The Mansion of Mystery Being a Certain Case of Importance, Taken from the Note-book of Adam Adams, Investigator and Detective / Steele, Chester K.

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Title: The Mansion of Mystery
       Being a Certain Case of Importance, Taken from the Note-book of Adam Adams, Investigator and Detective


Author: Chester K. Steele



Release Date: July 4, 2005  [eBook #16204]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)


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THE MANSION OF MYSTERY

Being a Certain Case of Importance, Taken
from the Note-book of Adam Adams,
Investigator and Detective

by

CHESTER K. STEELE

Author of "The Disappearance of John Darr"

International Fiction Library
Cleveland                New York
Press of the Commercial Bookbinding Co., Cleveland

1911







CHAPTER I

THE STORY OF A DOUBLE TRAGEDY

The young man was evidently in a tremendous hurry, and as soon as the
ferryboat bumped into the slip he was at the gate and was the first one
ashore.  He beckoned to one of the alert taxicabmen, and without
waiting to have the vehicle brought to him, ran to it and leaped inside.

"Do you know where the Vanderslip Building is?" he questioned abruptly.

"Yes, sir."

"Then take me there with all possible speed."

"Yes, sir."

The door slammed, the taxi driver mounted to his seat, and off the taxi
started at the best rate of speed the driver could attain.  The young
man sank down among the cushions and buried his chin in his hands.

His face, normally a handsome one, was now wrinkled with care, his hair
was disheveled, and he looked as if he had lost much sleep.  At times
his mouth twitched nervously and he clenched his fists in a passion
which availed him nothing.

"To think that she is guilty!" he muttered.  "It is horrible!
Horrible!"  And then his whole frame shook as if with the ague.  Twice
he started up, to see if he had not yet arrived at his destination.
But the drive was a long one, and to him, in his keen anxiety, it
appeared an age.

"If he is away--out of town--in Europe, or on some case which he cannot
leave, what am I to do?" he murmured.  "I've pinned my whole faith on
him."

Presently there was a jar, and the taxicab came to a halt in front of a
large office building.  The young man gave one look, and, before the
driver could get down, had the door open and was on the pavement.
"Here you are," he said and thrust a dollar bill into the fellow's
hand.  Then he crossed the broad pavement and was lost to sight in the
corridor beyond.

"In a hurry and no mistake, and looks a heap worried, too," was the
chauffeur's comment.  "Well, I'm a quarter ahead on that fare."

For a moment the young man studied the directory on the corridor wall.
Then he entered an elevator and alighted at the eighth floor.  He,
walked down a side hall until he came to a door upon the glass of which
was inscribed the name:

        _Adam Adams_

"This must be the place," he murmured, and opening the door he entered
the office, to find himself in a plain but neatly furnished apartment,
containing several chairs, and a flat-top desk, at which a young lady
was writing.

"Is Mr. Adams in?" he asked, as the young lady arose to meet him.

"What name, please?" was the counter question, and the young lady gave
the visitor a keen glance.

"Raymond Case."  The young man brought forth his card.  "Tell Mr. Adams
I am the son of the late Wilbur Case, and wish to see him on important
business."

The young lady disappeared through a door leading to an inner
apartment.  From this she entered another apartment, much larger, and
overlooking the little city park far below.  The room was filled with
books and pictures, and some wall brackets contained several bits of
finely-carved statuary.  There was one large roller-top desk and three
comfortable leather chairs.

At the desk sat a man of uncertain age, with a strong face, a somewhat
bald head, and eyes that were neither light nor dark.  The man was of
ordinary height, but muscular to a surprising degree.  His face showed
a high order of intelligence and his mouth a determination not easily
thrust aside.

"A gentleman to see you," said the young lady.  She placed the card
before him.  "He told me to tell you that he is the son of the late
Wilbur Case, and wishes to see you on important business."

The man at the desk drew a long breath and looked up from a slip of
paper which he had been studying through a microscope.  "Raymond Case,
eh?  All right, Letty, show him in."

In another moment the visitor was in the private office.  Adam Adams
arose and gave him a warm handshake.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Case," he said cordially.  "I knew your late
father quite well--a fine man--a very fine man, indeed.  Have a chair
and make yourself at home."  He noted that his visitor was much
agitated and flushed.  "Sit down by the window; there is a nice breeze
there from across the park."

"Mr. Adams, I would like to see you in private," returned the young
man, as he took a seat and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Very well," and the office door was carefully closed.  Then came a
brief pause, during which Raymond Case cleared his throat several times.

"Mr. Adams, you do not know much about me, but I know a great deal
about you," he commenced.  "Three or four years ago you recovered some
stolen mining shares for my father, and last year you cleared up the
Sandford mystery, after the police and the other detectives had failed
completely."

Adam Adams bowed.  He rarely spoke unless there was occasion for it.

"May I ask if you are now at liberty?" pursued the young man.

"At liberty?  Bless you, no!  I have half a dozen cases on hand.  Two
here in the city--one over in New Jersey--one in Yonkers, and--"

"But you will undertake a case for me, if I pay you well for it, won't
you?" interrupted the young man eagerly.  "Don't say no--please don't!"
And there was a ring of agony in his speech.  "I am depending upon you!"

The detective paused before replying, and looked the young man over
with care.  The clean-cut features showed not a sign of dissipation,
and the expression was honesty itself.  Certainly the young man had not
gotten into trouble on his own account.

"I should want to know something about the case before I promised to do
anything."

"Certainly--of course--"  The young man cleared his throat again.

"You can tell me what the trouble is and if I decline to take the case
I will give you my promise not to say a word to any outsider of what
has passed between us."

"Oh, I know I can trust you, Mr. Adams, otherwise I should not have
called here.  My father said you were the squarest man he had ever
dealt with.  I came to see you about the Langmore affair."

"You mean the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Barry Langmore at Beechwood Hill?"

"Yes."

Adam Adams was surprised, although he did not show it.  What had this
rich young man, who lived in Orange, New Jersey, and did business in
Wall Street, to do with that double tragedy which had so shocked the
community?

"I presume you know some of the particulars of the sad affair," resumed
Raymond Case.  "The newspapers have been full of it."

"I know that the pair were found murdered.  I have not looked into
details, being so busy with other matters."

"It was an outrageous deed, Mr. Adams!" cried the young man, jumping up
and beginning to pace the floor.  "One of the foulest of which I have
ever heard."

"A murder is always foul, no matter under what circumstances it is
committed.  What do you wish me to do?"

"Find the murderer."

"That may not be easy.  Are not other detectives already working on the
case?"

"Yes, but they are only local men and not worth their salt."

"They may be doing all that can be done.  It is a mistake to presume
that every mystery of this sort can be solved.  Here in New York men go
to their death every year and nobody ever finds out how, or by what
hand."

"But the local men simply jump at conclusions.  They are a set of blind
fools, and--"  The young man stopped short.

Adam Adams smiled faintly.  He knew something of the bungling work done
by detectives of small caliber.  Had he not himself once saved a poor
Jew from hanging after several country detectives had apparently proved
the fellow guilty?  And had not those same sleuths of the law been
angry at him ever since?

"Excuse me, Mr. Case, but how is it that you take an interest in this
affair?" he asked.  "Are you related to the Langmores in any way?"

"I am not."  The young man began to blush.  "Is it necessary that I
tell you why?" he stammered.

"It is not necessary for you to tell me anything," responded the
detective dryly.

"I didn't mean to say--"

"Let me give you a word of advice.  Never try to get a detective to do
anything for you unless you are willing to tell him all you know and
all you suspect.  It is generally hard enough to solve an enigma
without having other mysteries attached to it."

The young man lowered his face and looked confused for a moment.

"Then I will tell you everything," he said.  "You may take notes if you
wish."

"It is not necessary, since I have a good memory."

"The Langmores lived just on the outskirts of the town, on the road
leading to Sidham, which is several miles distance."

"I have a general idea of the location."

"The house is a fine, old-fashioned stone mansion, setting well back
from the road, and surrounded by a well-kept lawn and numerous trees
and bushes.  At the rear of the garden is a small stream, which flows
into the river a mile and a half below."

"Is the place surrounded by a fence?"

"On two sides only.  In the front there is a hedge and in the rear the
little stream forms the boundary of the property."

"I understand."

"At the time of the tragedy there were four persons in the house, so
far as known--Mr. and Mrs. Langmore, Mr. Langmore's daughter, Margaret,
and a servant, Mary Billings."

"Wait a moment.  You said Mr. Langmore's daughter.  Was she not Mrs.
Langmore's daughter also?"

"No.  You see Mr. Langmore was a widower when he married the present
Mrs. Langmore, who was a widow.  There are two sets of children."

"I understand.  When did the tragedy occur?"

"At some time between eleven and twelve in the morning.  During that
time Margaret Langmore was in her room writing several letters, and was
practicing on the piano in the parlor.  The house is a large one, with
sixteen rooms and several hallways and stairs."

"Where was the servant?"

"In the kitchen and out to the barn.  There are two other girls, but
one is in the hospital sick and the other was to town on an errand."

"Where were Mr. and Mrs. Langmore?"

"The daughter thought her stepmother had gone out to visit a neighbor,
as she had said something about doing so earlier in the morning.  Mr.
Langmore had gone to the bank in town at nine o'clock and Margaret saw
him come home about half-past ten or eleven."

"What was she doing at the time?"

"Practicing on the piano.  She heard her father go directly to his
library, which is situated across the hallway from the parlor.  She
heard the door shut, and then went on with her practicing."

"Did she hear anything in the library?"

"She thinks she heard something, but is not sure.  She was practicing a
very difficult piece by Wagner--"

"And it was loud enough to drown out every other sound."

"That's it.  When the clock struck twelve she stopped practicing to
learn if lunch was ready.  She also wanted to speak to her father, and
so crossed the hallway and opened the library door."  The young man's
voice began to tremble a little.  "She found her father stretched
lifeless in an armchair."

"How had he been killed?"

"That is a part of the mystery.  He was either choked or smothered to
death, or else he was poisoned.  The doctors don't seem to be able to
get at the bottom of it."

For the first time since Raymond Case had begun his recital Adam Adams
began to show an interest.

"If the man was strangled his throat should show the marks," he
observed.

"There are no marks, and the doctors have found no trace of poison."

"Humph!"  The detective rubbed his chin reflectively.  "What next?"

"Margaret Langmore was so horrified she ran from the room screaming
wildly.  Her shrieks brought the servant to the spot, and a minute
later two of the neighbors, Mrs. Bardon and her son Alfred, came over
from next door."

"Where was Mrs. Langmore at this time?"

"Nobody knew.  Alfred Bardon is a physician, and, thinking there might
still be a spark of life in Mr. Langmore, did all he possibly could to
resuscitate the gentleman.  The servant girl ran upstairs to find some
drugs for him and in the upper hallway stumbled over the dead body of
Mrs. Langmore."

"And how had she died?"

"In the same manner as her husband.  This news of a double tragedy was
too much for Margaret, and she fainted.  The others notified more of
the neighbors and the police, and of course, the news spread like
wildfire.  I was stopping at the Beechwood Hotel at the time and as
soon as I heard of the tragedy, I jumped into an automobile that was
handy and rode over."

"Then you arrived at the house about as soon as the police?"

"A little before."

"What did you see?"

"Just what I have told you.  The doctor had been trying to bring Mr.
Langmore around but had suddenly been taken sick and could do nothing."

"Humph, sick, eh?  Did he say what made him sick?"

"He did not know.  He thought it might be from leaning over the dead
man, or from working in that position.  I think the sudden sickness
frightened him a little."

"When the police arrived what did they find of importance?"

"Nothing."

"Had anything been stolen?"

"Nothing, so far as they could learn."

"Of course, you must have known these folks pretty well to take such an
interest."

"I knew Mr. Langmore very well and I was acquainted with his wife."

Adam Adams knit his brow for a moment and tapped lightly on his desk
with his forefinger.

"Have the police any idea as to how the murderer got into the house and
got out again?" he asked.

At this question Raymond Case's face flushed.

"They do not think the murderer left the house," he answered in a low
tone.




CHAPTER II

LOVE UNDER A SHADOW

Raymond Case dropped back into his chair and buried his face in his
hands.  Adam Adams eyed him curiously and with something of a fatherly
glance.

"It is plain to see what his trouble is," thought the detective.  "He
is in love."

He was right, Raymond Case was furiously, desperately, hopelessly in
love.  He had met Margaret Langmore at Bar Harbor but a few short weeks
before, and it had been a case of love at first sight upon both sides.
A few automobile rides and a few dances, and he had proposed and been
accepted, and he had counted himself the happiest man in all this wide
world.  And now--

"Then they suspect the servant girl?" queried Adam Adams, knowing they
did nothing of the sort.

"No!" came sharply.  "They suspect Margaret--Miss Langmore."

"Ah!"

"Yes.  It is--is preposterous--absurd, but they insist.  And that is
what has brought me to you.  I want to prove her innocence to the
world.  Do that, and you can name your own price, Mr. Adams."

"You have a high regard for the young lady--you are close friends?"

"More.  I may as well tell you, though so far Margaret and I have kept
the matter more or less a secret.  I love her and we are engaged to be
married."

"Did Mr. Langmore know of his daughter's engagement?"

"He did, and he approved of it."

"And what of Mrs. Langmore, didn't she approve?"

"She did not know of it.  Margaret did not tell her."

"Why not?"

"Because--well, the young lady and her stepmother did not get along
very well together.  Margaret wanted to be friendly, but Mrs. Langmore
was very dictatorial, and besides she loved her own children better
than Mr. Langmore's."

"Let me ask, was the daughter on good terms with her father?"

"Yes, excepting on one point.  He wished her to obey her stepmother and
that she was not always willing to do.  This brought on a run of petty
quarrels which fairly made Margaret sick."

