could put upon this
was that, as he couldn't help believing, the girl was
innocent and therefore feared no incriminating evi-
dence against her.
But in that case what was she afraid of, and
why was she running away?
"Miss Dupuy," he began, starting on a new
tack, "please show more confidence in me. Will
you answer me more straightforwardly if I assure
you of my belief in your own innocence? I will
not conceal from you the fact that not every one
is so convinced of that as I am, and so I look to
you for help to establish it.
"Establish what? My innocence?" said
Cicely, and now she looked bewildered, rather than
afraid. "Does anybody think that I killed Miss
Van Norman?"
"Without going so far as to say any one thinks


A SUCCESSFUL PURSUIT 293
to make the most of the advantage he had gained;
"but having assured you that it was not Schuyler
Carleton, will you not tell me what it is you have
been keeping secret?"
"How do you know Mr. Carleton is innocent?
Have you proved it? Has some one else con-
fessed?"
"No, no one has confessed. And, indeed, I
may as well own up that no one is quite so sure of
Mr. Carleton's innocence as I am myself. But I
am sure of it, and I'm going to prove it. Now, will
you not help me to do so?"
"How can I help yon?"
"By explaining that discrepancy in time, so far
as you can. You testified that Mr. Carleton entered
the house at half-past eleven, and Mr. Hunt said he
came in at quarter-past. What made you tell that
falsehood, and stick to it?"
"Why, nothing," exclaimed Cicely, " except that
I thought I saw Mr. Carleton come into the house
some little time before he cried out for help. I was
looking over the baluster when Mr. Hunt said he
saw me, and I, too, thought it was Mr. Carleton
who came in then."
"It was Mr. Carleton, but he has satisfactorily


294 THE CLUE
explained why he came in, and what he was doing
until the time when he called out for help. Why
did you not tell us about this at first?"
"I was afraid—afraid they might connect Mr.
Carleton with the murder, and I was afraid"
"You were afraid that he really had done the
deed?"
"Yes," said Cicely in a very low voice, but with
an intonation that left no doubt of her truthfulness.
"Then," said Rob in his kindest way, "you
may set your mind at rest. Mr. Carleton is no
longer under actual suspicion, and you may go away,
as you intended, for a few days' rest. I should be
glad to have your address, though I trust it will not
be necessary for me to send for you; and I know
you will not be called to witness against Schuyler
Carleton."
Cicely gave the required address, and though
they continued the conversation for a short time,
Rob concluded that the girl knew nothing that
actually bore on the case. Her own false evidence
and nervous apprehension had all been because of
her anxiety about Mr. Carleton, and her fear that
he had really been the murderer. Her written
paper, and all the evidences of her jealousy of Miss
^


A SUCCESSFUL PURSUIT 295
Van Norman, were the result of her secret and
unrequited love for the man, and her attempted
flight was only because she feared that her uncon-
trollable emotion and impulsive utterances might
help to incriminate him.
Fessenden was truly sorry for her, and glad that
she could go away from the trying scenes for a
time. He felt sure that she would come, if sum-
moned, for now, relieved of her doubt of Carleton,
she had no reason for refusing any testimony she
could give.
It was in a kindly spirit that he bade her good-by,
and promised to use every effort not only to estab-
lish Carleton's innocence, but to discover the guilty
one.
When Fessenden returned to the Van Norman
house, several people were awaiting him in the
library. Miss Morton and Kitty French were there,
also Coroner Benson and Detective Fairbanks.
"Were you too late?" asked Kitty, as Rob
entered the room.
"No, not too late. I found Miss Dupuy in the
Grand Central station, and I had a talk with her."
"Well?' said Kitty impatiently.
"She is as innocent as you or I."


