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Title: The Man Inside

Author: Natalie Sumner Lincoln

Release date: September 17, 2020 [eBook #63223]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by D A Alexander and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
        produced from images generously made available by The
        Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN INSIDE ***




Produced by D A Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)









  THE
  MAN INSIDE

  BY
  NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN

  AUTHOR OF "THE TREVOR CASE" AND
  "THE LOST DESPATCH."

  ILLUSTRATED


  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
  NEW YORK AND LONDON
  1914




  COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

  Copyright, 1914, by SMITH PUBLISHING HOUSE

  Printed in the United States of America




  [Illustration: "'My dream! See, the panels are in the shape of a
   cross!'"]                                             [Page 198]




  TO THE LATE

  MAJOR-GENERAL GEORGE LEWIS GILLESPIE
  U. S. ARMY

  WHOSE KINDLY FRIENDSHIP, GENEROUS
  ENCOURAGEMENT AND DISCRIMINATING CRITICISM
  MADE THIS BOOK POSSIBLE
  IT IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                         PAGE

      I. "WHERE THE BEST IS LIKE THE WORST"         1
     II. AFTER THE BALL                            14
    III. A MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY                      19
     IV. THE BROKEN APPOINTMENT                    24
      V. MUTE TESTIMONY                            36
     VI. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE                   52
    VII. A PIECE OF ORIENTAL SILK                  59
   VIII. KISMET                                    71
     IX. AT THE STATE DEPARTMENT                   87
      X. THE THEFT                                 96
     XI. OVER THE TEA CUPS                        107
    XII. A COUNCIL OF WAR                         118
   XIII. AT THE WHITE HOUSE                       131
    XIV. THE MOTH AND THE FLAME                   152
     XV. "THORNTON'S NEST"                        171
    XVI. A CRY IN THE NIGHT                       188
   XVII. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS                      204
  XVIII. IN THE NAME OF THE LAW                   221
    XIX. THE ACCUSATION                           231
     XX. WEAVING THE WEB                          245
    XXI. AN INTERNATIONAL INTRIGUE                260
   XXII. THE PURSUIT                              269
  XXIII. THE END OF THE QUEST                     273
   XXIV. THE FINAL EXPLANATION                    293




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                 FACING
                                                  PAGE

  "'My dream! See, the panels are in the shape of a
  cross!'"                               _Frontispiece_

  "But Cynthia remained where she was and peeped over
  the butler's shoulder"                             18

  "He made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and
  darted forward"                                    68

  "With an exclamation he rose, and walked across the
  room"                                             234




THE MAN INSIDE




CHAPTER I

"WHERE THE BEST IS LIKE THE WORST"


The long hot tropic day was drawing to its close. The shadows were
gradually rising and filling the narrow street, and every now and then
from the side of the open drain which ran through the middle of the
street a large black carrion bird flew up. There was no sidewalk, the
cobblestones running right up to the low white house walls. The windows
which opened on the street were for the most part few in number, small
and heavily barred. It was not by any means the best quarter in Colon.
One building, more pretentious than the rest, was distinguished from
its neighbors by large French windows, also protected by the iron
screen or _reja_.

It was impossible to tell the nationality of the one man lounging
along the street. He seemed profoundly buried in his own thoughts. Dark
as his skin was, and black as was his beard, there was something about
him which negatived the idea that he was a Spaniard. His rolling walk
suggested the sailor's life.

As he passed the building with the long French windows, the tinkle of a
guitar roused his attention, and he stepped inside the front door and
glanced furtively at the few men who lounged about the tables which
dotted the long room. Passing by several empty tables and chairs, the
stranger seated himself in the corner of the room on the side further
from the street, near a window which opened on a neglected garden. A
tropical vine thrust its branches against what had once been a wood
and glass partition which formed the end of the room, the branches and
leaves twining in and out among the broken panes of the window.

Some of the occupants of the room had glanced indifferently at the
stranger on his entrance, but his haggard, unshaven face and worn
clothing did not arouse their curiosity, and they again turned their
attention to their wine.

The stranger, after contemplating the view from the window for some
moments, leaned back in his chair, thrust his hands in his pockets,
and stretched his long legs under the table; then indolently studied
his surroundings. The room reeked with tobacco smoke and the odor
of spirits. The scene reminded him of Port Said. Not quite as many
nationalities were represented in Colon as haunt the entrance to the
Suez Canal, but the low chatter of tongues which greeted his ears was
polyglot. The men in the room were types of the born ne'er-do-well.
Lazy, shiftless, they had drifted to Colon, thinking to pick up
whatever spoils came their way during the construction of the Panama
Canal. Drinking and gambling, gambling and drinking--the sum total of
their lives. The stranger's lips curved in a sardonic smile, and he
crooned softly:

    Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like
        the worst,
    Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can
        raise a thirst.

His smile deepened as he caught the scowl of a Spaniard sitting near
him. His glance traveled on, and, as he studied the flushed, sodden
faces, a sudden horror of himself and his surroundings shook him.
He passed a nervous hand over his damp forehead. Why had his memory
played him so scurvy a trick? The past few years were not pleasant
to contemplate, and the future even less so. He half started from his
chair, then sank back and summoned the _mozo_. Quickly he gave his
order in fluent Spanish, and waited impatiently for the man's return.
He had been fortunate at the gaming table the night before, and could
purchase a moment's respite from the torments of an elusive memory.
Memory, in whose wondrous train follow the joys of childhood, parents
and home! The stranger's strong hand trembled as he stroked his beard.
Why was he an outcast? For him alone there were no childhood and no
home; his thinking life began as a full-grown man. Was there to be no
awakening?

In a few moments the _mozo_ returned, and placed a glass and bottle
of liquor before him. The stranger hastily filled and drank. As the
stimulant crept through his veins, a feeling of physical contentment
replaced all other sensations, and, lighting a cigar, he was slowly
sinking once more into reverie when from behind the partition he heard
a voice:

"No names, please."

The words, spoken clearly in English, startled him from his
abstraction, and he glanced through the vine and, himself unseen, saw
two men sitting at a table. They had apparently entered the patio from
another part of the house.

"Quite right, I approve your caution." The words were also in English,
but with a strong foreign accent, and the speaker, a man of middle age
and fine physique, laid some papers on the table before them. "Where is
the Senator this evening?"

"He accompanied several members of the Congressional party to inspect
the plant of the Quartermaster and Subsistence Departments, and on his
return will dine with Major Reynolds and several other officers at the
hotel."

"I see." The foreigner drummed impatiently on the table. "You were late
in keeping your appointment."

"I had the devil's own time in finding this dive," returned the
younger man, and, as he moved his chair half around, the inquisitive
stranger, peeping through the leaves of the vine, obtained a view of
the speaker's boyish face. The weak mouth was partly hidden by a short
black mustache; the features were well cut, and by some would have been
called handsome.