"And this is the reason why the police think Miss Langmore the guilty
person?"

"It is.  Their theory is that she first quarrelled with her stepmother
and murdered her, and then struck down her father to cover her guilt,
he having discovered what she was doing."

"How old is Miss Langmore?"

"She has just passed her twenty-third birthday."

"Humph!  Rather young to commit such a cold-blooded crime as this."

"She never did do it--I'll wager my life on it!  Oh, it's
absurd--insulting!  But what are you going to do with a lot of
pig-headed country police--"

"How did they come to suspect her?  Was there nothing else?"

"Yes, there was.  Mrs. Bardon, the woman who lives next door, is a
great gossip and one who is continually poking her nose into other
folks' business.  She told the police that she was out in the garden
cutting a bouquet early in the morning, and she heard a violent quarrel
going on at the breakfast table between Mrs. Langmore and Margaret, and
that Mr. Langmore took his wife's part.  Margaret wished to give a
small house party and Mrs. Langmore would not listen to it."

"Did Mrs. Bardon hear all that was said?"

"No, only enough to make her run to the police with the tale."

"Is any other house near by?"

"The Harrison mansion, but it is locked up, as the family is in Europe."

"Did you hear if Mrs. Bardon and her son were home all morning?"

"They were, excepting when the doctor went out to make some calls,
between nine and eleven."

"Did they see any suspicious characters around the Langmore mansion?"

"Not a soul."

"Did Mary Billings, the servant, see anybody?"

"She thinks she saw somebody near the river, but she is not sure; in
fact, she is so scared that she is all mixed up.  She has told the
police a thousand times that she had nothing to do with the crime."

"Did Miss Langmore see anybody?"

"She saw a Doctor Bird pass in his buggy and a farmer named Carboy go
by on foot."

"When was this?"

"While she was at the piano.  She doesn't know the exact time."

There was a pause and the detective gave a faraway look out of the
window and down the bustling thoroughfare.

"So far as you are aware, Mr. Case, did Mr. Langmore have any personal
enemies?"

"I never heard of any."

"He was rich?"

"Yes."

"What was his business?"

"He was a dealer in patents and a promoter.  Some thought he was rather
eccentric, but I never found him so.  He used to have an office here in
New York but gave that up a year ago."

"Well, what is your idea of this crime?"

"I haven't any.  But I know Margaret Langmore is not guilty."

"Evidently if they suspect her they have concluded that Mrs. Langmore
was killed first."

"That is their idea, but it looks to me as if both were killed at about
the same time, although I know that couldn't very well be."

"No, not if one was upstairs and the other down.  Do you think it
possible that one killed the other and then committed suicide?"

At this Raymond Case started back.

"I had not thought of that!" he cried.  "If it is true then that clears
Margaret."  Evidently he was thinking only of the girl he
loved--everything else concerning the mystery was of secondary
consideration.

"Such a thing is possible, although not probable, unless the two had a
bitter quarrel between themselves.  Every crime must have a motive.
People do not commit murder unless there is a reason for it or unless
they are insane.  Motives may be divided into three classes--jealousy,
revenge, or gain.  In this instance I think we can throw out
jealousy--"

"Mrs. Langmore was jealous of Margaret."

"And wasn't the young lady jealous of her stepmother in a way?"

"But she is not guilty--I'll stake my life on her innocence."

"Then let us come down to revenge or gain.  You say nothing was stolen.
Was there a safe in the house?"

"Yes, and it is closed, and will remain so until the experts open it."

"Nobody knew the combination but Mr. Langmore?"

"That's it.  Margaret did know, but her stepmother had her father
change the combination and keep it to himself."

"Had he much money in the house?"

"I think not.  Margaret says her father was in the habit of depositing
cash in the bank as soon as he received it."

"What sort of promoting did he do?"

"He organized companies to manufacture his patents.  He also speculated
in real estate and in mortgages.  He owned two buildings in this city
and several in the country."

"Who are the other members of the family?"

"Margaret's married sister, Mrs. Andrew Wetherby, of Sanhope, and Mrs.
Langmore's two sons, Tom and Dick Ostrello."

"Where are these people located?"

"Mrs. Wetherby is traveling with her husband in South America.  The
Ostrello brothers are commercial travelers and somewhere on the road."

"Then the Ostrellos are not rich?"

"No, they are poor, and Mrs. Ostrello was poor, too, before she married
Mr. Langmore."

There was another pause.

"Can you tell me anything else?" asked Adam Adams.

"Nothing of much importance.  It's a deep mystery, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's very simplicity makes it deep."  The detective drew a long
breath.  "I was thinking of taking a vacation.  My doctor says I need
it."

"Oh!"  There was a world of disappointment in the word.  "Don't say
that!  You must take hold of this.  I planned it all out as I came to
town.  I know you can clear Margaret if you will only try.  Think of
her position--the disgrace--my position--  Oh, you can't refuse me,
Mr. Adams!"  The young man came closer and caught the detective by the
shoulder.  "If it's money, set your price."

"If I take hold, I'll charge you only what is fair, Mr. Case.  But I
never take a case, unless--"

"Any request you have to make is already granted."

"Unless I can first interview the person who stands accused of the
crime."

"You can see Miss Langmore at any time.  I told her that I was coming
to town to interview you, and that I would bring you back with me, if
you would come.  I told her what a wonderful man you were and what you
had done for others.  I think it cheered her a little, although she was
terribly cast down."

"You must not promise too much on my account, young man.  I am no
wizard, and I cannot perform the impossible, much as I might wish to do
so."

"But you will come?"

"Yes, I will come."

"At once?" cried Raymond Case impatiently.

"At once."




CHAPTER III

MARGARET LANGMORE

As Raymond Case had said, the Langmore mansion was a large one, setting
in the midst of an extensive lawn, sprinkled here and there with maples
and oaks and fine flowering bushes.  The hedge in front was well kept
and the side fences were also in good repair.  In the rear was a stable
and also an automobile shed, for the late master of this estate had
been fond of a dash in his runabout when time permitted.  Down by the
brook, back of the stable, was a tiny wharf, where a boat was tied up,
a craft which Margaret Langmore had occasionally taken down to the
river for a row.

The mansion now looked dark and lonesome, although many folks passed on
the highway and whispered to each other that there was the spot where
the gruesome tragedy had been committed.  "And to think that the man's
own daughter did it," they would generally add.  "Beats all how
bloodthirsty some folks can get.  He must have cut her short on money
or something and she was too high-strung to stand it."

"No, it ain't that," another would answer.  "She's been flirting around
with a certain young man, a Wall Street gambler, and her mother
wouldn't have it and told her so.  That's the real trouble, my way of
thinking."

Inside of the house all was as quiet as a tomb save for the ticking of
the long clock in the lower hall.  Below, a single policeman was on
guard, in company with a woman, who had been sent in to help:  Upstairs
another woman was stationed, to see that Margaret Langmore might not
take it upon herself to leave for parts unknown.

Margaret sat in her own room, in the wing on the second floor, a dainty
apartment, trimmed in blue and containing all her girlish treasures.
On the walls were numerous photographs of her old schoolmates and the
flag of the seminary she had attended.  And on the mantel rested the
picture of Raymond Case, the high polish of the surface marred in one
spot where a tear had fallen upon it.

The girl was tall and slender, with a wealth of light-brown hair and
eyes of deepest blue.  It was more than a pretty face, for it had a
certain sadness that was touching.

For several minutes the girl had not moved.  Now, as the door opened
and the woman who was on guard upstairs came in, she gave a long sigh.

"Can I do anything?" asked the woman, in a voice that was not unkindly.

"Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Morse."

"Would you like a cup of tea, or a bit of toast?  Mrs. Jessup can make
it easy enough--she has nothing at all to do."

"I do not care to touch a thing."

The answer came in a dreary monotone.  The girl's trials were beginning
to tell upon her.  At first she had tried to bear up bravely, and the
words Raymond had spoken had comforted her, but now he was gone and the
whole world looked dark once more.

"Has anybody called?" she asked at length.

"Nobody to see you."

"Nobody?"  Margaret began to pace the floor.  "When did the coroner say
the examination was to be continued?" she went on.

"To-morrow morning at eleven o'clock."

"And who is to be put on the stand?"

At this question the woman in charge began to fidget.  "Excuse me,
miss, but I was ordered not to answer questions.  I'm sorry, and I wish
you wouldn't worry so much.  If I can do anything else--"

"You can do nothing."

At that moment came the sounds of carriage wheels and a cab from the
depot drew up to the door.  Margaret looked through the slats of a
blind and saw that the arrivals were Raymond Case and a stranger, a man
wearing a rather ordinary suit of clothing and a rough slouch hat.

"Thank Heaven, Raymond has brought somebody!" murmured the girl.

There was a short consultation at the front door and she heard the
young man say: "He has a perfect right here and I demand admittance for
us both."  Then another murmur followed and the pair came upstairs.
They knocked on the door of Margaret's room and were admitted, and Mrs.
Morse was told that she might go.

"This gentleman has come to give Miss Langmore some advice," said
Raymond Case.  "If we want you we will call."

"But I have orders--"

"Miss Langmore will remain in this room, so you have nothing to fear.
She has a legal right to receive advice."

"Oh, if the gentleman is a lawyer I have nothing to say," was the
retort, and Mrs. Morse swept from the room.

The instant she was gone, the young man closed the door and then rushed
up to Margaret Langmore and kissed her.

"I have succeeded!" he cried.  "I told you I would.  This is Mr. Adam
Adams.  Mr. Adams, this is Miss Margaret Langmore.  Now, I guess we are
going to show these country bumpkins a thing or two!" he added
earnestly.

The detective advanced and shook hands.  Margaret Langmore was a trifle
disappointed in his appearance and her face clouded for an instant.
Raymond was quick to notice it.

"You mustn't judge a man by his appearance.  Mr. Adams makes himself
look that way on purpose.  He's the smartest, swiftest--"

"That will do," interrupted the detective with a brief smile.

"Will you help me?"  The girl eyed the detective squarely.  "I--I need
help so much."

"I must hear your story first."

"Oh, I thought Raymond would tell you everything."

"He has told me all he knows.  But I want to hear the story from your
own lips.  Something may have slipped him, you know."

"I will tell you everything.  Please sit down."

Margaret Langmore began her narrative.  It was fully an hour before she
finished.  Occasionally the detective asked a question, but for the
most part he sat back with his eyes closed, as if thinking of something
else.

"Now, Miss Langmore," he exclaimed, as he straightened up at the
conclusion of her recital, "whom do you suspect of this crime?"

"I suspect no one, sir."

"Have you any idea why this awful deed was committed?"  The detective
had been on the point of saying "murder" but had checked himself.

"Not the least in the world."

"Some of the windows were, of course, open.  What of the doors?"

"The front door and that to the side piazza were locked.  The back door
was open."

"Then a person might have sneaked in by the back way?"

"I presume so."

"Your father was quite dead when you found him?" asked the detective
quickly.

"I--I--thought so."  The girl began to choke up and sob.  "It--it was
such a shock--I--I--"  She could not go on.

Adam Adams watched her keenly and noted how she trembled from head to
foot.

"Do not take it so hard, Margaret," put in Raymond Case, placing his
hand upon her shoulder.  "It will all come out right in the end--I am
sure of it."

"But it will not bring back my father!" sobbed the girl.  "And he was
so dear to me!  And to think that we should quarrel at all--"

"The quarrel took place at the breakfast table, so you said," came from
Adam Adams.  "And you rushed out to get away from what your stepmother
was saying to you?"

"Yes.  I could not bear it any longer."

"Your father took Mrs. Langmore's part?"

"He did, but at the same time he told her not to be so hard on me--that
I had been without a mother to guide me so many years, and all that."

"Do you think they quarreled between themselves after you left, or
after your father came back from the bank?"

"I cannot say as to that."

"Mr. Adams has an idea that possibly one or the other of them was
responsible," put in Raymond.  "He thinks one might have killed the
other and then committed suicide."

"I do not think so.  I said it was possible," corrected the detective.
"In taking up an affair of this sort one must look at it from all
sides."

"I do not believe my father either killed her or committed suicide,"
answered Margaret Langmore firmly.

"Do you think Mrs. Langmore would act in such a fashion?"

The girl pondered for a moment.

"Honestly I do not.  She may have killed my father, but if so she would
have run away."

"The safe was closed at the time of the tragedy?"

"Yes."

"And absolutely nothing was stolen?"

"Nothing, so far as we have been able to ascertain."

"Was anything out of order, as if the assassin had been scared off
while hunting around for something to steal?"

"I did not see anything.  But I was so upset I noticed scarcely
anything."

"That was natural, of course.  The safe has not yet been opened?"

"No, we are waiting for a man to come from the safe makers."

"Now, one thing more.  After you came back to the house before
practicing what did you do?"

"I wrote some letters to girl friends, telling them I could not give a
house party."

"And before that?"

"I--I, must I tell?  I threw myself on the bed yonder for a good cry.
It was silly, I know--but--but--"

"Did you hear anything unusual while you were here?  Think carefully."

"I have tried to think it out several times.  Sometimes I think I heard
some sort of a shriek, but I am not at all certain.  Then, again, I
think I heard the fall of something heavy on the floor.  But it may be
all fancy."

"And that is all you can tell me?"

"Yes."  Margaret Langmore gave a long sigh.  "Oh, Mr. Adams, can you
not do something for me?  It is horrible to be suspected in this
fashion.  I cannot make a move without being watched!"

"It is certainly a cruel situation."  The detective paused.  "I am sure
of one thing, Miss Langmore."

"And that is--"

"That you are innocent.  Those who think you are guilty are fools, as
Mr. Case says."

"Yet more than half the folks around here think that way."

"Let them.  We'll set to work to prove their mistake."