296 THE CLUE
"How did you find it out so quickly? " inquired
Mr. Fairbanks, who had a real liking for the enthu-
siastic young fellow.
"Why, I found out that she was hanging over
the baluster, as Hunt said; and she did see Carle-
ton come in at quarter after eleven. She then went
back to her room, and heard Carleton cry out at
half-past eleven, and when she discovered what had
happened she suspected Carleton of the deed; and,
endeavoring to shield him, she refused to give evi-
dence that might incriminate him."
"But," cried Kitty, "of course Mr. Carleton
didn't do it if Cicely did."
"But don't you see, Miss French,' said the older
detective, as Fessenden sat staring in blank sur-
prise at what he deemed Kitty's stupidity—" don't
you see that if Miss Dupuy suspected Mr. Carleton
she couldn't by any possibility be guilty herself."
"Why, of course she couldn't!" exclaimed
Kitty. "And I'm truly glad, for I can't help liking
that girl, if she is queer. But, then, who did do it?"
Suspicion was again at a standstill. There was
no evidence to point anywhere; there were no clues
to follow, and no one had any suggestion to offer.
It was at this juncture that Tom Willard and
Schuyler Carleton came in together.


298 THE CLUE
"But," objected Coroner Benson, "to engage a
detective of high standing would entail considerable
expense, and I'm not sure that I'm authorized to
sanction this."
There was a silence, but nearly every one in the
room was thinking that surely this was the time
for Tom Willard to make use of his lately inherited
Van Norman money.
Nor was Willard delinquent. Though showing
no overwillingness in the matter, he said plainly that
he would be glad if Coroner Benson or Mr. Fair-
banks would engage the services of the best detective
they could find, and allow him to defray all expenses
attendant thereon.
At this a murmur of approval went round the
room. All his hearers were at their wits' end what
to do next, and the opportunity of putting a really
great detective on the case was welcome indeed.
"But I don't believe," said Willard, "that he
will find out anything more than our own men have
discovered." The appreciative glance Tom gave
Mr. Fairbanks and Rob quite soothed whatever
touch of jealousy they may have felt of the new
detective.
It was Carleton who suggested Fleming Stone.


A SUCCESSFUL PURSUIT 299
He did not know the man personally, but he had
read and heard of the wonderful work he had done
in celebrated cases all over the country.
Of course they had all heard of Fleming Stone,
and each felt a thrill of gratitude to Willard, whose
wealth made it possible to employ the great detec-
tive.
Mr. Fairbanks wasted no time, but wrote at once
to Fleming Stone, and received a reply stating that
he would arrive in Mapleton in a few days.
But in the meantime Rob Fessenden could not
be idle.
In truth, he had a secret ambition to solve the
mystery himself, before the great detective came,
and to this end he stayed on in Mapleton, and
racked his brain for ideas on the subject.
Mr. Fairbanks was more easily discouraged,
and frankly confessed the case was beyond his
powers.
Privately, he still suspected Mr. Carleton, but
in the face of Rob's faith in his friend, and also
because of the demeanor of Carleton himself, he
couldn't avow his suspicions.
For since Fessenden's assertions of confidence,
Carleton had changed in his attitude toward the
world at large.


300 THE CLUE
Still broken and saddened by the tragedy, he
did not show that abject and self-condemnatory air
which had hung round him during the inquest week.
Kitty French had almost recovered faith in him,
and had there been any one else at all to suspect,
she would have asserted her belief in his innocence.
Carleton himself seemed baffled. His suspicions
had been directed toward Cicely, because he could
see no other possibility; but the proof of her sus-
picions of himself, of course, showed he was wrong
in the matter.
He could suggest nothing; he could think of
nobody who might have done the deed, and he was
thoroughly content to place the whole affair unre-
servedly in the hands of Fleming Stone.
Indeed, every one seemed to be glad of the
expected help, if we except Fessenden. He was
restlessly eager to do something himself, and saw no
reason why he shouldn't keep on trying until Stone
came.


A TALK WITH MISS MORTON 303
Miss Morton had grown fond of Kitty French
during the girl's stay with her, and she looked with
approval on the fast-growing friendship between
her and young Fessenden.
As the hostess at the Van Norman house, too,
Miss Morton showed a kindly hospitality, and
though she was without doubt eccentric, and some-
times curt of speech, she conducted the household
and directed the servants with very little friction
or awkwardness.
She was most friendly toward Tom Willard and
Schuyler Carleton, and the latter often dropped in
at the tea hour. Fessenden dropped in at any hour
of the day, and of course Mr. Fairbanks came and
went as he chose.
Fessenden and Kitty found Miss Morton in the
library, and, as they had decided beforehand, went
straight to the root of the matter.
"Miss Morton," Fessenden began, "I want to
do a little more questioning on my own account,
before Mr. Fleming Stone arrives. I'm sure you
won't object to helping me out a bit by answering
a few queries."
"Go ahead," said Miss Morton grimly, but not
unkindly.