The older man gave vent to a half-smothered chuckle. "Goethals and
Gorgas have reformed the Canal Zone, and the local government is trying
to do the same with Panama, but, _por Dios_, drinking and gambling
continue _unnoticed_ in Colon," he said, dryly. "I find a room in this
house most convenient during my short visits here. No '_gringo_'," he
sneered, "dare show his face in this room."

The stranger settled down in his chair, which was wedged into the
corner formed by the wall of the room and the wood and glass partition,
until his head was screened from the two speakers by the thick foliage
of the vine. The Spaniard and the Jamaican, who had occupied the table
nearest him, had gone, and the few men who still lingered over their
wine at the farther end of the room paid no attention to him. He could
listen without being observed.

"So you believe the people of Panama are already dissatisfied with
their president?" inquired the younger man, whom the listener judged to
be an American.

"I do," came the firm reply. "And but for the presence of _los tiranos
del norte_ here there would have been already a _pronunciamiento_."

"Then you think the time is ripe for carrying out your scheme?"

His companion nodded without speaking, and tugged at his gray imperial.
"If it is done at all it must be soon," he said, finally. "American
rule is not too popular here, and now is the time to act. And I pray
God I shall be spared to see the fruits of the _labor de los cochinos
sucios_ reaped by another nation," he spoke with intense bitterness.

"And that nation?" questioned the other.

"Is better left unmentioned."

"You do not love my countrymen," exclaimed the American, as he drew out
his cigarette case and passed it to his companion, who waved it away
impatiently.

"Say rather--hate," was the terse reply. "But I do not look on you
as one of that nationality. Your mother was my dearly loved cousin,
and Colombia boasts no prouder name than the one she bore before she
married your father. By the love you bear her memory I entreat you to
assist me in this undertaking."

"I have promised," said the American gruffly. "I hear that Colombia
intends accepting the ten million dollars offered by the United States
for certain islands near Panama."

"Never!" The Colombian spoke with emphasis. "Our hatred lies too deep
for that; it cannot be placated by an offer of 'conscience money,' no
matter how great the sum."

"The more fools you," muttered the American, _sotto voce_.

"The revolt of Panama was followed by an insurrection in Colombia,"
continued the other, "and the Government was overthrown. The American
newspapers gave us a few paragraphs at the time--they did not mention
that nearly one hundred thousand people were killed; that the horrors
of civil war were augmented by pillage and murder. I was at the front
with the troops, and, in my absence from home, my wife and child were
murdered by some _insurrectos_. I tell you," he struck the table a
resounding blow with his clenched fist, "there is no Colombian living
who would not gladly see the United States humiliated."

"It is easy to see that the people in Panama are jealous of the success
of the Americans," commented the young man.

"Naturally; the United States has always advanced at the price of
Latin-America."

"How so?"

"Study your history. When the Thirteen Original States branched out,
first came the 'Louisiana Purchase,' land originally settled by the
French; then Florida, first settled by the Spanish, was bought by the
United States. Later still, Texas seceded from Mexico, settled also
by the Spanish; then came the Mexican War, and Latin-America lost the
territory now known as New Mexico, Arizona, and California."

"Seems to me it would have been better if Colombia had accepted the
original offer of the United States for the Panama Canal Zone."

"Why so? The United States only offered a beggarly ten million. By
waiting a year the French concession would have expired, and the
Colombian Government would have received the sixty million which the
United States eventually paid the French Company."

"Instead of which you got nothing," remarked the American dryly, "and
lost Panama into the bargain."

"Through underhand methods," began the other hotly, then checked
himself. "Enough of the past. Have you a message for me?"

For reply the young man drew out an envelope from an inside pocket and
handed it to his companion, who opened it and read the communication in
silence.

"Good," he said finally, tearing the note into infinitesimal pieces
and carefully putting them in his leather wallet, from which he first
took several letters. "Give this to the Ambassador immediately on your
return, and this--" he hesitated for a second--"give at once to our
mutual friend."

The American took the papers and placed them securely in an inside
pocket. "Is that all?" he inquired.

"No." The Colombian drew out a small chamois bag whose contents emitted
a slight jingling noise as he handed it to his companion. "You may
find this useful. No thanks are necessary, dear boy," laying his hand
on the American's shoulder as the latter commenced speaking. "The
death of my wife and child has deprived me of near relatives except
you, and I propose to make you my heir." Then, to change the subject,
he added quickly, "Is there no way to induce the Senator to use his
influence with Congress and the Administration for disarmament, and the
curtailing of building more battleships?"

The American laughed disagreeably. "I think it may be done--in time."

The Colombian's face brightened. "Splendid! If we can stop his fervid
speeches in behalf of a larger standing army and navy, we will have
accomplished much. But how do you expect to alter his attitude?"

"Through a woman," the American's lips parted in an amused smile.
"There's no fool like an old fool, and the Senator is no exception to
the rule."

"Indeed?" The Colombian raised his eyebrows. "And what has the woman to
say in the matter?"

"Nothing. She emulates a clam."

The eavesdropper on the other side of the partition, who had caught
most of the conversation, moved ever so slightly to stretch his cramped
limbs, and then pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his heated face.
As he did so a small slip of paper dropped, unseen by him, from his
pocket to the floor. A large black cat came softly over to him and he
lifted the animal up and placed her on the table before him. He stroked
the purring feline and listened intently to catch the conversation
which drifted to him through the vine-covered broken window panes.
Apparently the two men were preparing to leave.

"Does the Senator really think to marry?" asked the Colombian, as he
picked up his hat.

"I judge so. He is obviously very much infatuated with the girl's
unusual type of beauty. And, believe me, she thoroughly understands the
art of managing men."

"Indeed? Who is the girl?"

"The young daughter of the famous Irish actress, Nora Fitzgerald.
Senator Carew...."

Crash--the bottle and glass smashed in pieces. The eavesdropper never
stopped to see the damage he had done, but with incredible swiftness
and stealth was out of the room and down the street before the irate
proprietor had reached the deserted table.

"_Que hay?_" inquired the Colombian of the proprietor. He and the
American had rushed into the room and over to the window by which the
eavesdropper had been sitting.

"A drunken Spaniard knocked the bottle and glass from the table, and
cleared out without paying the damage," explained the proprietor in
Spanish, as he signed to the _mozo_ to sweep up the mess.

"What's that in your hand?"

"A card, Señor, which I have just picked up from the floor."

"Let me have it."

"_Si, Señor, con mucho gusto._" He quickly handed the paper to the
Colombian.

The American looked over his companion's shoulder as the latter
adjusted his eyeglasses and held up the visiting card so that both
could see its contents. With staring eyes and faces gone white they
read the engraved inscription:

  MR. JAMES CAREW
           MARYLAND.




CHAPTER II


AFTER THE BALL

"Fifty-four!" bellowed the footman through his megaphone for the sixth
time, and he slanted his umbrella to protect his face from the driving
rain which half-blinded him. A waiting automobile, whose chauffeur
had mistaken the number called, moved slowly off and gave place to a
carriage and pair.