"Good!" almost shouted Raymond Case, and his face broke out into a look
of relief.  "Then you will take the case, Mr. Adams?"

"I will."

"I know you will succeed."

"If you do succeed, I shall be grateful to you all my life," came from
Margaret Langmore warmly.




CHAPTER IV

DETECTIVE AND DOCTOR

As already intimated, Adam Adams, in his career as an investigator and
detective, had solved many difficult criminal problems, yet this
somewhat remarkable individual realized that the mystery before him was
as difficult of solution as any he had yet encountered.

The most tantalizing thing about the whole affair was its simplicity.
Two people had been murdered in their own home in broad daylight.  No
one had been seen around the place, and even the manner in which the
foul deed had been committed was a secret.

A score of possibilities presented themselves to his mind when he left
Margaret Langmore and Raymond Case to begin the task he had set before
himself--to clear the fair name of the beautiful girl who had placed
her faith in him and his ability.

"I'll take a look around the house first," he reasoned.  "Then I'll
find out a little more about these dead folks and their connections."

Thinking that he must be some noted lawyer from New York, Mrs. Morse
was very gracious to him, and readily consented to show him around.

"Here is the spot where Mrs. Langmore's body was found," said the
woman, leading the way to a bend in the upper hallway.  "The servant
girl tripped over it in her hurry, and went sprawling.  She was about
scared out of her wits."

"Naturally enough.  Do you know how the body was lying?"

"At full length, they say, face downward, and with the fists clenched."

"Was that window open?"

"Yes, but not the blinds."

"Where does that door lead to?"

"Mrs. Langmore's dressing room.  The door was open when they found
her--as if she had come out and was trying to get downstairs."

"Humph!"  The detective pushed the blinds of the window open and began
to examine the carpet on the floor.

"We've looked around, but we couldn't see a thing," pursued the woman.

"We?  Who?"

"The coroner and the police officers."

"Oh!  You say the body was lying right here?"

"Yes--the head there, and the feet there.  I suppose you are going to
try to clear Miss Langmore, aren't you?" went on Mrs. Morse curiously.

"I am--if she is innocent."

"You'll have a task doing it.  Everybody around here thinks her guilty."

To this Adam Adams did not reply.  He was down on his hands and knees,
close to where the head of the murdered woman had rested.  He placed
his nose to the carpet and drew in a long breath.  His olfactory nerves
were sensitive, and detected a certain pungent, stinging odor, of a
sort not easily forgotten.

"You must be pretty short-sighted," was the woman's comment.  The sight
of the man on his hands and knees amused her.

"Well, I might have a better pair of eyes, I admit."

From his examination of the carpet, the detective turned to the window.
Outside was the roof to the side piazza of the mansion.  On the tin
roof were some dried-up spots of mud.  He looked them over carefully,
and came to the conclusion that they were footprints, but how old was a
question.

"When did it rain last around here?" he asked.

"We haven't had a real storm for ten days or two weeks.  We have had
several showers, though."

He took a glance into Mrs. Langmore's dressing room.  Everything was in
perfect order, even to the powder-box and the cologne bottles on the
dresser.

"That is all I wish to see up here," he said, and passed below, where
he encountered the policeman in charge.  Like the woman, this officer
had taken him to be a lawyer, and he readily consented to let the
detective inspect the library.

"Mr. Langmore was found in that chair," said he.  "He looked as if he
had suffered great pain before he died.  I think he was strangled,
although he didn't show the marks of it."

The library was a richly-furnished apartment.  Along two walls were
rows of costly volumes, many relating to modern inventions.  On the
walls hung some rare steel engravings, including one of Fulton and his
first steamboat.  There was a large library table, with a student's
lamp, a mahogany roller-top desk, half a dozen comfortable chairs, and
a small, but well-built safe, which, as said before, was closed and
locked.

"The coroner locked and sealed the desk, and put all the loose papers
in it," said the policeman.

There were two windows to the library, and one was close to the side
porch, the roof of which the detective had examined from above.  A
person dropping from above could easily have entered the library by the
window, thus saving himself the trouble of walking through the halls
and down the stairs.  Adam Adams looked outside, and saw on the ground
a number of footprints, some running to a gravel path but a few feet
away.

"Where are the bodies?" he asked, as he continued his examination of
the room.

"At Camboin's morgue.  The doctors have been looking for poison, but
they can't find any."

The detective got down in front of the safe and examined it critically.
Had it been opened after the murder and then closed again?  That was an
important question, but he was unable to answer it.

More by instinct than anything else, he got down and peered under the
safe.  A crumpled-up bit of paper caught his eye, and he picked it up
and slipped it into his pocket without the policeman being the wiser.

"Has anybody else been here?" he asked.  "I mean any outsiders."

"A good many folks from the village."

"Anybody else?"

"Yes, a detective from Brooklyn.  He thought there might be a job for
him, but there wasn't, so he went away," and the policeman smiled
grimly.

"What was his name?"

"I think he said it was Peterson."

"Is that the Bardon house yonder?"  And Adam Adams pointed through the
window and across the side lawn.

"Yes.  Doctor Bardon was the first to come over--he and his mother."

"So I heard.  I think I'll step over and speak to them a moment."

"So you are working for Miss Langmore?"

"Yes, in a way."

"You'll have an uphill job clearing her.  The coroner thinks he has a
clear case against her."

"Do you know what evidence he possesses?"

"Not exactly.  He isn't telling all he knows," returned the officer of
the law.  "There is the doctor now."

A buggy was coming down the road.  It turned in at the next house, and
a young man, carrying a small case, leaped out and disappeared into the
dwelling.

In a few minutes more, Adam Adams made his way next door.  An elderly
servant admitted him and ushered him into the doctor's office, where
the young physician sat marking down some calls in his notebook.

"This is Doctor Bardon, I believe.  I just came over from the Langmore
house.  I am working on this mystery, and I understand you were the
physician who tried to bring Mr. and Mrs. Langmore to life after they
were found."

"I worked over Mr. Langmore, yes," was the young physician's answer.
"I saw at once that it was impossible to do anything for his wife.  She
had a weak heart naturally, and was stone dead some time before I got
there."

"You thought you saw a spark of life in Mr. Langmore?"

"Not exactly a spark, but I thought there might be hope.  But I was
mistaken, although I did everything I could."

"I have been told that working over the corpse made you sick."

At these words, the face of the young physician showed his annoyance.
He drew himself up.

"Excuse me, but you are--" and he paused inquiringly.

"I am working on this case in the interests of Miss Langmore.  My name
is Adams."

"Oh!"

"What I would like to know is, What made you sick?  Was it merely that
a crime had been committed--something you were not accustomed to?"

"No, it was not, Mr. Adams.  I am young, I know, but I have had a good
hospital experience, and such things do not unnerve me.  To be sure,
Mr. Langmore was a good neighbor, and I thought much of him.  But it
was not that."

"Then what was it?"

"It was something about the corpse.  As I worked I had to
sneeze--something seemed to get into my nose and throat, and in a
minute more I began to have cramps and grew deathly sick.  It was the
queerest sensation I ever experienced in my life.  I haven't gotten
over it yet."

"You had to go out to get some fresh air?"

"I did.  If I had not, I think I should have suffered much more."

"And you found no trace of any poison, or anything of that sort?"

"Not the slightest.  Another doctor was called in, and then I went
back.  The peculiar odor, or whatever it was, was gone, and I could
find no further trace of it."

"You think it must have evaporated?"

"What else is there to think?  The windows and blinds had been thrown
wide open, and the sun was shining into the room."

This was all the young doctor could tell, and as he was in a hurry to
get away on more business, the detective did not detain him further.
He ascertained that Mrs. Bardon was also away, and then left the house.

In his pocket he still carried the bit of paper which he had picked up
from under the safe.  It had evidently been part of the wrapper around
some small object, and bore the following, printed in blue ink:

      nder & Co.,
      ley Street,
      ter, N. Y.
      ark.

The paper might be valuable, and it might be worthless.  It had
evidently been around a small box or bottle.  The address was evidently
that of some firm doing business in some town in New York State.  What
the "ark" could stand for, he could not surmise.

As the detective left the Bardon house, he saw a middle-aged man
entering the Langmore mansion.  The man was well dressed and carried a
dress-suit case.

"A visitor of some sort," he mused.  "Perhaps a relative."

When he stepped up on the piazza Raymond Case came out to meet him.
The young man wished to know if he had learned anything from the doctor.

"Not a great deal," answered Adam Adams.  "Who was that man who just
came in?"

"Thomas Ostrello, one of Mrs. Langmore's sons by her first husband."

"Is he a frequent visitor here?"

"I believe not.  He is a commercial traveler, and on the road nearly
all the time."

"Has he been here since the tragedy?"

"No.  He was here the day before it occurred, but went away in the
evening.  I suppose his mother's death has shocked him a good deal."

"I believe you said the Ostrellos are not well off?"

"No; they are poor, so Margaret told me.  Both of the sons are on the
road, one for a paint house and this one for a drug house.  By the way,
I am going to town, to see the coroner.  Do you want to come along?"

"No, I'll see him later.  I want to take a walk around this place
first.  I may pick up a stray clue."

Left to himself, Adam Adams walked slowly around the mansion, noting
the several approaches.  He looked in at the stable and the automobile
shed, and strolled down to the brook.  He made no noise, for it was his
practice to move about as silently as possible and without attracting
attention.

Suddenly he halted and stepped out of sight behind some bushes not far
away from the brook.  He heard a splashing, which told him that
somebody was near.




CHAPTER V

THE MAN AT THE BROOK

Beside the brook stood a shabbily-dressed man, apparently fifty-five or
sixty years old.  He wore an old rusty black coat and a soft hat with a
hole in it.  His face was tanned and partly covered with a beard.

The man was acting in a manner to excite anybody's curiosity.  He
carried a stick in his hand, and was poking around in the water with
it.  Every once in a while he looked around, to see if anybody was
observing him.

Straining his eyes, Adam Adams saw a strip of white floating on the
water.  Once or twice it disappeared.  Finally the end of the strip
caught on an overhanging bush, and then the strange man withdrew his
cane from the brook.

As he turned around the detective dodged out of sight.  Apparently
satisfied that he was not observed, the strange man leaned down at the
bank of the brook, took something from his pocket and placed it down on
the moist dirt.  Then he took another object from his pocket and
repeated the operation.

"Can they be shoes he has in his hands?" mused the detective.  "And if
they are, what is he doing with them?"

Hearing the slamming of a door at the mansion, Adam Adams drew still
further back among the bushes.  A minute later he saw the man make a
long leap, clear the brook, and hurry away among the trees and
brushwood on the other side.

"Humph!  Perhaps this is worth investigating," mused the detective, and
made his way to the spot the strange individual had occupied.  On the
bank of the brook he saw the marks of the man's broad shoes and also
some prints made by smaller shoes.  The latter prints were irregular,
and at once arrested the detective's attention.  He smiled grimly to
himself.

"Clue number one!" he muttered.

Adam Adams looked around in the water.  Soon he came upon the strip of
white, and, pulling on it, brought to light a white silk shirtwaist,
torn to ribbons in front and at one sleeve.  He wrung the water and mud
from the garment and examined it.  Inside of the collar band were the
initials, "M. A. L."

"Margaret A. Langmore," he murmured.  "Those initials are hers.  If the
shirtwaist was hers, how did that fellow get possession of it?  And did
he place it here or find it here?"

Drying the garment as much as possible, he placed it in his pocket, and
continued his search around the vicinity.  He spent fully an hour in
the locality, and then walked back the way he had come, and into the
mansion.  There he found Thomas Ostrello In conversation with the
policeman.

"It is a terrible blow to me," the commercial traveler was saying.
"And to think I was here just the day before it happened!  If I had
remained here over night, it might not have occurred at all!"

"Well, that's the way things happen," answered the policeman.  "Once I
was at one end of my beat when a thief broke into a store at the other
end and stole sixteen dollars and two hams."

"And I suppose they blamed you for it."

"Sure they did.  I was laid off for a week, without pay.  If anything
happens it is always the poor copper who is to blame."

"Well, the family are not blaming you for this."

"They can't--especially as they've got the person who did the deed."

At this Thomas Ostrello shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know about that."

"You don't?"

"No.  I'd hate to believe any girl could do such a fearful thing as
this." The commercial traveler paused.  "I'm going to take a look
around.  I suppose it's all right."

"Certainly, Mr. Ostrello," answered the policeman, and then the
commercial man stepped into the library, closing the door after him.

Adam Adams had passed into the dining room, just back of the library,
but had heard what was said.  Now, looking through the doorway, which
had a sliding door and a heavy curtain, the latter partly drawn, he saw
the man glance around hurriedly, moving from one object to another in
the library.  He looked under the table and the chairs, in the corners,
and even into the various bookcases.  Then he came and knelt down
before the safe, and tried the knob of the combination half a dozen
times.

"He is more than ordinarily interested," reasoned the detective.  "But
then it was his own mother who was murdered."

The commercial man continued his search until he had covered every
object in the room several times.  He even looked behind the pictures,
and into the drawer of the table, something which had escaped the
coroner's eye when sealing up the desk.  Adam Adams saw him shake his
head in despair.  He took a turn up and down the apartment and clenched
his hands nervously.

"Gone!" he muttered to himself.   "What could have become of it?"

He drew from his pocket a notebook he carried, and studied several
items carefully.  A long sigh escaped from his lips as he restored the
notebook to his pocket.

As the commercial traveler moved toward the dining room, the detective
stepped into a side apartment, used in the winter as a conservatory.
He saw Thomas Ostrello make an examination of several places, including
a sideboard.  Then the woman who had been placed in charge of the
downstairs portion of the mansion entered.

"Won't you have a bite to eat, Mr. Ostrello?" she asked.