804 THE CLUE
"They are a bit personal," went on Rob, who
was at a loss how to begin, now that he was really
told to do so.
"Well?"
This time, Miss Morton's tone was more crisp,
and Kitty began to see that Rob was on the wrong
tack. So she took the helm herself, and said, with
a winning smile:
"We want you to tell us frankly what was the
paper you burned."
Something in Miss Morton's expression went to
the girl's heart, and she added impulsively:
"I know it wasn't anything that affects the case
at all, and if you want to refuse us, you may."
"I'd rather not tell you," said Miss Morton,
and a far-away look came into her strange eyes;
"but since you have shown confidence in me, I
prefer to return it."
She took Kitty's hand in hers, and from the
gentle touch the girl was sure that whatever was
the nature of the coming confidence, it was not that
of a guilty conscience.
"As you know, Kitty," she began, addressing
the girl, though she glanced at Rob occasionally,
"many years ago I was betrothed to Richard Van


A TALK WITH MISS MORTON 307
wrote me that the letters had been found in a secret
drawer of Richard's old desk. She invited me to
come to her wedding, and said that she would then
give me the letters. Of course I came, and that
afternoon that I arrived she told me they were in
her desk, and she would give them to me next morn-
ing. I was more than impatient for them,—I had
waited forty years for them,—but I couldn't trouble
her on her wedding eve. And then—when—when
she went away from us, without having given them
into my possession, I was so afraid they would fall
into other hands, that I went in search of them. I
found them in her desk, I took them to my room and
burned them without reading them. And that is
the true story of the burned papers. I did look over
a memorandum book, thinking it might tell where
they were. But right after that I found the letters
themselves in the next compartment, and I took
them. They were mine."
The dignified complacency with which Miss
Morton uttered that last short sentence commanded
the respect of her hearers.
"Indeed, they were yours, Miss Morton," said
Fessenden, " and I'm glad you secured them, before
other eyes saw them."


810 THE CLUE
that Fessenden determined to attend to. Carleton
had assured him that he was at liberty to talk to
Dorothy Burt, if he chose, and Rob couldn't help
thinking that he ought to get all possible light on the
case before Mr. Stone came; for he proposed to
assist that gentleman greatly by his carefully tabu-
lated statements, and his cross-referenced columns
of evidence.
So, unaccompanied by Kitty, who was apt to
prove a disturbing influence on his concentration of
mind, he interviewed Miss Burt.
It was not difficult to get an opportunity, as she
rarely left the house, and Mrs. Carleton was not
exigent in her demands on her companion's time.
So the two strolled in the rose-garden late one
afternoon, and Rob asked Miss Burt to tell him
why she hesitated so when on the witness stand, and
why she looked at Carleton with such unmistakable
glances of inquiry, which he as certainly answered.
Dorothy Burt replied to the questions as frankly
as they were put.
"To explain it to you, Mr. Fessenden," she
said, "I must first tell you that I loved Mr. Carle-
ton even while Miss Van Norman was his affianced
bride. I tell you this simply, both because it is the


A TALK WITH MISS MORTON 311
simple truth and because Mr. Carleton advised me
to tell you, if you should ask me. And, knowing
this, you may be surprised to learn that when I
heard of Miss Van Norman's death, I "she
raised her wonderful eyes and looked straight at
Rob —" I thought she died by Schuyler's hand.
Yes, you may well look at me in surprise,—I know
it was dreadful of me to think he could have done
it, but—I did think so. You see, I loved him,—and
I knew he loved me. He had never told me so, had
never breathed a word that was disloyal to Miss
Van Norman,—and yet I knew. And that last
evening in this very rose-garden, on the night before
his wedding, we walked here together, and I knew
from what he didn't say, not from what he did say,
that it was I whom he loved, and not she. He left
me with a few cold, curt words that I knew only too
well masked his real feelings, and I saw him no
more that night. He had told me he was going
over to Miss Van Norman's, and so, when I heard
of the—the tragedy—I couldn't help thinking he
had yielded to a sudden terrible impulse. Oh, I'm
not defending myself for my wrong thought of
him; I'm only confessing that I did think that"
"And how did you learn that you were mis-