"Fifty-four," mumbled the coachman, checking his restive horses with
difficulty.

The footman turned, touched his hat, and beckoned to Cynthia Carew,
who stood waiting in the vestibule. With a rueful glance at the wet
sidewalk, she gathered her skirts up above her ankles and, propelled by
the sturdy arm of her escort, Captain Lane, was landed breathless at
the carriage door.

"In with you," laughed Lane, as his umbrella was almost dragged
from his hand by the high wind. "Your wrap is too pretty to be
ruined...." Cynthia was half lifted, half pushed inside the landau....
"Good night, my dearest."

The door slammed shut; the horses, weary of long standing, started
forward at the sound and raced around the corner into Massachusetts
Avenue before the sleepy coachman could collect his wits.

Cynthia, on the point of seating herself, was flung toward the farther
corner of the carriage by the sudden jerk. Instinctively she threw out
her hand to steady herself, and her open palm encountered what was
unmistakably a broad shoulder.

"Good gracious!" recoiling and collapsing sideways on the seat.
"Philip! How you frightened me."

Then she settled herself more comfortably and, with an effort, chatted
on.

"The dance really was great fun, just our set you know, some of the
Diplomatic Corps, and a number of the officers from the Barracks. I
hated to leave so early," regretfully, "but I promised Uncle James.
Mrs. Owen asked particularly for you, and was greatly put out because
you did not appear. Honestly, Philip, I am very tired of trying to
explain your sudden aversion to society. Why do you shun your friends?"

Not getting an immediate answer she repeated her question more
emphatically. Still no reply. The silence caught her attention. Turning
her head she scanned the quiet figure by her side.

The pelting rain, which beat drearily upon the carriage roof and
windows, almost drowned the sound of rapid hoof-beats. The high wind
had apparently extinguished the carriage lamps and the dim street
lights failed to illuminate the interior of the rapidly moving
carriage. In the semi-darkness Cynthia could not distinguish her
companion's face.

"It is _you_, Philip?" she questioned sharply, and waited an
appreciable moment; then a thought occurred to her. "Uncle James, are
you trying to play a practical joke?" Her voice rose to a higher key.

Her question was ignored.

Cynthia caught her breath sharply. Suppose the man was a stranger? She
shrank farther back into her corner. If so, how came he there? Intently
she studied the vague outlines of his figure.

The landau was an old-fashioned vehicle built after a commodious
pattern by a past generation, and frequently used by Senator Carew on
stormy nights, as the two broad seats would accommodate five or six
persons by tight squeezing.

Cynthia clutched her wrap with nervous fingers. If the man had
inadvertently entered the wrong carriage, the least he could do was
to explain the situation and apologize. But suppose he was drunk? The
thought was not reassuring.

"Tell me at once who you are," she demanded imperiously, "or I will
stop the carriage."

At that instant the driver swung his horses abruptly to the left to
avoid an excavation in the street made by the sewer department, and, as
the wheels skidded on the slippery asphalt, the man swayed sideways,
and fell upon Cynthia. A slight scream escaped her, and she pushed him
away, only to have the limp figure again slide back upon her.

He was undoubtedly drunk! Thoroughly alarmed she pushed him upright,
and struggled vainly to open the carriage door with her disengaged hand.

With a tremendous jolt, which again deposited the helpless figure
on her shoulder, the carriage wheels struck the curb as the horses
turned into the driveway leading to the _porte-cochère_ of the Carew
residence. As the horses came to a standstill the front door was thrown
open, and the negro butler hastened down the short flight of steps.

Cynthia, with one desperate effort, flung the man back into his corner
and, as the butler turned the stiff handle and opened the door, half
jumped, half fell out of the landau.

"A man's in the carriage, Joshua," she cried. "See who it is."

The servant looked at her in surprise, then obediently poked his head
inside the open door. Unable to see clearly he drew back and fumbled in
his pocket for a matchbox.

"Keep dem hosses still, Hamilton," he directed, as the coachman leaned
down from his seat, and then he pulled out a match. "Miss Cynthia,
yo' bettah go inter der house," glancing at the young girl's pale
countenance, "I'll 'ten to dis hyar pusson."

But Cynthia remained where she was and peeped over the butler's
shoulder. He struck a match and held it in the hollow of his hand until
the tiny flame grew brighter, then leaned forward and gazed into the
carriage.

The intruder was huddled in the corner, his head thrown back, and the
light fell on a livid face and was reflected back from glazing eyes.
Cynthia's knees gave way, and she sank speechless to the ground.

"'Fore Gawd!" gasped Joshua, "it's Marse James--an' he's daid!"




[Illustration: "But Cynthia remained where she was and peeped over the
butler's shoulder"]




CHAPTER III

A MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY


The portières were pulled aside.

"Excellency, breakfast is served," and the servant bowed deferentially
toward a figure standing in the bow window. As the announcement reached
his ears in the musical language of his native tongue, the Japanese
Ambassador turned from the window and hastened into the dining room.

A small pile of letters lay beside his plate, and he opened and read
them as he leisurely ate his breakfast. Tossing aside the last note, he
picked up the morning _Herald_, and his eyes glanced casually over the
page then stopped, arrested by a three-column heading:

  SENATOR CAREW DEAD
 A MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY
  Murder or Suicide?

The Ambassador pushed aside his plate and read the smaller type with
growing interest.

"During the cloudburst of last night, when the heavens themselves
seemed to threaten Washington, a most mysterious crime was committed
in the fashionable Northwest. United States Senator James Carew,
of Maryland, one of the most distinguished and influential men in
political and official circles, was found dead in his carriage early
this morning.

"Much mystery surrounds the case. The tragedy was not discovered until
the arrival of the carriage at the Carew residence. Miss Carew, whom
her uncle was escorting home from a dance, was completely prostrated
from shock, and had to be carried to her room.

"Owing to the lateness of the hour, with the paper already in
press, only a few meager details could be learned by the special
representative of the _Herald_.

"Senator Carew was found by his butler, Joshua Daingerfield, huddled in
a corner of the back seat of the carriage. Dr. Penfield, the coroner,
was hastily summoned, as well as detectives from headquarters. While
awaiting their arrival, the policeman on the beat had the horses
unharnessed and taken to the stable, and left the carriage under the
porte-cochère.

"On the arrival of the coroner and the detectives the body was removed
from the carriage to the Senator's room in the Carew mansion. Dr.
Penfield discovered that death was apparently due to a stab from a
small, upright, desk bill file which had been thrust into the body
with such force that the heavy, leaded round base was pressed tightly
against the clothes. The sharp point had penetrated to the heart, and
death must have been instantaneous. The weapon in the wound prevented
any outward hemorrhage, and Senator Carew bled internally.