"Perhaps so, later on.  I do not feel like eating now.  Can I take a
look at my mother's room?"

"Why, yes.  I suppose you know where it is?"

"Certainly; I often visited her there when she was not feeling well,"

He passed out without another word, and was soon mounting the
heavily-carpeted stairs.  Once in the room, he closed the door tightly.
Coming up softly after him, Adam Adams tried the door and found it
locked.  More interested than ever, the detective, just avoiding Mrs.
Morse, who was passing through the hallway, slipped Into the adjoining
room, and finding, as he had imagined, a door between the two, applied
his eye to the keyhole.

This might mean nothing, and it might mean everything.  He saw Mrs.
Langmore's son moving around the dressing room precisely as he had
moved around the library.  He heard the bureau drawers opened and shut,
and then heard the squeak of a small writing desk that stood in a
corner, as the leaf was turned down.  Then came a rattle of papers and
a sudden subdued exclamation.  The desk was closed again, and the man
came out of the room, leaving the hall door partly open.

"Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it," reasoned the
detective.  "Now, what was it?"

He waited in the hallway and heard Thomas Ostrello enter the dining
room.  A minute later came the rattle of dishes.  Then Mrs. Morse
confronted him.

"Back again, I see," she said rather sharply.

"Yes; I wish to have another talk with Miss Langmore," he returned,
and, brushing her aside, knocked on the girl's door, and was admitted.
The woman pursed up her lips.

"How very important some of those city lawyers are," she muttered.
"Think they know it all, I guess.  Well, he'll have a job clearing her,
if what Coroner Busby says is true."

"Oh, I did not know you were coming back!" exclaimed Margaret.  "Has
anything happened?"

"I want to know something about this, Miss Langmore," and he brought
out the torn and wet shirtwaist.  "Is it yours?"

"Oh, certainly; but where did it come from?  And it is all torn, too!
It was almost new when I had it on last!"

"When was that?"

The girl thought for a moment, and then turned pale.

"On the morning that--that--"

"That the tragedy occurred?"

"Yes.  I don't know what made me put it on, but I did."

"And when did you take it off?"

"Why, let me see.  Some time in the afternoon, I think.  I--I fainted,
and it got dirty, and so I put on another and threw this in the clothes
closet."

"Are you certain you put it in the clothes closet?"

"Positive.  Where did you find it?"

"Never mind that just now.  Do you keep your shoes in that closet?"

"I do.  But why--"

"Will you kindly see if all of your shoes are there?"

The girl ran over, opened the closet door, and began an immediate
examination.

"One pair is missing--a pair I use a great deal, too," she said a
minute later.  "Oh, Mr. Adams, what does this mean?"

"I don't know--yet.  While you are at it, you might let me know if
anything else is missing."

Margaret began a close examination of everything in the closet, the
detective watching her as keenly as he had before.

"She is either innocent, or else the greatest actress I've ever met,"
was his mental conclusion.  "I think her innocent, but the best of us
get tripped up at times.  If she is innocent, that evidence was
manufactured to prove her guilty.  If only I had followed that man up!
I might have learned something worth knowing."

"Nothing else seems to be missing," announced the girl, at length.

"Very well; then don't waste time by searching further.  By the way,
did you know Mr. Thomas Ostrello had arrived?"

"Yes; I told Raymond to telegraph for him.  He used to call quite often
to see his mother."

"What about the other son--Dick?"

"I do not know where he is."

"Didn't he come here?"

"He came once.  But he is a dissipated young man, and I do not think my
stepmother cared much for him."

"But she did think a good deal of the one who is now downstairs?"

"Yes, although they occasionally had their quarrels, just as we had
ours.  Tom would plead for his brother Dick, who seemed to be always
wanting money.  Once my father took a hand and said his wife shouldn't
give Dick a cent more, as he only squandered it.  That made Tom angry,
and he had a quarrel with my father, and after that when Tom came he
would ask to see only his mother, although he and I remained on fairly
good terms."

"Tom was here the day before the tragedy?"

"Yes.  I think he came to see his mother about some private business.
They had a long talk in her room, and she seemed to be quite excited
when he went away.  I don't know what it was all about.  But, Mr.
Adams, are you not hungry, and won't you have a lunch?"

"Thanks, I'll take a bite."

The lunch was served in Margaret's apartment, and the detective did
ample Justice to it, for he never allowed business to interfere with
his appetite.  As he ate, the girl watched him curiously.

"Mr. Adams," she said presently, "do you know, you do not seem a bit
like a detective to me--I mean like the detectives you read about--the
men going about in wonderful disguises and the like, and doing
marvelous things?  And yet, I know you have a wonderful
reputation--Raymond told me about it."

At that he smiled broadly.  "Wonderful disguises, eh?  Well, I use them
when I think them necessary, and not otherwise.  When I started out,
years ago, I used a great many more than I do now.  To me a mystery of
this sort is a good deal like a cut-up picture that you give a child to
put together.  First, you want to make sure you have all the pieces,
and then you want to sit down, put on your thinking-cap, and match the
pieces together.  To you this is an awful tragedy," his tone softened
greatly, "to me it is another case, nothing more.  Work such as I have
done is bound to harden a fellow, in spite of all of his finer
feelings.  But I feel for you and you have my sympathy."

"And you will aid me?  You said you would," she pleaded.

"I am going to do what I can--no man can do more."




CHAPTER VI

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

From the Langmore mansion Adam Adams went to town, and at the morgue
made a careful inspection of the pair who had been the victims of the
tragedy.  This critical examination brought nothing new to light, and
he turned away from the place with something of disappointment.

"I'll take a look around that brook again, and see if that strange man
is anywhere in sight," he told himself, and got back to the vicinity
without delay.

Fortune favored him for once, for scarcely had he reached the back of
the Langmore mansion when he saw the stranger leap the brook again and
come up towards the house.

"Just in time," murmured the detective.  "He shall not slip me again in
a hurry."

The stranger was very much on his guard, and Adam Adams had all he
could do to keep out of his sight.  It was now growing dark, especially
under the trees which surrounded the mansion.

At length the fellow gained a point almost under one of the library
windows.  He gazed around sharply, and then appeared to be searching
for something on the ground.  The detective saw him start to pick
something up, but at that moment the side door of the mansion opened
and the policeman came out.

"Hullo!  What are you doing here?" demanded the officer.

"Oh, that's all right," was the low answer.  "Don't mind me."

"But what are you doing here?"

"Just looking around, that's all."

"You haven't any right in this yard."

"I think I have."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Watkins--Jack Watkins," and then some words followed which
Adam Adams did not catch.

"Oh, then I suppose that makes a difference," came from the policeman
in a more humble tone.  "Do you want to come in the house and see Miss
Langmore?"

"No, I don't want to see the girl.  But I'll come into the house,"
answered the strange man, and walked up the piazza steps and into the
mansion, with the policeman by his side.

As soon as the fellow was ought of sight, Adam Adams drew closer and
looked under the bushes where the other had been searching.

At first he saw nothing, but then his keen eye detected a bit of paper,
caught at the foot of some shrubbery.

"More documentary evidence, perhaps," he murmured, as he shoved the
paper into his pocket.  "I wonder if this connects with the piece I
found under the safe?"

He approached the window, the blinds of which were closed, and peered
through the slats.  A light had been lit, and the policeman and the
stranger had just entered the room.

"I don't think you'll find much to interest you," said the officer.
"All of the others have hunted around, and they didn't find much."

The stranger walked around the apartment slowly, and then sank into an
armchair.

"Sit down and have a smoke with me," he said, pulling out his cigar
case.  "You've got a long night before you."

"I am not going to stay up all night.  The women folks and me are going
to take turns.  They should have sent another man here, but the Chief
couldn't spare him, two of the men being sick."

Cigars were lit, and the pair smoked away for several minutes, talking
of the case in all of its details.  Evidently the stranger agreed with
the general public regarding Margaret Langmore's guilt.

"Of course she'll put on a good front," said he, blowing a ring of
smoke into the air.  "She's that sort--so I've heard.  What does her
stepbrother say about it?"

"Not much, now.  At first he didn't think her guilty, but after he
talked with me and the women folks, he changed his mind, I reckon.
It's a blow to him, for he thought a good deal of the old lady."

"Mr. Sudley!" came a call from the hallway.  "Mr. Sudley, where are
you?"

It was one of the women who was calling, and, laying down his cigar,
the policeman left the library to see what she wanted.

The door had scarcely closed on the officer when the demeanor of the
other man changed.  He arose, looked into the dining room, and listened
at the hall doorway for a second.  Then he recrossed the apartment and
knelt before the safe.  Adam Adams heard him mutter something to
himself as he twirled around the knob of the combination.  Twice he
tried the door and failed to open it, but the third effort was
successful.  But before he could do more than glance into the strong
box, there was a noise in the hallway.  Instantly he shut the door
again, dropped into his chair, and resumed his smoking.

"Women folks are a regular nuisance," was the policeman's comment, on
coming back.  "Want you to do this and then that--keep you on the go
all the time.  I'm tired of it."

"Take my advice, and don't marry," was the rejoinder, with a laugh.

"Too late--I've got a wife and five children already.  But I've got to
go to the barn.  Will you come along?"

"Why--er--I suppose so."  The stranger hesitated.  "I'll have to be
going pretty soon.  Going to stay in this room all night?"

"No; I'm going to lock up and go upstairs."

"That's right; nothing like resting on a good bed.  I don't think the
girl will try to run away,"

"She can't--we're watching her too closely."

The pair left the library.  Scarcely had they gone when Adam Adams
opened one of the blinds, made a quick leap, and came inside.

"That fellow will bear watching, no matter who he claims to be," the
detective told himself.  "But there is no use of following him now, for
he will be back sooner or later.  He did not open this safe for
nothing."

With the policeman and the stranger gone, the lower portion of the
mansion appeared deserted.  Adam Adams looked to make sure that he was
not observed, and then went to the safe.  As he had anticipated, the
door now came open with ease.

The detective felt that he was in a ticklish position.  Had he a right
to examine the contents of this strong box?  If discovered by any one,
what would be the outcome?  Even the fact that he was in a way
connected with the law might not clear him.

But he felt he must take some risks.  He knew the sentiment against
Margaret Langmore, and knew that sentiment in a country place is almost
equal to a conviction.  The coroner had convinced himself that the girl
was guilty, and would go to any extremity to prove the correctness of
his theory.

The safe was divided into several compartments, and on one side was a
set of three metallic drawers.  The open side contained several account
books and legal and patent papers.  The top drawer contained some old
jewelry and a gold watch, the middle drawer some bank bills, not over a
hundred dollars, all told.

The bottom drawer was locked, but the key for it lay in the middle
drawer, so Adam Adams opened the receptacle with ease.  As he did so, a
cry of astonishment came to his lips, and he repressed it with
difficulty,

The drawer was packed with new and crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, all
on the same bank, the Excelsior National, of New York City.  There were
thirty of the bills, and evidently not one of them had been in
circulation.  The detective started as he took them up, held them to
the somewhat dim light, and started again.  He paused for a moment, as
if deciding a weighty question.  Then he placed the package of bank
bills in the inner pocket of his coat.

"These have no right to be here," he muttered.  "The only place for
them is in the hands of the federal authorities."

Under the bills lay several legal documents.  One was labeled:

"Mortgage of Matlock Styles to Barry S. Langmore, $8,000."

There were likewise two other mortgages between the same parties, one
for $3,000 and the other for $5,000.

"Whoever Matlock Styles is, he evidently owes the Langmore estate
sixteen thousand dollars," the detective told himself; "that is, if the
obligations have not been cancelled.  I wonder what the mortgages were
doing in with those bills?"

"Mr. Adams!"

A soft call from the window made the detective turn swiftly.  To his
surprise, he saw Raymond Case peering at him through the blinds.  The
young man's face showed his perplexity.

"What brought you?" asked the detective.  He did not relish being
caught off his guard.

"I couldn't think of going to bed at the hotel, I was so upset.  I
thought, if I came over here, I might discover something of value, or
help you in some way.  I see you've managed to get that safe open.  It
was certainly a clever piece of work."

"As it happens opening the safe was not my work," was the answer.
"Another man opened it and I took the liberty of looking inside.  But I
can't talk about that here.  Wait a minute and I'll join you outside."

Adam Adams swung the door of the safe open once more.  As he surmised,
the combination could be set to a new series of numbers with ease.  He
fixed it to correspond with the numbers of his own office safe, then
closed the door, gave the knob a twirl, and hurried from the room by
the same opening by which he had entered.

"When I first came up I thought somebody was robbing the safe," said
Raymond Case, when the pair were at a distance from the house.

"What did you see me do?"

"Take out a package of bankbills and put them into your pocket.  Oh, I
know it must be all right, Mr. Adams.  But it looked queer."

"I took them for safe keeping.  Look at them for a moment.  I'll strike
a match behind this clump of trees.  Count them over, too.  It may be
as well to have a witness for this."

Raymond Case took the crisp bills and did as requested.

"Three thousand dollars," he said.   "All brand new bills and each for
a hundred dollars."

"Exactly, and each on the same bank."

"So they are.  That's rather odd; isn't it?"

"And all of the same serial number."

"Gracious!  Mr. Adams--"

"Wait.  Mr. Case, I am going to trust you even as you have trusted me.
I want you to keep this a secret."

"Certainly, but--"

"The bills are counterfeit."




CHAPTER VII

ONE OF THE PROFESSION

"Counterfeit bank bills!" gasped the young man.  "And in Mr. Langmore's
possession!  Taken from his safe! What does it mean?"

"That remains to be found out."

"This is--is astounding!  You don't suspect that he was in the habit--I
mean that he--"  Raymond Case did not know how to go on.

"It's too early to form a conclusion.  But one thing is certain, the
counterfeits were in his private safe, and from all accounts that safe
had not been opened since his death.  Consequently he must have placed
them there."