320 THE CLUE
"He came up through this hole in the fireplace,"
said Stone, almost as if talking to himself, "very
soon after Miss Dupuy went upstairs at half-past
ten. Before Mr. Carleton arrived at quarter after
eleven, the murderer had finished his work, and had
departed by this same means."
While the others stood seemingly struck dumb
by this revelation, Kitty excitedly flew to the fire-
place and tried to raise the iron lid, but the andirons
were in the way. Rob set them aside for her, while
Stone said quietly, "Those andirons were probably
not there that night?"
"No," exclaimed Kitty; "they had been taken
away, because we expected to fill the fireplace with
flowers the next day."
"But how could anybody get in the cellar?"
asked Miss Morton, looking bewildered.
"The cellar is never carefully locked," said
Fleming Stone. "I came downstairs early this
morning, and before breakfast Harris had shown me
all through the cellar. He admits that several win-
dows are always left open for the sake of ventila-
tion, and claims that the carefully locked door in
the hall at the head of the cellar stairs precludes all
danger from that direction."


FLEMING STONE 321
"But I don't understand," said Mr. Fairbanks
perplexedly. "If that opening is an ash-chute, such
as I have in my own house, it is all bricked up down
below, with the exception of a small opening for
the removal of the ashes, and it would be quite im-
possible for any one to climb up through it."
"But this one isn't bricked up," said Fleming
Stone. "It was originally intended to be enclosed;
but it seems this fireplace is rarely used. Harris
tells me that the late Mr. Van Norman used to talk
about having the chute completed, and having a fire
here more often. But the library wood fire was
more attractive as a family gathering place, and this
formal room was used only on state occasions.
However, as you see," and Mr. Stone raised the
iron lid again, "this opens directly into the cellar,
and, I repeat, formed the means of entrance for
the murderer of Madeleine Van Norman."
Fleming Stone's voice and manner were far from
triumphant or jubilant at his discovery. He seemed
rather to state the fact with regret, but as if it must
be told.
Mr. Fairbanks looked amazed and thoughtful,
but Rob Fessenden was frankly incredulous.
"Mr. Stone," he said respectfully, "I am sure
21


FLEMING STONE 323
is a noted burglar and a suspected murderer, but he
is safely in prison at present and has been for some
months."
"But he may have escaped," exclaimed Rob.
"Are you sure he hasn't?"
"I haven't heard anything about him of late;
but if he is or has been away from the prison, it
can be easily found out."
"Isn't it unlikely," said Fleming Stone quietly,
"that a noted burglar should enter a house and
commit murder, without making any attempt to
steal?"
"He may have been frightened away by the
sound of Schuyler's latch-key," suggested Rob, and
Kitty looked at him with pride, in his ingenuity, and
thought how much cleverer he was, after all, than
the celebrated Fleming Stone.
Fessenden urged Mr. Fairbanks to go at once
and look up the whereabouts of Slim Jim, and the
detective was strongly inclined to go.
"Go, by all means, if you choose," said Fleming
Stone pleasantly. "There's really nothing further
to do here in the way of examination of the premises.
I do not mind saying that my own suspicions are
not directed toward Slim Jim, but my own sus-


324 THE CLUE
picions are by no means an infallible guide. I will
ask you, though, gentlemen, not to say anything
about this ash-chute matter to-day. I consider it is
my right to request this. Of course you can find
out all about Slim Jim without stating how he
entered the house."
The two men promised not to say anything about
the ash-chute to anybody, and hot upon the trail of
the suspected burglar they went away.
Miss Morton excused herself, and upon Kitty
French fell the burden of entertaining Mr. Stone.
Nor was this young woman dismayed at the task.
Though not loquacious, the detective was an
easy and pleasant talker, and he seemed quite ready
to converse with the girl as if he had no other occu-
pation on hand.
"How wonderful you are!" said Kitty, clasping
her hands beneath her chin as she looked at the
great man. "To think of your spotting that fire-
place thing right away! Though of course I never
should have thought of anybody squeezing up
through there. And Rob and I spent a whole morn-
ing searching these rooms for clues, and that was
only the day after it happened."
"What an opportunity!" Stone seemed inter-
A