"These startling details but add interest to what promises to prove a
mystery unique in the annals of crime.

"Senator Carew and his family have resided here for many years, and
have been prominently identified with official and residential society.
The old Carew mansion on Massachusetts Avenue east of Fourteenth Street
has been noted for its lavish hospitality. It was erected by Senator
Carew's father, General Van Ness Carew, shortly before the commencement
of the Civil War, and the foundations and walls were of such unwonted
thickness that General Carew was pestered with inquiries as to whether
he was not building a fortress!

"The inmates of the Senator's household are his widowed sister, Mrs.
George Winthrop, her stepson, Philip Winthrop; and her niece, Miss
Cynthia Carew, daughter of the late Philip Carew, a younger brother of
Senator Carew.

"Mrs. Winthrop is well-known in Washington, having kept house for her
brother since the death of his wife in 1881. Miss Cynthia Carew made
her début last December at a memorable ball which her aunt and uncle
gave for her. Since then Miss Carew has received much attention, and is
regarded as one of the most popular of the winter's débutantes.

"Philip Winthrop has spent most of his life in Washington, and, since
his graduation from Princeton, has been acting as private secretary for
Senator Carew. He is a member of the Alibi, the Chevy Chase, and the
Riding and Hunt Clubs, and is popular with his associates.

"A fearless leader, an upright American, Senator Carew has served his
country well, first as representative, then as senator. Possessing
the confidence and friendship of the President as he did, it was
frequently prophesied that he would be the power behind the throne in
deciding many of the important issues now confronting the country.
His inexplicable death is therefore a severe blow to many besides his
immediate family.

"The known facts at present point to murder or suicide. The negro
driver, Sam Hamilton, has been arrested pending a closer examination."

The Ambassador regarded the printed lines long and thoughtfully. Then
his foot pressed the electric button concealed in the carpet under
the table. The bell had hardly ceased to buzz before the well-trained
servant was by his side.

"Send for my motor," came the brief order.

"It is already at the door, Excellency."

The Ambassador tossed his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair,
and rose. "My hat and coat," he directed, walking into the hall.

In a few minutes he stepped out into the vestibule and filled his lungs
with the delicious breeze that fanned his cheeks. No trace of the heavy
storm of the night before was in the air. The sky was blue, and the
May sunshine lit up the budding trees and shrubs. The touch of spring
and new-born life was everywhere. The Ambassador snapped off a spray
of honeysuckle which grew along the fence protecting his parking from
his neighbor's, and tucked the spray in his buttonhole as he entered
the waiting motor. "Drive to the club," he directed briefly, as the car
moved off.




CHAPTER IV

THE BROKEN APPOINTMENT


Eleanor Thornton turned in bed and stretched herself luxuriously. It
was good to be young and to be sleepy. For a few seconds she dozed
off again; then gradually awoke, and, too comfortable to move, let
her thoughts wander where they would. In her mind's eye she reviewed
the events of the past months, and, despite herself, her lips parted
in a happy smile. She had come to Washington in November to visit her
friend, Cynthia Carew, and, delighted with the reception accorded her,
had invited her cousin, Mrs. Gilbert Truxton, to chaperon her, and,
on her acceptance, had rented a small furnished residence near Dupont
Circle for the winter.

Mrs. Winthrop and Cynthia Carew, whom she had known at boarding school,
took her everywhere with them, and her cousin, Mrs. Truxton, belonging
as she did to an old aristocratic family of the District, procured
her entrée to the exclusive homes of the "cave-dwellers," as the
residential circle was sometimes called.

Born also with the gifts of charm and tact, Eleanor's wild rose beauty
had made an instant impression, and she was invited everywhere. The
butler's tray was filled with visiting cards, which many newcomers,
anxious for social honors, longed to have left at their doors.

Eleanor was one of the older girls at Dobbs Ferry during Cynthia's
first year at that boarding school. They had taken an immense liking to
each other, which later blossomed into an intimate friendship. After
her graduation she and Cynthia had kept up their correspondence without
a break, and, true to her promise, given years before, she had left
Berlin and journeyed to Washington to be present at Cynthia's début.

After the death of her mother, Eleanor had been adopted by an indulgent
uncle, Mr. William Fitzgerald, of New York, and on his death had
inherited a comfortable fortune.

In many ways the winter had brought numerous triumphs in its train,
enough to spoil most natures. But Eleanor was too well poised to
lose her head over adulation. She had sounded the depths of social
pleasantries, and found them shallow. In every country she had visited
all men had been only too ready to be at her beck and call--except
one. The dreamy eyes hardened at the thought, and the soft lips
closed firmly. She had made the advances, and he had not responded. A
situation so unique in her experience had made an indelible impression.
Angry with herself for even recalling so unpleasant an episode, she
touched the bell beside the bed; then, placing her pillow in a more
comfortable position, she leaned back and contemplated her surroundings
with speculative eyes.

Her individuality had stamped itself upon the whole room. A picture or
two, far above the average, a few choice books, whose dainty binding
indicated a taste and refinement quite unusual; one or two Chinese
vases, old when the Revolutionary War began; an ivory carving of the
Renaissance; a mirror in whose lustrous depths Venetian beauties had
seen their own reflections hundreds of years ago. All these things gave
sure indication of study and travel, and a maturity of thought and
taste which, oddly enough, seemed rather to enhance Eleanor's natural
charm.

A discreet knock sounded on her door. "_Bon jour, Mademoiselle_,"
exclaimed the maid, entering with the breakfast tray.

"_Bon jour_, Annette," responded Eleanor, rousing herself, then lapsing
into English, which her maid spoke with but a slight accent. "Put the
tray here beside me. Must I eat that egg?" she made a slight grimace.

"But yes, Mademoiselle." The Frenchwoman stepped to the window and
raised the shade. "Madame Truxton gave orders to Fugi to tell the
cook that he must send you a more substantial breakfast. She does not
approve of rolls and coffee. I think she wishes you to eat as she does."

Eleanor shuddered slightly. "Did--did she have beefsteak and fried
onions this morning?" she inquired.

"But yes, Mademoiselle," Annette's pretty features dimpled into a
smile, "and she ate most heartily."

"Not another word, Annette, you take away my appetite. Is Mrs. Truxton
waiting to see me?"

"No, Mademoiselle; she was up at six o'clock and had her breakfast at
half-past seven." Annette paused in the act of laying out a supply of
fresh _lingerie_. "What have the Americans on their conscience that
they cannot sleep in the morning?"

"You cannot complain of my early rising," laughed Eleanor, glancing at
the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter to twelve.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, you have lived so long away from America that you
have acquired our habits."

"You may take the tray, Annette; I have even less appetite than usual
to-day." Eleanor waited until it had been removed, then sprang out of
bed. "Come back in fifteen minutes," she called.

It did not take her long to complete her _toilette_, and when the maid
returned she was seated before her dressing table.