"I don't believe he dealt in counterfeits," returned the young man
bluntly.

"Facts are stubborn things to overcome.  Down in the town I learned
that Mr. Langmore used to be a comparatively poor man.  All his wealth
has come to him in the past six years."

"He made his money out of his patents and out of various other schemes."

"All of his wealth has come to him in the past six years," pursued the
detective.  "I happen to know something about these counterfeits, which
the federal authorities have been trying to trace to their source.  The
first of these bogus one hundred dollar bills appeared about six years
ago, at a bank in Brooklyn."

The heart of the young man sank within him, and as he spoke his lips
began to quiver.

"Mr. Adams, are you going to give this news to the world at large--to
the United States authorities--are you going to brand Margaret's father
as a counterfeiter, or a passer of queer money?  If you do that, even
if you clear Margaret, you'll break her heart."

"I am going to do nothing at present but keep on investigating.  We
have not yet reached the end of this string by any means.  Did I not
tell you that another opened the safe?--a fellow who has been acting
queerly ever since I caught sight of him?  He is connected with this
complicated affair, although how still remains to be seen."

"Who was the man?"

"He gave his name to the policeman as Jack Watkins."

"I never heard that name before.  How does he look?"

Adam Adams described the fellow minutely, but Raymond Case shook his
head.

"I can't place him.  But that is not strange," he added.  "I know very
few folks in this neighborhood."

"Do you know a man named Matlock Styles."

"Not very well--I met him once, when he was calling on Mr. Langmore on
business.  He is an Englishman, fairly well to do, who lives in an old
colonial house on the Harper road, a mile and a half, I should say,
from here."

"Do you know what business this Styles had with Mr. Langmore?"

"I don't remember very well--but hold up, yes, I do.  He owed Mr.
Langmore some money.  The two put through some sort of real estate
deal."

"How much did Styles owe Mr. Langmore?"

"I don't know exactly, but it was a large amount, fifteen or twenty
thousand dollars."

"What sort of a man would you take this Styles to he?"

"Oh, he is a big, overbearing Englishman, one of the kind with
mutton-chop whiskers and a red nose.  He is a great chap for fast
horses, and I've heard he has quite a stable of them over to his place.
He is also a dog fancier."

"Has he been here lately?"

"I don't know.  Perhaps Margaret could tell you.  But what has this to
do--"

"Nothing at all, perhaps.  In the safe with the bankbills were some
mortgage papers given to Mr. Langmore by this Matlock Styles.  But the
two may not have the least connection with each other."

The two had been walking away from the house and now the detective
turned back.  As he did so he thought of the bit of paper he had picked
up in the shrubbery.  He struck a match with one hand and held up the
slip with the other.  It was a memorandum, running as follows:

      $8,000
       5,000
       3,000
     $16,000
     -------
         .03%
     -------
     $480.00

Adam Adams studied the memorandum with interest.  The amounts at the
top were those of the mortgages given by Matlock Styles to Barry
Langmore.  Evidently somebody had figured out what the interest would
be at three per cent.

"What is that?" asked Raymond Case.

"A bit of paper I picked up around here.  It doesn't seem to amount to
anything.  But I think we had better part now, Mr. Case.  If I have
anything to report I'll see you to-morrow at the Beechwood Hotel."

The pair separated, and Adam Adams watched the young man disappear down
the road, the latter feeling that he ought not to interfere with the
work of the man he had engaged to unravel the mystery.  In deep thought
the detective went back to the neighborhood of the mansion and
stationed himself where he could get a look at the library windows.

Adam Adams felt that the case was growing deeper and deeper.  The
finding of the counterfeit banknotes In Barry Langmore's safe was
astonishing.  Where this thread of the skein would lead to he could not
imagine.

"I seem to be uncovering more than I bargained for," he mused.  "If the
man was innocent of all wrong-doing why didn't he turn those bills over
to the authorities?  Were he alive we should certainly say he was
caught with the goods.  If this comes out it will create as much of a
sensation as the murder itself."

Two hours went by and still the detective kept to his post.  He was
used to waiting--had he not waited in the bitter cold six hours to
clear that poor Jew?--and he knew that sooner or later the man calling
himself Jack Watkins would reappear.

A light flared up in the library and then was turned lower.  He crept
to the window and looked in as before.  The strange man was at the
safe, working the combination knob backward and forward.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Adam Adams was forced to
smile.  The man worked hurriedly and tried the combination a score of
times.  He muttered something under his breath which may well be
omitted from these printed pages.  He even got into a heavy
perspiration and had to pause to wipe his forehead with his
handkerchief.

"Hang the luck!" he went on.  "I had it open before.  What's got into
the confounded combination?"

Again he tried to work the figures.  But it was all of no avail, and at
last he arose, fists clenched, and with a face full of baffled anger.
He stalked around the library, gazed at the strong box several times,
and then quit the apartment.

Waiting once more, the detective presently saw the man come from the
house and walk toward the road.  Following, he saw the fellow hurry
past the Bardon home and then into a patch of timber.  Here he had a
horse, and in a moment more would have been in the saddle had not Adam
Adams caught him by the arm.

"Hi! what's this, a hold-up?" cried the man, evidently frightened.
"Let go of me!"  And he tried to pull away and then attempted to draw a
revolver from a hip pocket.

"Stop!  I am not going to hurt you," was the calm reply from the
detective.  "I want to talk to you, that's all."

"Really?" came with a sneer.  "A fine time of night to hold a man up.
Be quick, for I am in a hurry."

"I want you to explain several things to me," went on Adam Adams calmly.

"Explain?  To you?"

"That is what I said.  You can take your choice.  Either explain or
consider yourself under arrest."

"Eh?  Say, are you crazy?"

"Not at all."

"An officer of the law, I suppose."

"I am--in a way."

"Working on this Langmore affair?"

"Yes."

"Have you been following me?"

"I've done more than that--I've been watching you."

"What!  How long?"

"Quite a long while.  I saw you in the library, twice, and down to the
brook."

The man started and was evidently much put out.  Then he forced a smile
to his face.

"Much obliged for playing the spy," he murmured.

"Down at the brook you had a pair of Miss Langmore's shoes.  What were
you doing with them?"

"Did you see me with the shoes?"

"I did, and I saw you with the silk shirtwaist."

"Ah!  Anything else?"

"I saw you at the safe in the library of the mansion."

"When, now?"

"Now and some hours ago.  You may as well make a clean breast of it."

"I will, If you will tell me who you are."

"I am Adam Adams, of New York City."

The strange man let out a hissing sound between his teeth.  Then of a
sudden he gave a wild, unnatural laugh.

"Shake hands, Mr. Adams," he said, putting out his hand.  "I know you
by reputation even if not personally.  You see, your reputation is so
much larger than my own."  He laughed again, a sound which grated on
the detective's nerves.  "I am John S. Watkins, of Bryport.  I am
connected with the United States secret service."




CHAPTER VIII

WHAT CEPHAS CARBOY SAW

There was a brief pause after the man from Bryport made his
announcement.  Adam Adams tried hard to see his face clearly, but in
the gloom this was impossible.

"Perhaps you do not believe me," said John Watkins.  "I can easily
prove what I say."

"Why shouldn't I believe you?"

"Because you were on the point of arresting me, which proves that you
took me to be--something else."

"How long have you been connected with the secret service?"

"About three years.  That is why I know you so well."

"Did your work as a secret service man bring you to this place?"

"Excuse me, but that is my business.  If you are working on this case,
well and good.  But it is not fair to try to steal any of my thunder."

"So far as I am concerned you shall get full credit for what you may do
on this case, Mr. Watkins," said Adam Adams stiffly.  "But I should
like to understand several points."

"About the shoes and the shirtwaist, I suppose.  I got the shoes from
the house to make certain that some footprints on the bank of the brook
had been made by Miss Langmore."

"What about the shirtwaist?"

"It was there when I came, and I left it there, as it did not seem to
have much of a connection with the affair."

"Do you think you had a right to tamper with the safe in the library?"

"Considering certain circumstances, which I do not intend just now to
disclose to you, I think I had a right."

"Did you take anything from the safe?"

"Not a thing.  In fact, I couldn't get the safe open.  You must know
this, if you saw me a while ago."

"You opened the door the first time."

"I do not deny it.  The policeman interrupted me and I shut the box up.
When I came back the combination had gotten away from me."

There was a pause.

"Where are you stopping, Mr. Watkins, in case I wish to communicate
with you again?"

"At Hager's Hotel, in Sidham.  But I am on the jump nearly all the
time," and the secret service man laughed again.  "Anything else?"

"No."

"Then I'll be going.  I've got to send a long secret message before I
go to bed and it takes time to follow the code, you know that.
Good-night," and in a moment more John Watkins was on his horse and
riding away at a good rate of speed.

Adam Adams watched his departure with a variety of thoughts chasing
each other through his mind.  The man must be what he claimed, he had
shown his badge on the inside of his coat, and been perfectly willing
to prove his words.

"If he is honest, he must be on the trail of those counterfeits, and
perhaps it was my duty to tell him of my discovery," mused the
detective.  "It is curious how these two cases have wound around each
other, or is it all one case?"

Concluding that there was nothing more to be done that night, Adam
Adams took himself to the Beechwood Hotel, secured a room, and was soon
in the land of dreams.  He arose early, obtained his breakfast, and
without waiting to meet Raymond Case, started off to interview Doctor
Bird, one of the two persons Margaret Langmore had seen go past the
mansion about the time the tragedy was occurring.

He found the doctor an individual with an exaggerated idea of his own
importance.  It was hard to bind him down to tell what he actually knew
and it took the detective the best part of an hour to learn that the
physician knew nothing of real importance.

A short while later Adam Adams learned that the farmer who had been
seen going past the mansion was named Cephas Carboy.  He was a strange
individual, of no education, who lived on a hillside road, running some
distance to the rear of the Langmore house.  When the detective arrived
there he found Carboy sitting under a tree smoking a short clay pipe.
The farm was a neglected one, the house about ready to tumble down, and
in the dooryard were half a dozen dirty and ragged children, who
scampered out of sight on the approach of a stranger.

"Good morning," said Adam Adams cheerfully.  He saw at a glance that
the fellow before him was a thoroughly shiftless character.

"Mornin' to you," was the short response.

"This is Mr. Cephas Carboy?"

"Cephas Carboy's my name--ain't much of a mister to it," and the man
grinned feebly.

"You're the man I want to see, Carboy," and the detective took a seat
on a log close by.

"Want to see me?  What fer?  I don't know you."

"I want to see you about that Langmore murder."

The shiftless man stared and withdrew his pipe from his mouth with
trembling fingers.

"I didn't have nuthin' to do with that.  They can't pitch it onto me
nohow!  I came past the house, that's all I did.  I didn't go inside
the gate, I didn't.  It was Miss Langmore did that murder--or else Mary
Billings."

"Did you see anybody round the place when you went past?"

"Not a soul."

"What were you doing around there?"

"Are you an--an officer?"

"Perhaps I am.  Anyway, you had best answer my questions."

"I went down to Hopgood's place, to sell some fish I had caught--Mr.
Hopgood can prove it.  Then I came straight home."

"Which way did you go to get to Hopgood's?"

"Took the road yonder, around the hill, and crossed the brook at
Peabody's bridge--Peabody can prove that, too.  He was out in the
hayfield and saw me."

Adam Adams took a look at the road mentioned.  At a turn there was a
cleared spot through the woods and a fair sight could be caught of the
rear of the Langmore mansion and of the automobile shed.

"Come here," he called to Cephas Carboy, and when the shiftless man had
shuffled up, he continued: "You say you walked this way.  When you got
to this spot did you happen to look over to the Langmore house?"

"I--er--I did."

"What did you see?  Come now, tell me the exact truth," and Adam Adams
put as much of sternness as possible in his tone.

"I saw--See here, I don't want to get in no trouble, I don't.  I'm a
peaceful man, an' I tend to my own business, I do.  You ain't a-goin'
to drag me into court."

"I don't want to get you into trouble, Carboy--but I must know the
truth of this.  I take it that you are poor.  Am I right?"

"Humph!  Do I look like I was rollin' in wealth?"

"Then a five dollar bill means something to you, eh?"

The shiftless man opened his eyes widely.

"Does it?  Say, I ain't had a fiver in my fist fer a month, two months!
Farmin' don't pay, an' it ain't easy to git work outside, the season's
been that poor.  If you--"

"Tell me all you know, and perhaps I'll give you five dollars."

"Ain't foolin'?"

"No.  There's a dollar on account," and the detective passed over the
bill.  The shiftless man clutched it eagerly, looked at it to make
certain that it was real money, and rammed it into the pocket of his
greasy vest.

"Thanks, sir," he murmured.  Then he ran his hand through his somewhat
matted hair.  "Mind now, I can't give you this fer dead certain," he
commenced.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I think it happened, but I can't swear to it.  That house is putty far
off, remember."

"What do you think you saw?"

"I saw a man run across the garden.  He had a satchel in his hand and
he was in a hurry.  He slipped and fell and his hat rolled off.  Then
he got up, put on his hat, and I lost sight of him behind the bushes."

"How did the man look?"

"Wait up, that ain't all.  I'm certain of that part of it, but I ain't
so sure of the rest.  I waited here a minit, because my wife was
calling to me to git some groceries when I came back.  I just started
to fill my pipe when I looked over there again and I saw a man run from
the automobile shed to the house.  The bushes was in the way, but hang
me if I don't think he went in by a winder instead of a door."

"You are sure you saw him go toward the house?"

"Yes, that was plain enough, although he seemed to be sneakin' along
the bushes."

"Was it the same man?"

"It must have been, but I couldn't see his valise, because he was
behind the bushes."

"How did the man look?"