XXIV
A CONFESSION
Mr. Taylor, the landlord of the Mapleton Inn,
showed a pleased surprise when Fleming Stone
walked into his hotel and approached the desk.
The men had never met, but everybody in Mapleton
knew that Fleming Stone was in town, and had
heard repeated and accurate descriptions of his
appearance.
"Perhaps you can spare half an hour for a smoke
and a chat," said Stone affably, and though Mr.
Taylor heartily agreed, he did not confess that he
could easily have spared half a day or more had the
great detective asked him.
In the landlord's private office they sat down for
a smoke, and soon the conversation, without effort,
drifted around to the Van Norman affair.
Unlike detectives of fiction, Fleming Stone was
by no means secretive or close-mouthed. Indeed
he was discursive, and Mr. Taylor marvelled that
such a great man should induge in such trivial
326


A CONFESSION 327
gossip. They talked of old Richard Van Norman
and the earlier days of the Van Norman family.
"You've lived here a long time, then? " inquired
Mr. Stone.
"Yes, sir. Boy and man, I've lived here nigh
onto sixty years."
"But this fine modern hotel of yours is not as
old as that?"
The landlord's face glowed with pride. "Right
you are, sir. Some few years ago wife had some
money left her, and we built the old place over—
pretty near made a whole new house of it."
"You have many guests?"
"Well, not as many as I'd like; but as many as
I can expect in a little town like this. Mostly tran-
sients, of course; drummers and men of that sort.
Young Willard stayed here, when the Van Norman
house was full of company, but after the—the
trouble, he went back there to stay."
"Affable sort of man, Willard, isn't he?" ob-
served Stone.
"Yes, he's all of that, but he's a scapegrace.
He used to lead this town a dance when he lived
here."
"How long since he lived here?"


A CONFESSION 329
have been far away, and, moreover, his sharp black
eyes and alert manner betokened the type of boy
who would be apt to be listening about.
His hand was already in his pocket when Mr.
Taylor said to him, "Tripp, didn't I see you have a
small bottle of cachous?—those little silver pellets,
you know."
"Yessir;" and Tripp drew forth a half-filled
bottle.
"That's right. Give them to the gentleman."
"Oh, I only want a couple,' said Fleming Stone,
taking the vial which Tripp thrust toward him.
"Where did you get these, my boy?"
The boy blushed and looked down, twisting his
fingers in embarrassment.
"Speak up, Tripp," said the landlord sternly.
"Answer the gentleman, and see that you tell the
truth."
"I ain't going to tell no lie," said Tripp dog-
gedly. "I found this here bottle in the bureau-
drawer of number fourteen a few days ago."
"Fourteen? That's the room Mr. Willard had,"
said Mr. Taylor, reflectively.
"Yessir, but he didn't leave them there. They
were there before. I seen 'em, and I knew that


S80 THE CLUE
hatchet-faced hardware man left 'em; then Mr.
Willard, he come, but he didn't swipe 'em, so I did.
That ain't no harm, is it?"
"Not a bit," said Fleming Stone, "since you've
told the truth about it, and here's a dollar for your
honesty. And I'm going to ask you not to say any-
thing more about the matter, for a few days at
least. Also I'm going to ask to be allowed to take a
look at room number fourteen."
"Certainly, sir. Tripp, show the gentleman
up;" and Mr. Taylor fairly rubbed his hands with
satisfaction to think that he and his premises were
being made use of by the great detective.
"Yessir. It's at the back of the house, sir.
This way, sir."
Mr. Stone's survey of the room was exceedingly
brief. He gave one glance around, looked out of
the only window it contained, tried the key in the
lock, and then expressed himself satisfied.
Tripp, disappointed at the quickly-finished per-
formance, elaborately pointed out the exact spot
where he had found the cachou bottle, but Mr. Stone
did not seem greatly interested.
However, the interview was financially success-
ful to Tripp, and after Mr. Stone's departure he