"What news to-day, Annette?" she asked, as the Frenchwoman, with
skilful fingers, arranged her wavy hair, which fell far below her waist.

"Madame and Fugi----" began the maid.

"I don't want household details," broke in Eleanor impatiently. "Tell
me of some outside news, if there is any."

"Oh, indeed, yes; news the most startling. Senator Carew----" she
paused to contemplate her handiwork.

"Well, what about him?" inquired Eleanor listlessly.

"He is dead."

"Dead!" The handglass slipped from Eleanor's grasp and fell crashing
to the hearth. Annette pounced upon it.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, the glass is broken. _Quelle horreur!_"

"Bother the glass." Eleanor's foot came down with an unmistakable
stamp. "Tell me at once of Senator Carew's death. I cannot believe it!"

"It is only too true," Annette was a privileged character and deeply
resented being hurried, also her volatile French nature enjoyed
creating a sensation. She had eagerly read the morning paper, and
had refrained from telling Eleanor the news until she could get
her undivided attention. "Senator Carew was found dead in his
carriage early this morning on his return from the dance at Mrs.
Owen's"--Annette had no reason to complain, Eleanor was giving her full
attention to the story--"he had been stabbed."

The maid's hand accidentally touched Eleanor's bare neck, and she felt
the taut muscles quiver. Covertly she glanced into the mirror and
studied the lovely face. But Eleanor's expression told her nothing. Her
cheeks were colorless and her eyes downcast.

After a barely perceptible pause Annette continued her story. "The
coachman has been arrested----" a knock interrupted her and she
hastened to open the door, returning in an instant with a note.

"Fugi says the messenger boy is waiting for an answer, Mademoiselle."

Eleanor tore it open and read the hastily scrawled lines.

  DEAR ELEANOR:

  I suppose you have been told of last night's terrible tragedy. Cynthia
  is prostrated. She begs pitifully to see you. Can you come to us for a
  few days? Your presence will help us both.
                      Affectionately,
                             CHARLOTTE WINTHROP.

Eleanor read the note several times, then walked thoughtfully over to
her desk.

  DEAREST MRS. WINTHROP: [she wrote] It is awful. I will come as soon as
  possible.
                          Devotedly,
                              ELEANOR.

"Give this to Fugi, Annette, then come back and pack my small steamer
trunk," as the maid hastened out of the room; she picked up a silk
waist preparatory to putting it on, but her _toilette_ was doomed to
another interruption.

"Well, my dear, may I come in?" asked a pleasant voice from the doorway.

"Indeed you may, Cousin Kate," Eleanor stepped across the room and
kissed the older woman affectionately. Mrs. Truxton's ruddy face
lighted with an affectionate smile as she returned her greeting. She
did not altogether approve of her young cousin, many of her "foreign
ways" as she termed it, offended her, but Eleanor's lovable disposition
had won a warm place in her regard.

Mrs. Truxton seated herself in one of the comfortable lounging chairs
and contemplated the disheveled room and Eleanor's oriental silk
dressing gown with disapproval.

"Do you know the time?" she inquired pointedly.

"Nearly one," answered Eleanor, as she discarded her dressing gown
for a silk waist. "Lunch will soon be ready. I hope you have a good
appetite."

"Yes, thank you; _I've_ been out all the morning," reproachfully. "Mrs.
Douglas has asked me to dine with her this evening, and, I think,
Eleanor, if it will not interfere with your arrangements, that I will
accept the invitation."

"Do so by all means," exclaimed Eleanor heartily. "I hope she won't
talk you deaf, dumb, and blind."

"She is rather long-winded," admitted Mrs. Truxton, tranquilly. "On the
telephone this morning she took up twenty minutes telling me of the
arrival here of her nephew, Douglas Hunter--good gracious, child----"
as Eleanor's silver powder box rolled on the floor with a loud
bang--"how you startle one."

"I beg your pardon," Eleanor was some seconds picking it up, for
her fingers fumbled clumsily. "What were you saying, Cousin Kate?"
replacing the silver on the dressing table.

"Mercy, child, how inattentive you are! I was only remarking that
Douglas Hunter is no stranger to Washington. He was raised here, as he
belongs to one of the first families of Georgetown."

"I never heard of a 'second' family in Georgetown," smiled Eleanor;
then, seeing her cousin's offended expression, she hastily changed the
subject. "Have you heard the shocking news of Senator Carew's--" she
hesitated for a moment--"tragic death?"

"Indeed I have. Washington is talking of nothing else. Why are you
packing, Annette?" as the servant entered.

"Mrs. Winthrop has just written and asked me to spend a few days with
them," explained Eleanor hurriedly, "so suppose you invite Miss Crane
to stay with you in my absence."

"Of course you cannot very well decline to go," said Mrs. Truxton
thoughtfully. "Still, I hate to have you mixed up in such an affair,
Eleanor."

"Nonsense, Cousin Kate, you must not look at it in that light," Eleanor
patted the fat shoulder nearest her affectionately. "Cynthia told
me yesterday that Senator Carew had said he was going to discharge
the coachman, Hamilton (a surly brute, I always thought him), for
drunkenness. I have no doubt he committed the murder from revenge, and
while under the influence of liquor."

"I sincerely trust that is the correct solution of the mystery," Mrs.
Truxton looked dubious, "but there has been one fearful scandal in that
family already, Eleanor, and I very much doubt if Senator Carew was
killed by a servant."

"Why, what do you mean?" Eleanor wheeled around in her chair and faced
her abruptly.

"Time will show." Mrs. Truxton shook her head mysteriously.

"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Eleanor impatiently.

As Mrs. Truxton opened her lips to reply, Annette reëntered the room.

"Pardon, madame, you are wanted at the telephone," and as Mrs. Truxton
lifted herself carefully out of her chair and walked out of the
room, she handed a package to Eleanor. "This has just come for you,
Mademoiselle; the boy who left it said there was no answer."

"Annette! Annette!" came Mrs. Truxton's shrill voice from the lower
hall.

"Coming, Madame, coming," and the maid hastened out of the room
shutting the door behind her.

Left alone, Eleanor turned the sealed package over curiously. The
address was written in an unknown hand. Quickly breaking the red
sealing wax and tearing off the paper, she removed the pasteboard cover
and a layer of cotton. A startled exclamation escaped her as she drew
out the contents of the box--a necklace of large rubies and smaller
diamonds in an antique setting.

Eleanor, who knew the value of jewels, realized from their color and
size that the rubies were almost priceless, and in the pure joy of
beholding their beauty laid the necklace in the palm of her left hand
and along her bare arm. After contemplating the effect for a moment, a
thought occurred to her, and she pulled out the remaining cotton in the
box and found at the bottom a small card. She picked it out and read
the message written on the card.

  "_The appointment was not kept. Well done._"

The card fluttered to the floor unheeded. The pigeon blood rubies
made a crimson stain on Eleanor's white arm, strong wrist, and supple
fingers.