"He was a putty heavy fellow and he was dressed in a light gray suit
and wore a soft hat to match."

"Was the valise a light or a dark one?"

"Light."

"Could you see anything else?"

"No."

"Did the man have anything besides the valise?"

"Not that I could see.  When he fell and his hat flew off I saw that he
had a head of heavy dark hair."

"And you are certain about the suit being a light gray one and the soft
hat matched it?"

"Yes, I'm dead sure of that."

"What time was this?"

"About half an hour before I passed the house.  I stopped at Peabody's
to chat a while before I crossed his bridge."

"Did you ever see the man before?"

"Not that I remember."

"You didn't see him after that?"

"No."

Adam Adams drew out a roll of bills and counted out four dollars, which
amount he passed over to the fellow he had been interviewing.

"That makes the five I promised you, Carboy.  Now then, will you do me
a favor?"

"Certainly, sir, anything you want."

"I merely want you to keep what you have told me to yourself for the
present."

"Oh, that's easy--unless somebuddy tries to git me into trouble."

"I don't think that will happen--if you keep your mouth shut."

"Then I'll be as mum as an oyster," answered Cephas Carboy decidedly.

"I may be along to see you again soon," continued Adam Adams, and then
he drove away in the buggy that had brought him to the vicinity.

He allowed his horse to walk, for he was in a more thoughtful mood than
ever.  He was thinking of a man he had met the day before, in a suit of
gray and with a soft hat of the same color.  The man had been Tom
Ostrello.




CHAPTER IX

ON THE TRAIN

"This is clearing itself by growing more complicated."

Such was the deduction of the detective after he had reviewed the
situation carefully.  Was it possible that the son of the woman who had
been murdered was guilty of the double tragedy?  He remembered what he
had been told about Tom Ostrello and his wayward brother Dick, and how
mother and son had had an exciting meeting on the day previous to the
tragedy.

"I rather think it will pay to investigate a little further along this
line," thought Adam Adams.  "More than likely he came here for money,
either for himself or his brother Dick.  If his mother did not have it
and wanted it she would have to go to Mr. Langmore for it.  That might
cause a bitterness all around.  Or again, he might have thought that if
his step-father were dead his mother would inherit his money and so
plotted one murder, which, when he was discovered, ended in a second.
It will do no harm to have a talk with this young man."

He reached the Langmore mansion once more to find that Tom Ostrello had
departed for the city on necessary business but was coming back before
night.  Then at the hotel he found a message from his own office
calling him to New York.

"You are going away, Mr. Adams?" said Raymond Case, who chanced to see
him departing.

"Not for long.  I'll be back to-night or to-morrow."

"Anything new?"

"Nothing worth talking about, yet.  I must hurry to catch the train.
What are you going to do?"

"I am waiting for the inquest.  It will be a terrible trial for
Margaret."  And the young man's face showed his concern.

"Tell her for me to make the best of it," answered Adam Adams and
hurried to the depot.  The train was just coming in and he saw Tom
Ostrello get on board, and he entered the car directly behind the
commercial traveler.  The young man passed through to the smoker and
the detective did the same.  Two seats were vacant, directly across the
aisle from each other and each took one.  Presently Ostrello looked at
Adam Adams and started slightly and then bowed.

"Excuse me, but I think I saw you up to the Langmore house," he began.

"Yes, I called on Miss Langmore.  I believe you are Mrs. Langmore's
son."

"Yes.  Come over, won't you?"  Ostrello moved towards the window of the
car.  "I've got to have a smoke to quiet my nerves, I'm so upset.  Will
you have one?"  And he presented a case full of choice Havana cigars.

"It must have upset you--it's enough to upset anybody," answered Adam
Adams, as they lit up.  "It's a fearful happening, fearful."

"You are acting for Margaret, I heard."

"Yes--if there is a chance to do anything.  Do you know anything of the
tragedy?"

"Not a thing, outside of what I have heard.  When I got the telegram I
was fairly stunned.  But let me tell you one thing."

"Well?"

"I don't think Margaret is guilty.  A girl like her couldn't do such a
cold-blooded deed.  Why, it's enough to make a man shiver to think of
it.  It would take a hardened criminal to do such a thing.  It's absurd
to even suspect her."

"What is your theory of the murders?"

"I hardly know what to think.  If the house had been robbed I would say
tramps did it."

"But how?"

"I don't know, excepting the--er--both were smothered.  But let us
change the subject.  It breaks me all up to think about it.  I thought
a whole lot of my mother."

"Where is your brother?"

"I don't know exactly.  He was in Los Angeles the last I heard of him.
I have sent messages to half a dozen places, but so far have received
no reply."

"He is a commercial traveler like yourself?"

"He was, up to two weeks ago.  Traveled for a paint house, but he and
the firm had a row and Dick quit.  He's a rolling stone, and that is
why I can't just locate him."

"Do you represent a paint house, too?" questioned Adam Adams, after a
pause, during which he appeared to enjoy the really fragrant Havana Tom
Ostrello had tended him.

"No, I'm with a drug house and have been for four years, one of the
best in the country, Alexander & Company, of Rochester, New York.  I am
their salesman for New York and the Eastern States.  We make some of
the most noted preparations in the trade."

"Alexander & Company, of Rochester," mused Adam Adams, thinking of the
bit of paper he had picked up from under the safe.  "I believe I have
seen their place.  Let me see, what street is it on?"

"Wadley street and runs through to Hill--a fine six-story concern, with
a laboratory that is second to none."

"Yes, I remember it now.  I suppose you must have a pretty good
position with them."

"Fair.  I think they ought to raise my salary," answered Tom Ostrello.
He stretched himself.  "I feel sleepy--didn't get a wink last night.
When this affair is over I am going to ask for a week's vacation."

"I don't blame you," answered Adam Adams, with a quiet smile.

He settled back to smoke and his companion did the same, and thus the
remainder of the trip to the city passed.  As he smoked the detective
revolved the new revelation in his mind.  Tom Ostrello represented the
very drug firm whose advertisement had appeared, in part, on the bit of
paper picked up from under the library safe.

"And he was there hunting for something," thought the detective.  "Was
it for that bit of paper or for the something that he secured in his
mother's room?"

At the depot the pair separated.  Adam Adams lost no time in visiting
his office, where his assistant awaited him anxiously.  "Well, Letty,
how are you this morning?" he said pleasantly, as he dropped into his
chair.

He gave the girl a bright smile and she smiled in return.  Letty
Bernard was an orphan, the daughter of one of his former friends, and
he took a fatherly interest in her.  She lived with a second cousin,
but wished to be independent and so the detective had given her the
position, in his office, a place she filled with credit.  She was short
and plump and had a wealth of curly hair that strayed over her forehead.

"The Chief asked me to give you these papers," said the assistant.
"You are to sign all three."

"Um!  Then that's the end of the Soper case.  Anything else?"

"Glackey was in.  He told me he had tracked the German and would report
in full by to-morrow.  He thinks you were right and the German is the
man."

"What else?"

"A Mrs. Caven-Demuth was here.  Wished to know if you ever found lost
dogs."

"Great Scott!  Dogs!"

"She said her pet cocker-spaniel had disappeared and she was willing to
spend five hundred dollars on finding him."

"I am no dog detective.  Send her to McMommie."  McMommie was, as it is
easy to guess, a rival.

"I sent her to police headquarters."

"And is that all?"

"Mr. Folett telegraphed that he would be here at ten."

"It's after that now--it's nearly noon.  You can go to lunch if you
wish.  There's the door--  Hullo, it's Mr. Folett now.  Be back in an
hour."

"Yes, Uncle Adam," answered the girl.  She always called him uncle,
since he had taken such an interest in her.  She went out as the caller
entered, and left the two men talking over a business matter which has
nothing to do with our story.

It was two o'clock before Adam Adams found himself free once more.  He
procured a lunch and then took a subway train halfway uptown.  He
walked two blocks westward and ascended the steps of a fine brown-stone
residence.  He asked for Doctor Calkey and was ushered into a private
den, where the doctor, a tall, spare man of sixty, soon joined him.

"My good friend Adams!" cried the doctor, shaking hands warmly.  "Where
have you kept yourself?  Surely you have not been to see me for a year,
or is it longer?  I have missed you so much--and the comforting smokes
we had together?  Why did you desert me?  You knew I could not come to
you--that I never go out.  And you do not bring any business to me--"

"I had none to bring, and I have been very busy.  But I have missed our
meetings, I must confess."

"Ah, I am glad to learn I was not entirely forgotten.  And you have
been busy, and still nothing for Rudolph Calkey to do, nothing to
analyze, nothing to dissect--"

"I've got a knot now for you."

"Good! good!  I trust it is a good complication--I love them so--there
is such a satisfaction when the end is reached.  But not yet--no, not
yet.  A glass of wine first--something prime--I imported it myself, so
that I would know what I am getting."

The wine was soon forthcoming and then a cigar for the detective and a
pipe for the doctor.  At last the latter threw himself into an old easy
chair and gazed at his caller expectantly.

"I am ready to untie the knot," he said.  "What is it?"




CHAPTER X

AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART

There was a moment of silence.

"Briefly put, doctor, the case is this," said Adam Adams.  "I want to
know if there is anything known to the medical world, a powder or
something of that sort, strong enough to kill a person if he should
breathe of it."

"A powder strong enough to kill a person?" The brow of the old
physician contracted.  "It would have to be very powerful to do that.
You mean if a person was boxed up with it--like one killed by gas?"

"No, not at all.  I mean a powder that could be held to a person's nose
and mouth in the open, when it would make that person sick and give him
cramps perhaps."

"And kill him?"

"Yes."

The old doctor rubbed his hands in thought.  "That is a subject for
speculation.  Certain cyanide compounds might be powerful enough to do
so under certain conditions.  Any real dry powder would choke a person
if he got a big dose of it.  I heard of a boy who came near dying as
the result of breathing in a quantity of extra dry licorice powder.
But he was smothered and did not have cramps."

"Nothing in the shape of any foreign compound?  You once showed me a
Turkish liquid that burnt when water was poured on it, and dyed
everything blood red."

"Ah, yes, the _fozeska_, something truly dangerous.  But I know of
nothing--  But hold!"  The doctor clapped his hands together.  "Yes!
yes!  That would do it, that and that only."

"What?"

"I had a sample of it given to me some six months ago.  It was called
_yamlang-peholo_, and was made in China, from the roots of the
_yamlang_ bush--a rare growth found only in the western part of the
country.  By many Chinamen the _yamlang_ bush is supposed to be
accursed, and whenever they come near one they utter a prayer for
deliverance from its evils.  If you sleep near the _yamlang_ bush it
will make you very sick."

"And that powder, what did it look like?"

"It was blue at first but on contact with the air quickly changed to
brownish-white and lost itself, it was so fine."

"Evaporated?"

"You can call it that if you wish.  It was intense.  I held it at arms'
length, yet it made me sick and I had cramps for over an hour
afterwards."

"It would have killed you if you had placed it to your mouth or nose?"

"Not the slightest doubt of it."

"May I ask where you got the stuff?"

"It was imported into this country by a drug firm merely as a
curiosity.  They put it up in tiny vials which I suppose were sent
around to different persons like myself.  It was a dangerous piece of
business and I gave them no credit for doing it."

"What was the name of the firm?"

"I would not tell everybody, but I know I can trust you to keep a
secret.  The firm was Alexander & Company, of Rochester, who stand very
high in the trade.  I buy many things from them, from time to time, and
their traveling man, a Mr. Ostrello, gave me the powder when he called.
He told me how the firm had experimented on a dog and an ox.  Both died
in less than two minutes, and each with cramps.  But after death
neither animal showed the least trace of the poison."

"Wasn't this Ostrello afraid to handle the stuff?"

"Not as much as I was.  He said he was a bit used to it.  I told him I
didn't want to get used to it.  Have another glass of wine?"

"No, I prefer to smoke, thanks just the same.  I am interested in this
_yamlang_, as you call it.  Where can I get the stuff?"

"No more of it can be had.  I rather think they got afraid of it.
Wait, I'll get the vial it was in.  Perhaps there is a whiff left in
it."

"Thanks, but do you think I want to die?" queried the detective, and
gave a laugh.

When the empty vial was produced he opened it and took a short sniff.
Then he drew his breath in sharply.  A faint odor was perceptible, the
same odor he had detected in the carpet on the upper hallway of the
Langmore mansion.

"Do you smell it?" questioned the physician.

"Yes, but not very well.  I don't think it will affect me much."

"I trust not, my dear Adams.  We cannot afford to lose you.  Now, what
is it all about?"

"Another case, that's all.  I don't feel like talking about it just
yet.  I'll give you the particulars some other time."

"And have I helped you?"

"I think you have."

"Of course there are other powders--and there is chloroform--"

"I think we have struck a clue in this.  But I must be going."

"What, so soon!"  Rudolph Calkey looked hurt.  "I was thinking you'd
stay the day out.  We could chat over old times--I'll order an extra
supper--"

"No, not to-day.  When this case is settled, I'll come over and we'll
make an evening of it."  And then the detective had to fairly tear
himself from the doctor and the house.  They were old friends and had
worked on many a case together.

Once back in his office Adam Adams smiled grimly to himself.

"Now, Mr. Tom Ostrello, it looks as if we had you good and hard," he
murmured.  "You were seen around the place at the time of the murder by
Cephas Carboy, you left the bit of paper in the library, you quarrelled
at one time with Mr. Langmore and also quarrelled with your mother.
The murder was committed by means of that deadly Chinese powder, and
you are one of the few persons in this country who knew of the
heathenish compound.  If you are innocent I rather reckon you have a
heap of explanations to make."

There were two callers who took an hour of the detective's time, and
then he prepared to return to Sidham, to learn if possible more
concerning Tom Ostrello, and if anybody besides Cephas Carboy had seen
him around that vicinity on the morning of the tragedy.