A CONFESSION 331
turned several hand-springs by way of expressing
his satisfaction with the detective gentleman.
After dinner that evening the group of the night
before reassembled in the library.
A strange feeling of oppression seemed to hang
over all. The very fact that Fleming Stone had as
yet said nothing of any discoveries he might have
made, and the continued courtesy of his pleasant,
affable demeanor, seemed to imply that he had suc-
ceeded rather than failed in his mission.
Although genial and quickly responsive, he was,
after all, an inscrutable man; and Mr. Fairbanks,
for one, had learned that his gentle cordiality often
hid deep thoughts in a quickly-working mind.
Without preamble, as soon as they were seated
Mr. Stone began:
"Employed by Coroner Benson, I was asked
to come here to discover, if might be, the murderer
of Miss Madeleine Van Norman. By some unmis-
takable evidence which I have found, by some reli-
able witnesses with whom I have talked, and by
some proofs which I have discovered, I have learned
beyond all doubt who is the criminal, and how the
deed was done. Is it the wish of all present that I


332 THE CLUE
should now make known what I have discovered,
or is it preferred that I should tell Coroner Benson
alone?"
For several minutes nobody spoke, and then the
coroner said, "Unless any one present states an
objection, you may proceed to tell us what you know,
here and now, Mr. Stone."
After waiting a moment longer and hearing no
objection raised, Fleming Stone proceeded.
"The man who murdered Miss Van Norman
entered the house through a cellar window. He
climbed up through the ash-chute in the drawing-
room fireplace."
Although some of Mr. Stone's hearers had
listened to this revelation in the morning, the others
had not heard of it, and every face expressed utter
astonishment, if not unbelief—with the exception
of one. Tom Willard turned white and stared at
Fleming Stone as if he had not understood.
"What? " he said hoarsely.
As if he had not heard the interruption, Fleming
Stone went on:
"Who that man was, I think I need not tell you. Is he not already telling you himself?"
Willard's face grew drawn and stiff, like that of


A CONFESSION 333
a paralyzed man, but his burning eyes seemed unable
to tear themselves away from the quiet gaze of
Fleming Stone. Then with a groan Willard's head
sank into his hands and he fell forward on the table
—the very table at which Madeleine had sat on that
fatal night.
There was a stir, and Schuyler Carleton rushed
forward to Willard's assistance if need be. But the
man had not fainted, and, raising his white face,
he squared his shoulders, clenched his hands, and,
again fixing his eyes on those of Fleming Stone,
said in a desperate voice, " Go on."
"I must go on," said Stone, gently. "I know
each one of you is thinking that it is absurd to
imagine a man of Mr. Willard's weight and girth
climbing up through the seemingly small opening in
the fireplace. But this can be explained. To one
who does not know how, such a feat would seem
impossible, and, moreover, it would be impossible.
It is only one who knows how who can do it. There
are men in certain occupations, such as engineers
and boiler men, who are continually obliged to
squeeze through holes quite as small. The regular
boiler man-hole is oval, and measures ten by fifteen
inches, but there are many of them in large tanks


334i THE CLUE
which measure even less each way. I had occasion
some time ago to interview an engineer on this sub-
ject. He weighed two hundred and fifteen pounds,
and had a chest measure of forty-two inches. He
told me that he could go through a much smaller
man-hole than another workman who weighed only
one hundred and sixty pounds, simply because he
knew how. It is done by certain manipulations of
the great muscles and by following a certain routine
of procedure. But the method is unimportant, for
the moment. The fact remains, and can be verified
by any engineer. I discovered to-day that Mr.
Willard is or has been an expert engineer, and for
many years held such a position in a large factory
right here in Mapleton. As to Mr. Willard's pres-
ence in this house upon that fatal night, a tiny clue
discovered by Mr. Fessenden gives us indubitable
proof. Mr. Fessenden found next morning on the
drawing-room floor a cachou. I have learned that
these are by no means in common use in Mapleton,
and, moreover, that it is not the custom of any one
of the men now present to use them. I further
learned that after Mr. Willard left here that night
to go to the hotel he found by chance a small bottle
of these in the room which was assigned to him. I