CHAPTER V

MUTE TESTIMONY


Douglas Hunter sighed involuntarily as he left busy Fourteenth Street,
and walked down Massachusetts Avenue. Twelve years' absence makes a
great difference in the ever-shifting population of Washington. He felt
like another Rip Van Winkle as he gazed at each passer-by in his search
for a familiar face. Even the streets had changed, and he was almost
appalled by the grandeur of some of the huge white palaces erected
by multimillionaires on Massachusetts and New Hampshire Avenues,
and the Avenue of the Presidents. He had spent part of the morning
motoring about the city with one of his cousins, and the outward and
visible signs of wealth had staggered him. What had become of the
unpretentious, generous-hearted hospitality, and the old world manners
and courtly greeting of the former host and hostess who had ruled so
long at the National Capital? Had Mammon spoiled the old simplicity,
and had Washington become but a suburb of New York and Chicago? It
truly seemed as if plutocracy had displaced aristocracy.

As Douglas approached the Carew residence he glanced keenly at the
handsome old mansion and at the numerous idlers loafing in the vicinity
drawn there by idle curiosity. A policeman stood on guard in the
driveway, and a number of photographers loitered near by, cameras in
hand, waiting patiently to snapshot any member of the Carew family who
might incautiously venture out of doors.

The house itself, a handsome square red brick and stone trimmed
four-storied building, stood some distance back from the sidewalk
with beautifully kept lawns divided by the carriage drive. The blinds
were drawn and the ominous black streamer over the bell presented
a mournful spectacle. It was the finest residence in that once
fashionable locality, and Douglas decided that he preferred its solid,
home-like architecture to the more ornate and pretentious dwellings in
other parts of the city. As the years went by Senator Carew had added
improvements until the residence was one of the most delightful in
Washington.

As Douglas turned into the walk, a large touring car wheeled into
the driveway, and as it purred softly by him, he stepped back
respectfully and raised his hat to the tired-faced man sitting alone
in the _tonneau_. He did not need to glance at the small coat-of-arms
of the United States emblazoned on the polished door, or at the two
Secret Service men following on their motor cycles, to recognize the
distinguished occupant of the car.

As the motor stopped under the _porte-cochère_, the colored butler ran
down the steps, and the President leaned forward and placed a note in
the bowing and scraping negro's hand; then the big car continued on
down the driveway and out into the street.

Douglas waited where he was for a few minutes before mounting the
short flight of steps. The hall door was opened several inches on his
approach, and Joshua solemnly extended his card tray, which Douglas
waved aside.

"I called to see Mr. Brett; is he here?" he asked.

"Yessir," Joshua opened the door still further, and inspected him
carefully.

"Take my card to him and ask if he can spare me a few minutes," and he
dropped his visiting card on the tray.

"Walk in, suh," exclaimed Joshua, impressed by Douglas' well-groomed
appearance; then he hesitated, embarrassed by a sudden idea.

"I'll wait here," volunteered Douglas, stepping inside the square hall.

"All right, suh," Joshua closed the front door, "just a moment, suh,"
and he stepped softly across the hall and into a room. Douglas glanced
about him curiously and caught a glimpse of spacious rooms and lofty
ceilings. It was a double house, and to the right of the entrance was
the drawing-room, and back of that another large room, which Douglas
took to be the dining room, judging from the glittering silver pieces
on a high sideboard of which he had a glimpse through the door leading
into the square hall. Across from the drawing-room was the room into
which Joshua had disappeared, and back of that a broad circular
staircase which ran up to the top floor.

Douglas was idly gazing out of the glass panel of the front door when
Joshua returned, followed by a middle-aged man with a keen, clever face.

"Is it really you, Mr. Hunter?" he asked, as they shook hands warmly.
"I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw your card. Come this way,"
and he conducted Douglas into the room he had just left, and closed the
door softly behind them.

"When did you arrive in Washington?" he inquired, motioning Douglas to
take a chair near the window and dropping into one opposite him.

"Yesterday." Douglas leaned back and studied his surroundings. His eyes
traveled over the handsome carved rosewood bookcases which lined the
walls, at the large desk table, and the comfortable leather-covered
revolving desk chair. The desk silver, drop lights, and large
upholstered davenport pushed invitingly before the huge fireplace with
its shining brass fire-dogs and fender, each told a tale of wealth and
artistic taste--two assets not often found together. His eyes returned
to Brett, and he smiled involuntarily as he caught the other intently
regarding him.

Brett smiled in return. "I was wondering why you looked me up so
soon," he admitted candidly. "Don't think I'm not glad to see
you"--hastily--"but I remember of old that you seldom do things without
a motive."

"On the contrary, I am here this afternoon to _find_ a motive--for
Senator Carew's tragic death." The smile vanished from Douglas'
clear-cut features. "One moment," as Brett opened his mouth to speak.
"After reading the account of the Senator's death in the morning
papers, I went down to headquarters to get what additional facts I
could, and they told me that you had been put on the case. So I
decided to look you up in person, and here I am."

"May I ask why you take such an interest in this case?"

"Certainly, Brett; I was coming to that. Senator Carew used his
influence to get me in the Diplomatic Service, and during the past
twelve years he has shown me many kindnesses, such as seeing that I was
detailed to desirable posts, and helped me to secure promotion."

"He wouldn't have done that, Mr. Hunter, if you hadn't made good,"
broke in Brett quickly.

"I saw him last at Delmonico's in New York on my way to Japan a little
over a year ago," continued Douglas. "He asked me to lunch with him,
and evinced great interest in the mystery of the Jewel Custom Fraud
which he, in some way, knew I had had a hand in exposing."

"Sure he did. I told the department about your assistance when I was
in Paris. If it hadn't been for you, I'd never have landed those
swindlers. They led me a pretty dance over the Atlantic."

"We worked together then," said Douglas thoughtfully, "and, on the
strength of our past success, I'm going to ask you to take me on as a
sort of advisory partner in this Carew case."

"Suppose you first tell me the reason for making such a request."

"In the first place I owe a debt of gratitude to Senator Carew. For the
sake of his friendship with my father years ago, he has taken a great
interest in me. Secondly, I am in Washington at his request."

Brett looked his interest, and Douglas went on rapidly: "Some time ago
I received a note from him asking me to apply for leave of absence from
Tokio and to come direct to Washington, saying that he wished to see me
on important business."

"Did he state the nature of that business?" inquired Brett eagerly.

"No. I at once followed his suggestion and applied to the State
Department for leave. It was granted, and I hastened home as fast as
steamer and train could bring me."

"Did you see Senator Carew?"

"Unfortunately, no. I only reached Washington late last night. I
expected to see the Senator this morning, instead of which I read of
his mysterious death in the morning papers."

Brett mused for a few minutes, then roused himself. "I am only too glad
to have your assistance, Mr. Hunter."