"Letty, I may not be back to-night," he remarked, as he came out into
the general office.  "And it may be that I'll not be back to-morrow."

"All right, Uncle Adam.  What shall I tell Mr. Capes?"

"Tell him that that bond matter must wait.  He'll have to get those
numbers if he possibly can.  The other record was destroyed."

As Adam Adams spoke he drew closer to the desk at which his assistant
was sitting.  He glanced down at an envelope lying there, and started
slightly.

"Where did this come from, Letty?" he questioned.  The envelope was
postmarked New York and the upper left-hand corner bore the notice:

      Return in 10 days to
      Alexander & Company,
      Wholesale Druggists,
      22-32 Wadley Street,
      Rochester, N. Y.

The girl glanced at the envelope and then at her employer and blushed
deeply.

"Oh, why that--that is a note from a friend of mine."

"A gentleman friend, I suppose."

"Yes, Uncle Adam.  I met him last winter, at Mrs. Dally's reception.
He is a traveling salesman for this house," she pointed to the notice
on the envelope.  "He wants me to go to the theatre with him, and I
expect to go.  Mrs. Dally says he is a very nice young man.  We--we
have been out a number of times."  And the girl blushed again.

"I know some parties connected with that firm.  What's the young man's
name, Letty?"

"Mr. Tom Ostrello."

"Indeed!  And he has invited you to go to the theatre with him?"

"Yes.  Then you know him, Uncle Adam?  I didn't dream of that.  Don't
you think he is--is rather nice?"

"Evidently you think so."  For some reason the detective could scarcely
steady his voice.  He was a bachelor, with only some distant relatives,
and he thought a good deal of his protegee and her welfare.

"I--I do, Uncle Adam.  He treats me so nicely.  I--I--don't you approve
of him?" she went on hastily, searching his face for the smile that
usually rested there when he spoke to her.

"Why, I--er--I don't know him so well as all that, Letty."  For the
first time in his life he was visibly confused.  "You say he has called
on you a number of times?"

"Yes, and he has taken me out, let me see, I guess it must be a dozen
times all told.  I--I wanted to speak of this before, but I--well, I
couldn't bring it around.  I hope you'll approve, Uncle Adam."

"Approve?  Of your going out with him?"

"Yes, and--and--"  The girl hesitated again.  Then she arose and
buried her face on his shoulder.  "Oh! don't you understand, Uncle
Adam?"

"Letty!"

"He is very nice--I know you'll like him when you get to really know
him.  Of course he hasn't much money, but I don't care for that.  You
always said money didn't count for so much anyway--that it was
character--and he's got that."

"Hum!"  For the life of him Adam Adams could not speak.  He felt
himself growing hot and cold by turns.  He caught the girl closer.
Never had he loved his friend's daughter so much as now.

"I hoped you would approve," she went on, shyly.  "I--of course I
didn't want to leave you--you've been so very good to me since papa and
mamma died.  But--but Tom doesn't seem to want to wait.  He has asked
me twice now and--and--I don't know how I am going to put him off.  He
seems so miserable when I say wait."

"Asked you to marry him?"

"Yes."

"And he wants you to go to the theatre with him--now?"

"The invitation is for to-night--he sent it last week.  He has been
traveling out of town, but he said he would be back some time to-day.
I want you to meet him."  She paused.  "Isn't it all right, Uncle Adam?"

He did not answer, and she gazed at him curiously.  Then the look in
his face made her draw back, slowly and uncertainly.  At that moment he
felt that the occupation of a detective was the most detestable in the
world.

"You--you know something?" she gasped.  "Oh, Uncle Adam, what is it?"




CHAPTER XI

AT THE CORONER'S INQUEST

Sidham was in a state of keen excitement.  No such mystery as the
double tragedy had occurred in that neighborhood before, and all of the
inhabitants were anxious to hear the latest news and learn what the
coroner and the police were going to do.  A hundred theories were
afloat, all centering on the one object--to find the murderer.

"Find him or her, and swing him or her to the nearest tree," was the
verdict of many.  "The law is all well enough, but this dastardly crime
demands an object lesson."

Coroner Jack Busby, who was a dealer in horses, had never had a murder
case before, and was uncertain as to the method of procedure.  But with
the eyes of the whole community on him he realized his importance, as
he ran hither and thither, to arrange for the inquest.  He felt that
his own little office was altogether too small for the occasion and so
arranged to bring off the affair in the general courtroom.

The place was soon crowded with people, and another crowd gathered
outside.  The hour for opening the inquest was at hand and the majority
of the witnesses were present.  The coroner, short, fat and
bald-headed, looked around anxiously and then turned to the chief of
police, who was near at hand.

"I don't see Miss Langmore."

"Neither do I," answered the guardian of the law, with a shrug of his
shoulders, as if it was none of his especial business,

"Yes, but--ahem! you are--ahem! responsible--"

"She'll be here, coroner, don't worry."

"You have had her properly guarded?"

"Yes.  I reckon she's coming now," and the chief of police nodded
towards a side door of the courtroom.

There was a slight commotion, and Margaret entered, escorted by Raymond
Case, and followed by one of the women and the policeman who had been
on guard at the Langmore mansion.  The crowd arose to gaze at the girl
and to pass various comments.

"Mighty pale, ain't she?"

"Wouldn't think a girl like that could do such an awful thing!"

"Humph! you can't tell about these high-toned folks.  They'd do
anything.  Didn't one of them millionaires run over two of my hens with
his automobile an' never stop to settle the damage?  Don't tell me!"

"Yes, and she detested her step-mother--the hired girl told Mrs. Brown
so, an' she told me."

"Well, Coroner Busby will git to the bottom of it putty quick.  He told
Lem Hansom he knew what he was doin'."

"He must know, if he's as slick at tryin' folks as he is in a hoss
dicker," returned an old farmer who had made a trade of steeds which
had proved unprofitable for him.

Margaret was shown to a chair and sat down, with Raymond beside her.
The young man was plainly nervous, yet he did what he could to comfort
his companion.

"Courage, Margaret," he whispered.  "It is bound to come out right in
the end."

"I can scarcely see a friendly face," she faltered, taking a shy look
around.  "They all think I am--"  She could not finish, but had to
bite her lip to keep the tears from flowing.

The coroner mounted the platform and rapped on a desk with his knuckles.

"The--ahem! courtroom will come to order!" he called out, gazing around
on all sides.

There was a final buzz and then the place became quiet, broken only by
the ticking of a big round clock on the wall.

"We are gathered here--ahem! to inquire into the mysterious deaths of
Mr. and Mrs. Barry Langmore," went on the coroner.

"That's so--an' we want plain facts," put in an old farmer, sitting
well up front.

"Silence!" cried the coroner.  "We must have silence!"

"All right, Jack," replied the farmer.  "I won't say another word."

"Silence.  We cannot go on if there is not silence.  Ahem! ahem!  Miss
Langmore!"

Margaret arose and bowed slightly.  Then the coroner swore her in as a
witness and told her to relate her story.  She could scarcely stand and
Raymond brought her chair forward.

"You wish me to tell all I know?" she asked, in a faint but clear voice.

"Everything," was Coroner Busby's answer.

Pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts, she plunged into the
recital, her tale being merely a repetition of that given to Adam
Adams.  When she came to tell how her father had been found her voice
broke and it was fully a minute before she could go on.  When she had
finished the courtroom was as still as a tomb, save for the ticking of
the clock, now sounding louder than ever.

"Is that all?" asked the coroner, after a painful pause.

"Yes, sir."

"They say, Miss Langmore, that you were not on good terms with your
stepmother."

"Who says so?"

"It is an--ahem! a common rumor.  What have you to say on that point?"

"It is true, sir," answered Margaret, after another pause, during which
the eyes of all in the courtroom were fixed upon the girl.

"It is said that you had violent quarrels," pursued the coroner.

"No very violent quarrels.  Sometimes we did not speak to each other
for days."

"Then you admit that you did quarrel?"

"I do."

"And you also quarreled with your father?"

"No, sir."

"What, not at all?" queried Coroner Busby, elevating his eyes in
surprise, either real or affected.

"We held different opinions upon certain questions, but we did not
quarrel."

"Hum!"  The coroner mused for a moment.

"That is all for the present," he added, and Margaret moved back to
where she had been first sitting.

"I am glad that is over," whispered Raymond.  "Can I do anything?  Get
you some water?"

"No, nothing," she answered, and dropped a veil over her face.

The next witness called was Mary Billings, the domestic employed at the
Langmore mansion, and who had been about the place at the time of the
tragedy.  She proved to be a round-faced Irish girl, not particularly
bright, and now all but terror-stricken.  As soon as she was sworn in
she burst into tears.

"Sure as there is a heavin above me, Oi didn't do that murder, so Oi
didn't!" she moaned.

"Nobody said you did," answered the coroner dryly, while a general
smile went around the courtroom.

"Then why did yez bring me here, I dunno?  Sure an' Mr. Langmore was
afther bein' me bist frind, an' Oi wouldn't harm him fer a million
dollars, so Oi wouldn't!"  It was with difficulty that she was quieted
and made to tell what she knew.

"Where were you from ten o'clock to twelve of the morning of the
tragedy?" was the first question put to her.

"Oi was in the kitchen, an' down to the barn, yer honor."

"Were you in the kitchen first."

"Sure an' Oi was that."

"What were you doing?"

"Phat was Oi doin'?  Sure Oi was washin' the dishes, cl'anin' the
silverware, peelin' the praties, shellin' the beans, cleanin' the
lamps, fixin' the--"

"Ahem!  You mean you were doing the housework, eh?"

"Yis, sur."

"While you were in the house, did you leave the kitchen?"

"Only to go to the ciller fer a scuttle o' coal."

"Did you see or hear anything unusual going on while you were in the
kitchen?"

The Irish girl scratched her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"Oi heard a lot av things, yer honor."

"What were they?"

"Oi heard Mrs. Langmore walkin' around upstairs, an' Oi heard Miss
Margaret walkin' around, too.  Then Oi heard Mrs. Langmore call to Miss
Margaret."

"Did Miss Margaret answer?"

"Oi dunno--if she did, Oi didn't hear her."

"What else?"

"Thin Oi heard the front dure slam."

"Did you see anybody come in or go out?"

"Sure, an' Oi did not."

"What time was this, as near as you can remember?"

"Atwixt tin an' eliven o'clock."

"Did you hear anything after the slamming of the front door?"

"Oi did not, fer Oi wint down to the barn directly afterwards."

"How long did you remain down at the barn?"

"Till Miss Margaret came scr'amin' from the house.  She cries, 'Mary,
oh Mary!  Me father!  Me father!' an' staggers around loike she was
goin' to fall, an' Oi run up to her an' hild her up, poor dear."  And
the servant girl shot a sympathetic glance in Margaret's direction.

"Ahem!  Now--er--you remained in the barn until you heard her cry out.
Did you hear or see anything from the barn while you were down there?"

"Well, to tell the truth, sur, Oi didn't notice anythin' at the toime,
bein' that interested in me pet chickens, sur.  Ye see, Pat Callahan
gave me three foine Leghorns, an'--"

"Never mind the Leghorns.  If you saw or heard anything, what was it?"

"'Twas something Oi was afther hearin', sur.  Oi think somebody ran
past the barn, aisy loike."

"You didn't see anybody?"

"No, sur.  As Oi said before, thim Leghorns that Pat Callahan gave
me--"

"We'll--ahem! drop the Leghorns.  After you heard the strange noise how
long was it before you heard Miss Langmore scream?"

"Perhaps quarter av an hour, sur.  Oi didn't look to the clock."

"And she fainted in your arms?"

"Not exactly that, sur.  She scr'ams, 'Me father! me father!  Mary, he
is murdered!  Go to the library!'  An' thin she wint over in me arms
loike a stone, poor dear, poor dear!"  And the domestic began to weep
afresh.

"What did you do then?"

"Sure, phat could Oi do?  Oi scr'amed fer hilp as loud as Oi could, an'
thin Mrs. Bardon an' her son, Alfred, the docthor, came over."

"What happened next?"

"We all wint in the house, an' there we found poor Mr. Langmore dead in
the library, in his chair.  The doctor thought he moight be aloive yit
an' had his mother an' me run upstairs fer some medicine from the
medicine closet.  In the upper hall we kim on Mrs. Langmore's body,
also dead, an' I got that scared Oi turned an' flew down the back
stairs an' out av the house loike the divil was afther me!"

There was a general laugh throughout the courtroom, at which the
coroner rapped loudly on the desk.

"Silence.  Such--ahem! conduct at an inquest is not to be allowed.  If
this happens again I shall clear the courtroom."

"Thet's right, Jack, make 'em behave themselves," came from the old
farmer in front.  "This is serious business, this is."

"What was done with the body of Mrs. Langmore?" continued the coroner
to the servant girl.

"The docther said to lave it till you came."

"Mrs. Langmore was quite dead?"

"Yis.  Hivin rest her sowl!"

"And Mr. Langmore?"

"Sure an' the docther could do nothin' fer the poor mon.  It made the
docther sick to work over the corpse an' he soon had to give it up."

"Now, tell me, how do you think the two were killed?"

"Oi dunno.  The docther ought to tell that--sure an' he has the
eddication, an' Oi haven't."

"There were no marks of violence?"

"Phat?"

"The victims had not been struck down?"

"Oi dunno as to that, sur--better axed the docther."

"Hum!"  Coroner Busby mused for a moment.  "How long have you lived
with the Langmore family?"

"Iver since Mr. Langmore married his sicond woife."

"How many of the family lived at home?"

"The first year there was the mister and missus an' Miss Jennie an'
Miss Margaret.  But Miss Jennie married an' moved away--she's travelin'
now, they tell me."