A CONFESSION 335
am assuming that he carelessly put a few in his
pocket, and that in his struggle through the ash-
chute one fell upon the carpet. The room which
Mr. Willard occupied at Mapleton Inn is in the
second story, and its window opens upon a veranda
roof which has a gentle slope almost to the ground.
This provides an easy means of exit and entrance,
and as Mr. Willard has no alibi later than half-past
ten on that evening, the time would permit him to
come here and go away again before the hour when
Mr. Carleton is known to have arrived."
Then turning and meeting Tom's intent gaze,
Fleming Stone addressed himself directly to him,
and said, "Why you chose to kill your cousin, I
don't know; but you did."
"I did," said Tom, in a hollow voice, "and I
will tell you why." He rose as he spoke, and stand-
ing by the table, he steadied himself by placing one
hand upon it.
"It was entirely unpremeditated," he said, " and
I'm going to tell you about it, because I owe a con-
fession to Madeleine's memory, though I am respon-
sible for my deed to no one here present."
Though Willard spoke with no attempt at pride
or defiance, his tone and look were those of a man


336 THE CLUE
hopeless and utterly crushed. He addressed him-
self principally to Fleming Stone, looking now and
then at Carleton, but not so much as glancing at any
one else.
"It is no secret, I think, that I loved my cousin
Madeleine. Many, many times I have pleaded with
her to marry me. But never mind about that.
When I came here to attend her wedding, I couldn't
help seeing that the man she was about to marry
did not love and worship her as I did. I besought
her to give him up and to marry me, but she would
not listen to that for a moment. That day before
the wedding they had a little tiff, and Carleton did
not return for dinner, though Madeleine expected
him. She was all broken up about this, and was not
herself during the evening. When I left her, at
about ten o'clock, to go to the hotel, her sad face
haunted me, and I could not dispel the idea that I
must have one more talk with her, and beg her not
to marry a man who did not love her."
Without seeming to do so, Fleming Stone stole a
glance at Carleton. The man sat quietly, with
bowed head, as one who hears himself denounced,
but recognizes the truth.
"I was in my room at the hotel," went on Tom,


A CONFESSION 337
"and was preparing for bed when the irresistible
impulse came to me to go and see Maddy once more
before her wedding day. I had no thought of
wrong-doing. I came out through the window,
instead of in the ordinary way, only because I knew
the inn was about to be closed for the night, and I
knew I could get back the same way. A trellis,
that was simply a ladder, reached up to the low roof,
and it was quite as easy an exit as through the front
door. As to the cachous, I had found the stray vial
there, and had slipped a couple in my pocket, with-
out really thinking anything about it. I don't
usually carry them, but they are by no means un-
familiar to me. I came directly over here, and
found the house partially darkened, as if for the
night. There was a low light in the library and hall
but the blinds were drawn, and I could see only a
glimpse of Maddy's yellow dress on the floor. I
was about to ring the bell, when I suddenly thought
that I didn't care to rouse the household, or even
the servants, and, remembering the way I often
used to get in when I came home at night later than
my uncle approved, I went around and entered by a
cellar window. I came up through the fireplace,
exactly as Mr. Stone has described to you. It is
22


338 THE CLUE
astonishingly easy to any one who knows how, and
quite impossible for one who does not. I crossed
the drawing-room at once, and entered the library.
Naturally, I made very little noise, but still I am
surprised that Hunt did not hear me. I did not try
to be entirely silent, for I had no thought of evil in
my heart. Madeleine looked up as I came into
this room, and smiled. She asked me how I got in,
and I told her, and we both laughed at some old
reminiscences. I did not see that paper that Miss
Dupuy wrote. Then I told her frankly that I
wanted her to give up Carleton, for he did not love
her and I did. When I said that about Carleton,
Maddy burst into weeping, and said it wasn't true.
I said it was, and offered to prove it, and then we
quarrelled. To you who do not know our family
temper this may sound trivial, but it was not. We
had a most intense and fiery quarrel, and though
probably our voices were not raised—that was not
our way—we were so furious with each other that
we were practically beside ourselves. Maddened,
too, by jealousy, and by being baffled in my errand,
I suddenly resolved to kill both my cousin and
myself. I picked up the dagger and told her what
I was about to do, being fully determined to stab