"Good!" ejaculated Douglas, well pleased. "Suppose you tell me all the
facts in the case so far discovered."

Brett leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "On the face of
things it looks as if the negro driver, Hamilton, was guilty."

"Tell me what leads you to think that?" inquired Douglas quickly.

"He is the worst type of negro, a vicious brute with a taste for
liquor. I have inquired about him and examined him thoroughly and am
really puzzled, Hunter, to find out why Senator Carew ever employed
him."

"Is he an old family servant?"

"No. He has only been in Carew's employ about a year I am told. He
knows how to handle horses, and took excellent care of the Senator's
valuable stable."

"That probably explains why he was kept on," said Douglas. "I've been
told that Carew was hipped about his horses."

"Yes. I gathered from Mrs. Winthrop that Hamilton has been drinking
steadily, and his conduct to the other servants grew intolerable.
Senator Carew had to discharge him."

"When did that happen?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Then, how was it that he was driving the carriage last night?"

"Oh, Carew gave him a week's notice, said he couldn't fill his place at
once, and told him to stay on. Joshua tells me that Hamilton uttered
some ugly threats in the kitchen that evening, but that the servants
paid no attention to his black humor, as they saw he had been drinking."

"I see in the papers that Hamilton vehemently declares his innocence."

"He does," agreed Brett, checking his remarks off on his fingers; "he
declares he did not see Senator Carew after being discharged by him;
that no one was in the carriage when he drove away from the stable at
midnight; that he went directly to Mrs. Owen's residence; and that he
does not know when or how Senator Carew's body was secreted in the
carriage."

"The plot thickens," muttered Douglas. "Do you believe his statements?"

"I do, and I don't. The servants all declare that he was half drunk;
therefore, I doubt if he was in a condition to pay much attention to
anything, or that his statements can be relied on. He was sobered
by the shock of finding Carew's body in his carriage, and, when I
arrested him, collapsed from fright."

"Well, judging from the facts you have just told me, I don't much
believe he killed Carew."

"Why not?" argued Brett. "Hamilton was apparently half out of his mind
from rage and drink, and his brute nature made him seek revenge. It's
quite possible Carew entered the carriage thinking it would not be safe
for his niece to drive home alone from the dance, and Hamilton took
that opportunity to kill him."

"I read in the evening paper that Hamilton was told to stop at the
house for one of the maids, but, instead, drove directly from the
stable to the dance," said Douglas. "Therefore Carew did not enter the
carriage at this door."

"Hamilton may have been too befogged with drink to have remembered the
order," suggested the detective.

"I grant you, Brett," said Douglas thoughtfully, "that the negro may
have the nature, the desire, and the opportunity to commit murder--but
why select such a weapon?"

"Probably picked up the first thing at hand," grunted Brett.

"But a desk file is not the 'first thing at hand' in a stable,"
remarked Douglas calmly. "In fact, it's the last thing you would expect
to find there."

"I don't know about that; perhaps it was thrown away in a wastepaper
basket, and Hamilton may have picked it out of the ash pile," suggested
Brett.

"What did the file look like?"

"It is of medium size, the slender steel being very sharp, the round
solid base being silver. I've shown it to several jewelers, and they
all say it's like hundreds of others, rather expensive, but popular
with their well-to-do customers, and that they have no means of tracing
it back to any particular owner. It was something like that one,"
pointing to an upright file on Senator Carew's desk.

Douglas leaned over and took it up. "An ideal weapon," he said softly,
balancing it in his hand as his fingers closed over the round heavy
base. He removed the cork which was used to guard the sharp point and
felt it with his thumb. "It must have taken a shrewd blow to drive
the file through overcoat and clothing so that it would cause instant
death."

"The Senator wore no overcoat." Douglas looked his surprise. After a
moment's silence Brett edged his chair closer to his companion and
lowered his voice. "You recollect how it rained last night?"

"In torrents. I have seldom seen such a cloudburst," admitted Douglas.

"It commenced to rain about ten-thirty," continued Brett, "and it
did not stop until after three o'clock. Hamilton drove twice in that
drenching rain to Mrs. Owen's and back again, first taking Miss
Carew to the dance and returning with her. Senator Carew's body was
discovered on the last trip home. Miss Carew told her aunt that no one
was in the carriage with her when she made the first trip to the dance.
Senator Carew's body was not removed until after my arrival here this
morning, and I then made a thorough examination of the carriage and,
with the coroner's assistance, of the body as well"--he paused and
cleared his throat--"I found Senator Carew's clothes were absolutely
dry--as I said before, he wore no overcoat--now, how did Carew get into
that carriage in that soaking downpour without getting wet?" asked
Brett, settling back in his chair.

"Perhaps he was first murdered and then carried out and put into the
carriage."

"Perhaps so, but I doubt it."

"He may have entered the carriage at the stable when Hamilton was not
around."

"I thought of that," returned Brett, "and as soon as it was daylight
examined the yard and the alley. The concrete walk from the house to
the stable is being laid now and cannot be used, so that one has to
tread on the ground, which is extremely soft and muddy. The alley is
a long one, and Carew's stable is about in the center of it, and the
rain, settling in the holes of the uneven cobbles, made walking very
unpleasant. I am telling you all these details because of another
discovery I made," went on Brett slowly; "the Senator's shoes had been
recently polished and the blacking was not even stained."

Douglas leaned back and bit his thumb nail, a childish habit of which
he had never been able to break himself.

"Where did Carew spend the evening?" he asked finally.

"That is what I have not been able to find out," growled Brett. "Mrs.
Winthrop told me she had not seen her brother since breakfast. That he
went to the Capitol as usual in the morning. She was told on entering
the house just before dinner that he would not return for that meal,
but they did not state where he was going."

"Upon my word it's a very pretty problem," commented Douglas softly.

"It is," agreed Brett, rising and slowly pacing the room. He glanced
piercingly at Douglas, who was thoughtfully contemplating a life-size
portrait of one of Carew's ancestors which hung above the mantel over
the fireplace. Douglas Hunter's clear-cut features, broad forehead, and
square jaw indicated cleverness and determination. When Douglas smiled
the severe lines relaxed and his smooth-shaven face was almost boyish.
He had a keen sense of the ridiculous, which prevented him from taking
himself too seriously. In the past Brett had conceived a high regard
for the other's quick wit and indomitable courage.

"This is Senator Carew's study or library," he said, stopping before
the desk, "and I was giving the room my special attention when you came
in."

"Have you met with any success?" inquired Douglas quickly.

"So far only one thing--it may be a clew or it may not; under this
writing pad I found this blotter," holding up a square white sheet;
"it has been used only once, first on one side then on the other, so
that by holding it in front of this mirror you can read quite clearly,
see----"

Douglas rose, stepped behind Brett, and peeped over his shoulder into
the silver-mounted mirror, which the latter had removed from its place
on the mantel.