"Then Miss Margaret was the only child home?"

"Yis, sur."

"Didn't Mrs. Langmore have two sons?"

"Yis, but they niver lived there.  One av thim used to come an' see her
now an' thin, an' that's all."

"Was Miss Margaret on good terms with Mrs. Langmore?"

"She was not.  Mrs. Langmore was a--a vixin, always afther findin'
fault, an' Oi wasn't on good terms wid her meself."

"Ah!  Then you quarreled also?"

"Oh, no, sur, Oi knew me place, so Oi did, an' did me wurruk an' said
nothin'.  If it hadn't been fer Miss Margaret Oi'd a lift me job long
ago.  But she was such a noice girrul, an' so lonely loike, in the
house wid that tongue-lasher--"

"Wait! wait!  You say Miss Margaret and Mrs. Langmore quarreled.  When
did they quarrel last?"

At this question the domestic pursed up her lips and looked at Margaret.

"Oi have nothin' to say about that," she answered coldly.

This reply was a surprise to all, including Raymond.  The coroner gazed
at the witness sternly.

"You must answer," he said.  "It is my duty to get at the bottom of
this awful affair."

"Oi'll not answer," was the stubborn return.




CHAPTER XII

FOR AND AGAINST

There was a moment of intense silence throughout the courtroom.  Every
eye was turned on Mary Billings, who pursed up her lips more closely
than ever.

"You'll not answer?" thundered Coroner Busby.

"Mr. Coroner," began Raymond, rising, "is it legally necessary that she
answer?  Remember, she is here without proper legal council."

"Silence!  I--ahem--yes, she must answer, or I shall have to commit
her, as a witness if for nothing else.  Girl, are you going to answer
or not?"

"Sure, an' Oi--"

"Chief, will you call a policeman?" went on the coroner, turning to the
chief of police.

He was a fairly good judge of human character.  At the sight of the
bluecoat the domestic wilted and began to sob.

"Ohone! Ohone! don't take me to prison!" she wailed.

"You prefer to answer?"

"Yis, if Oi must.  But Oi think Miss Margaret the swatest little
lady--"

"Never mind that.  When did the girl and her stepmother quarrel last?
Come now, tell me the plain truth," and the coroner put as much of
sternness as possible in his voice.

"Well, thin, if yez has got to know, it was on the marnin' av the
murders, sur," sniffled the servant girl.

"When was this?"

"Right afther breakfast.  They had some words at the table, too."

"What was said?  Repeat the exact words if you can," and the coroner
leaned forward expectantly, while many in the courtroom held their
breath.

"Mrs. Langmore said she wished Miss Margaret was off the face of the
earth, an' that she'd be afther seein' that the dear girrul wasn't in
the house much longer.  'Twas a very bitter scene, an' me heart wint
out to the dear girrul--"

"And what did Miss Margaret reply to that?"

"She said it was her father's house, an' she would stay as long as her
father wished her to.  An' it was her father's house, too."

"And after that?"

"A whole lot more followed, which Oi didn't catch, fer Oi am no
avesdropper.  But Oi did hear Mrs. Langmore, in a perfect rage, cry out
that she'd kill Miss Margaret if the girrul didn't moind her."

"And then?"

"Miss Margaret said she would do as she pl'ased--that she was her own
mistress--an' Oi was glad to hear her say it.  Mrs. Langmore went on
wid her quarrel--sure, an' she had the divil's own tongue, so she had.
Thin she must have caught hould av Miss Margaret, fer Oi heard the
girrul cry out to lit go or she'd stroike her down.  Thin there was
more wurruds, hotter an' hotter, an' Mrs. Langmore said she would make
the girrul mind as sure as fate, an' thin Miss Margaret got roused up
an' she said fer Mrs. Langmore to beware, that she had Southern blood
in her veins, an' she wouldn't be accountable fer what she did, if her
stepmother wint too far."

There was a pause, and a murmur ran the round of the little courtroom.
The testimony seemed to be highly important and many shook their heads.
The girl and her stepmother had certainly had a bitter quarrel, the
girl had hot Southern blood in her veins, and the bitterness had ended
in the tragedy.  In the minds of many it was only a question of what
the extenuating circumstances might be.

"Was Mr. Langmore present at this quarrel?" asked the coroner, after
another pause.

"He was at the breakfast table, but afther that he wint to the bank."

"Did you hear anything more?"

"Not right away, sur.  Oi wint to me work.  Whin Mr. Langmore came from
the bank Oi heard him talkin' to Miss Margaret."

"What was said then?"

"Oi dunno exactly, exceptin' that he said he was sorry she an' her
stepmother had quarreled, an' he wanted her to make it up wid his
woife."

"And what did Miss Margaret say to that?"

"She said that all she wanted was to be left alone."

"What else?"

"Oi didn't hear anything more, as Oi wint to the ciller fer coal.  By
an' by Oi see Miss Margaret in the garden cryin'.  Oi wanted to go to
her, but Mrs. Langmore kim to the kitchen an' Oi had to attind to me
wurruk."

"How did Mrs. Langmore seem to appear when she came to the kitchen?"

"Sure an' she was very excited an' findin' more fault than iver.  She
stayed only a few minutes, an' thin wint to the library, an' that was
the very last Oi saw av her.  Oi'm sorry she's dead, but she had that
divil's own temper!"  And the domestic heaved a long sigh.

"That will do.  You may sit down."  The coroner looked around the
courtroom.  "Is Doctor Bardon present?"

For reply the young physician came forward from one side of the room.
He looked pale and slightly troubled.  In a low voice he corroborated
the testimony already given regarding the finding of the two bodies,
and told what he had done in his effort to restore Mr. Langmore to life.

"I thought there might be a spark there still, but I was mistaken," he
went on.  "He looked so natural--and Mrs. Langmore looked natural, too,
for the matter of that.  But both were stone dead."

"What was the cause of death?"

"That is something of a mystery.  I have tried my best to get at the
bottom of it, but I cannot, nor can my colleague, Doctor Soper."

"Were the pair strangled, smothered, poisoned?" suggested the coroner.

"I have a theory that they were poisoned, but not in an ordinary way.
Neither Doctor Soper nor myself could find any traces of ordinary
poison."

"What is your theory?"

"Something was used to stupefy them, and so much was used that it
killed them."

"In that case the murder might have been unintentional?"

"Yes.  Somebody might have thought to stupefy Mr. Langmore and then rob
him.  But the drug, being too powerful, or used too long, might have
done its deadly work.  Then the crime may have been discovered by Mrs.
Langmore and the murderer might have turned on her to conceal his first
wrongdoing."

"Hum.  Have you--ahem! any idea of the nature of the poison?"

"No, excepting that it had a very powerful odor.  When I bent over Mr.
Langmore I got several whiffs of it and it made me sick at the stomach.
But the odor was soon gone."

"And you have no idea what the poison was?"

"No, nor has Doctor Soper.  It may be something new, or something
little known.  Chemists are constantly discovering new things," went on
the young physician, bound to clear himself of any suspicion of
ignorance concerning medical matters.

"You found no marks of violence, as if there had been a struggle?"

"The only marks I found were two scratches on the right arm of Mrs.
Langmore, right above the wrist, and a scratch on Mr. Langmore's left
cheek."

"Finger nail scratches?"

"Possibly, or else they may have been made by a ring or bracelet--if
there was a struggle."

"Hum!  Have you anything else to tell, doctor?"

"I have not.  I am willing to tell all I know."

There was another pause, as the young physician stepped back.  The
coroner was about to call one of the women set to guard Margaret and
the Langmore mansion, when he suddenly turned.

"Miss Langmore, you will please take the stand again," he said, and the
girl did so, throwing aside her veil.  "Are you in the habit of wearing
finger rings and bracelets?"

It was a leading question and several gasped as they heard it.  Raymond
started to rise up, but then sank back again.

"I do not wear bracelets," answered Margaret.  "I have two rings."

"What kind of rings are they?"

"One is a plain gold band.  It was my mother's wedding ring."  The
girl's voice sank low suddenly.  "The other is a diamond ring, as you
can see," and she held up her hand.

"Will you let me have the diamond ring?"

"Yes, sir."  She took it off.  "But please be careful of it, for it--it
is very precious to me."

The coroner nodded.  "That is all just now," and as Margaret let fall
the veil again, he called Doctor Bardon to his side.  A whispered
conversation ensued, and the young physician left with the precious
circlet--Margaret's engagement ring--in an envelope.

"Margaret, you should not have let him have that ring," whispered
Raymond.

"How could I help it?" was the low answer.  "Oh, this is terrible!  I
feel as if everybody was trying to look me through and through!"

"I can't understand why Mr. Adams is not here," went on the young man.
"Perhaps he has found some important clew and is following it up," he
added hopefully.

"They are bound to convict me, Raymond!  Isn't it horrible?"

"They shall never do it, never!" cried the young man.  And then a sharp
rapping on the desk terminated the brief conversation and restored
quietness to the little courtroom.




CHAPTER XIII

THE WEIGHT OF EVIDENCE

The next witness called was Mrs. Morse, who told briefly how she had
been placed in charge of the upper part of the Langmore mansion shortly
after the tragedy, and how she had been watching Margaret.  She said
the girl had had only a few visitors, mentioning Raymond Case and a
stranger from New York.

"Who was the stranger?" asked Coroner Busby.

"A Mr. Adams.  He's either a lawyer or a detective."

"Oh!"

"I brought Mr. Adams to see Miss Langmore," put in Raymond.  "Wasn't
that all right?"

"Certainly--certainly," answered the coroner hastily.

"I have kept the best watch on Miss Langmore that I could," went on the
woman.  "You told me to do it."

"Has Miss Langmore had anything to say about her father?"

"She seems to be very sorry that he is dead."

"What did she say about Mrs. Langmore?"

"She does not seem to care much about her stepmother."

"Have you discovered anything unusual, Mrs. Morse, that had to do with
this tragedy?"

"Well, I don't know.  I have looked around a bit, and among other
things I found this.  It was in Miss Langmore's dressing case."

As she spoke the woman held up a small bottle.  It was marked
chloroform and was empty.

"Anything else?"

"With the empty bottle I found the half of a big silk handkerchief.  It
was wrapped around the bottle and had Miss Langmore's monogram in the
corner.  I went on hunting around the house and I found the other half
of the handkerchief in a dark corner of the upper hallway, not far from
where Mrs. Langmore's body was found."

At this announcement there was a buzz of excitement.  All present
looked at the witness and then at Margaret.  The girl had thrown aside
her veil once more, and was standing up, with a face as pale as death
itself.

"I--I--may I speak?" she faltered.

"Yes."

"I bought that chloroform a month ago and used it to put a sick canary
and a sick parrot out of their misery.  Mary Billings saw me chloroform
the parrot."

"When did you do the chloroforming?"

"About a week ago, on the parrot.  The canary I chloroformed when I
obtained the drug."

"Sure, and that's roight, sur," broke in the servant girl.

"Then you know all about using chloroform?" remarked the coroner dryly.

"The druggist told me."

"Did it take all you had for the birds?"

"No."

"What did you do with what remained?"

"I threw it away, for I had no further use for it."

"Hum."  The coroner turned to Mary Billings.  "Did you see her throw
the chloroform away?"

"N--no," stammered the servant girl.  "But if she says she did, she
did," she added stoutly.

"Now, Mrs. Morse, did you find anything else of value?"

"I did not, but Mrs. Gaspard, who was in charge downstairs, did."

"Very well, you may step down.  Mrs. Gaspard!"  And the other woman
came forward to face the coroner and his jury, and was sworn.

"Mrs. Morse says you found something of importance.  What was it?"

"It was this, Mr. Busby," and the woman held out a sheet of note paper.
"I came across it on the stairs leading to Miss Langmore's room.  Shall
I read it?"  And as the coroner nodded, the woman read as follows:


"Since you refuse to open your room door to me, let me give you fair
warning.  You must either obey your mother that now is, and me, or
leave this house.  I have had enough of your willfulness and I shall
not put up with it any longer."


As the woman finished reading she handed the paper to the coroner.

"Ahem!  Mrs. Gaspard, do you know who wrote this note?" asked the
latter.

"The handwriting is exactly like Mr. Langmore's.  I have compared the
two, and so have Mrs. Morse and Mr. Pickerell, the schoolmaster."

Again all eyes were bent upon Margaret.  She had again arisen and was
swaying from side to side.

"My father--never--never sent me--never wrote such a note--" she
gasped, and then sank back and would have fallen had not Raymond
supported her.

"A glass of water, quick!" cried the young man, and it was handed to
him, and also a bottle of smelling salts.  In a moment more Margaret
revived.

"Take me away," she moaned.

"I am sorry, but that cannot be allowed," replied the coroner.  "You
will have to remain until this session is over."

"It's an outrage!" exclaimed Raymond, his eyes flashing.  "You are all
against her, and you are going to prove her guilty if you possibly can.
The whole proceedings is a farce."

"Silence, young man, or I'll have you removed by an officer.  You have
interrupted the proceedings several times.  I do not know what interest
you have--"

"I am not ashamed to tell you of my interest, sir.  I am engaged to
this young lady.  I know she is innocent.  It is preposterous to
imagine that she would kill her own father.  They loved each other too
much."

"Yes, but this note--" piped in Mrs. Gaspard.  She was a strong
believer in Margaret's guilt.

"I know nothing about that.  It may be a forgery.  I know Miss Langmore
is innocent."

"To merely say a thing does not prove it," came from the coroner.  "We
want facts, nothing else--and we are bound to have 'em."  He began to
warm up also.  "I'm here to do my duty, regardless of you or anybody
else.  I ain't going to shield anybody, rich or poor, high or low,
known or unknown!  Now, you sit down, and let the inquest proceed."
And Raymond sat down, but with a great and growing bitt