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A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction
Red Cross Girl, The. By Richard Harding Davis.
ked Mist, The. By Randall Parrish.
Redemption of Kenneth Gait, The. By Will N. Harben.
Red Lane, The. By Holman Day.
Red Mouse. The. By Wm. Hamilton Osborne.
Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond.
Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner.
Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson.
Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln.
Road to Providence, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
Robinetta. By Kate Douglas Wiggin.
Rocks of Valpre, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges.
Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Rose of the World. By Agnes and Egerton Castle.
Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.
Routledige Rides Alone. By Will L. Comfort.
St Elmo. (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.
Salamander, The. By Owen Johnson.
Scientific Sprague. By Francis Lynde.
Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss.
Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
Self-Raised. (111.) By Mrs. Southworth.
Septimus. By William J. Locke.
Set in Silver. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris.
Shea of the Irish Brigade. By Randall Parrish.
Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Sign at Six, The, By Stewart Edw. White.
Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.
Simon the Jester. By William J. Locke.
Siren of the Snows, A. By Stanley Shaw.
Sir Richard Calmady. By Lucas Malet.
Sixty-First Second, The. By Owen Johnson.
Slim Princess, The, By George Ade.


Popular Copyright Novels
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Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of
A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction
Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
Somewhere in France. By Richard Harding Davis.
Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.
Spirit of the Border, The. By Zane Grey.
Splendid Chance, The. By Mary Hastings Bradley.
Spoilers, The. by Rex Beach.
Spragge's Canyon. By Horace Annesley Vachell.
Still Jim. By Honore Willsie.
Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter.
Strange Disappearance, A. By Anna Katherine Green.
Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.
Streets of Ascalon, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
Sunshine Jane. By Anne Warner.
Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop. By Anne
Warner.
Sword of the Old Frontier, A. By Randall Parrish.
Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
Taming of Zenas Henry, The. By Sara Ware Bassett.
Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs.
Taste of Apples, The. By Jennette Lee.
Tempting of Tavemake, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thomas Hardy.
Thankful Inheritance. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
That Affair Next Door. By Anna Katharine Green.
That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
Their Yesterdays. By Harold Bell Wright.
The Side of the Angels. By Basil King.
Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
Thurston of Orchard Valley. By Harold Bindloss.
To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed. By Anon.
Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridcrvvell Cullum.
Trail of Yesterday, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
Truth Dexter. By Sidney McCall.
T. Tembarom. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Turbulent Duchess, The. By Percy J. Brebner.


Popular Copyright Novels
AT MODERATE PRICES
Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of
A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction
Twenty-fourth of June, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
Twins of Suffering Creek, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Two-Gun Man, The. By Charles A. Seltzer.
Uncle William. By Jeannette Lee.
Under the Country Sky. By Grace S. Richmond.
Unknown Mr. Kent, The. By Roy Norton.
"Unto Caesar." By Baronett Orczy.
Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
Valiants of Virginia, The. By Hallie Erminie Rives.
Valley of Fear, The. By Sir A. Conan Doyle.
Vane of the Timberlands. By Harold Bindloss.
Vanished Messenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Village of Vagabonds, A. By F. Berkley Smith.
Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.
Wall of Men, A. By Margaret H. McCarter.
Wallingford in His Prime. By George Randolph Chester.
Wanted—A Chaperon. By Paul Leicester Ford.
Wanted—A Matchmaker. By Paul Leicester Ford.
Watchers of the Plains, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Way Home, The. By Basil King.
Way of an Eagle, The. By E. M. Dell.
Way of a Man, The. By Emerson Hough.
Way of the Strong, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Way of These Women, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker.
West Wind, The. By Cyrus T. Brady.
When Wilderness Was King. By Randolph Parrish.
Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
Where There's a Will. By Mary R. Rinehart.
White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford.
White Waterfall, The. By James Francis Dwyer.
Who Goes There? By Robert W. Chambers.
Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
Winning the Wilderness. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
With Juliet in England. By Grace S. Richmond.
Witness for the Defense, The. By A. E. W. Mason.


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