The large, bold writing was fairly legible. "What do you make out of
it?" asked Brett impatiently.

Obediently Douglas read the words aloud:

"'Am writing in case I don't see you before you'--" the writing ceased.

"He must have been interrupted," explained Brett, "and clapped down
the blotter on top of the sheet so that whoever entered couldn't see
the written words. Now look at the other side," and he turned over the
blotter on which were traced only a few words:

"'I have discovered----'" read Douglas.

"What do you think of it?" asked Brett, putting the blotter in an inner
pocket of his coat.

"It depends on when it was written"--Douglas' eyes strayed to the door.
Surely Brett had closed it when they entered, now it stood partly open
into the hall. He pointed silently to it, and by common impulse both
men stepped out into the hall.

Listening intently they heard a faint rap on one of the doors in the
upper hall; then a high-pitched, quivering voice reached them:

"Eleanor, Eleanor, I'm so glad you've come. I'm nearly sick with
misery. They quarreled, Eleanor, they quarreled----" her voice caught
in a sob--the door slammed shut.

The two men glanced at each other, their eyes asked the same question.
Who quarreled?




CHAPTER VI

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE


A slight sound behind him caused Douglas to wheel swiftly around. A
pretty woman, with astonishment written largely in her round eyes,
stood regarding the two men. She was carrying a handbag.

"Whom do you wish to see?" asked Brett sharply.

"No one, Monsieur," replied Annette, her accent denoting her
nationality. "I am Miss Thornton's maid."

Douglas started. "Eleanor--Miss Thornton!" Was it possible that she
could mean _the_ Eleanor Thornton he used to know?

"I am taking her bag to her room as she is spending the night here,"
added the servant.

"Indeed." Brett inspected her keenly. "When did Miss Thornton enter the
house?"

"A few minutes ago, Monsieur," vaguely. "Joshua showed Mademoiselle in
while I stopped a moment to speak with the chauffeur, and he left the
front door open so that I could enter."

At that moment the butler appeared from the dining room carrying a tray
on which were glasses and a pitcher of ice water.

"Joshua, is this Miss Thornton's maid?" asked Brett.

"Yessir," Joshua ducked his head respectfully as he answered the
detective. "Annette, Miss Eleanor done hab her same room next do' ter
Miss Cynthia's. Yo' kin take her things right upstairs, and tell Miss
Eleanor I done got der ice water fo' her."

With a half curtsey Annette stepped past the two men, and ran quickly
up the staircase.

"Stop a moment, Joshua," ordered Brett, as the butler started to follow
the maid. "Who opened the door into the library a few moments ago?"

"'Deed I dunno, suh; I been so busy takin' in cyards I ain't noticed
particular."

"Who has been in the hall besides yourself?" persisted Brett.

"Ain't no one," began Joshua, then paused. "Now I do recollect dat
Marse Philip cum in right smart time ergo, suh. He axed fo' yo', and I
tole him yo' was in de lib'ary. I 'specks he mighter been alookin' fo'
yo'."

"Ah, indeed; where is Mr. Winthrop now?"

"Ah dunno, suh."

"Well, find him, Joshua, and tell him I wish to see him--at once."
Brett's pleasant voice had deepened, and Joshua blinked nervously.

"Yessir, I'll tell him, suh, 'deed ah will," he mumbled, as he started
upstairs.

As Douglas and Brett walked across the hall to enter the library a man
stepped out of the drawing-room.

"Are you looking for me, Mr. Brett?"

The question was asked courteously enough, and Douglas was the more
astonished to encounter a hostile stare as the newcomer glanced at him.

"I hope you can give me a few minutes of your time," said Brett; "will
you be so good as to step into the library?" and he stood aside to
allow Philip Winthrop to enter first. Douglas followed them into the
room and locked the door. As the key clicked slightly Winthrop frowned,
and his pale face flushed.

"That is only a precaution against eavesdroppers," explained Douglas
quickly.

"Mr. Winthrop, this is Mr. Douglas Hunter, who is assisting me in my
efforts to unravel the mystery surrounding Senator Carew's death, and
with your permission will be present at this interview."

"Why, certainly," exclaimed Winthrop, with well simulated heartiness;
"won't you both sit down?" and he dropped into the revolving desk
chair. Douglas picked out his old seat in the window and turned his
back to the light the better to face Winthrop and Brett, who also sat
near the desk.

"When will they hold the inquest, Mr. Brett?" questioned Winthrop.

"The coroner, Dr. Penfield, told me to-morrow."

"Has Hamilton a lawyer to look out for his interests?"

"That's not absolutely necessary at the inquest, Mr. Winthrop. At
present the negro is simply held on suspicion. If the inquest so
decides, he will be charged with the murder and held for the grand
jury."

Douglas had been busy scanning Winthrop's face intently. He noted the
heavy lines in the handsome face, and the unnatural brilliancy of his
eyes. It was apparent to both men, by Winthrop's thick speech and
unsteady hands, which kept fingering the desk ornaments nervously, that
he had been drinking heavily.

"Where did you last see Senator Carew?"

"In this room yesterday afternoon."

"Did you see him alone, or were others present?"

"He was alone."

"Did he show you a letter which he was then writing?" inquired Douglas
at a venture, and was startled at the effect of his question on
Winthrop. The latter whitened perceptibly, and pulled his short black
mustache to hide his twitching lips.

"I know nothing about any letter," he stammered.

Brett did not press the point, but asked instead: "Where did you spend
last night?"

"I dined here with my mother and cousin."

"And afterwards?" put in Douglas.

"I went to the Alibi Club soon after dinner."

"How late did you stay there?"

"Most of the night," was the evasive reply.

"Please mention the exact hour you left the club," persisted Brett.

"I really cannot recollect the exact time; I did not reach this
house until after two this morning. We had a pretty gay time at the
club, and I was in no condition to remember the hour," and he smiled
deprecatingly.

Again Brett did not press the question. He turned over the pages of his
small memorandum book in which he had been making entries.

"Have you any idea where Senator Carew dined and spent the evening?"

"No," came the emphatic answer. "He asked me to tell my mother not to
expect him at dinner, that was all."

"Ah, indeed. Have you any idea when the Senator left the house?"

"No, I left him here, and went up to my room, where I stayed until
dinner was announced."

"Where is your room?"

"Third floor, back."

"Who has rooms on the next floor?"

"Senator Carew's bedroom, bath, and sitting-room are over this part
of the house; Miss Cynthia Carew occupies the suite of rooms across
the hall from his rooms. My mother and I have the third floor to
ourselves." Winthrop plucked nervously at the desk pad. "Talking is dry
work; won't you and Mr. Hunter join me, I'll ring for Joshua."

"One moment," Brett's tone was peremptory and, with an unmistakable
scowl, Winthrop sank down in his chair and leaned heavily on the desk.
"What members of the family were in the house yesterday afternoon?"

Winthrop thought for a moment before replying. "No one but my uncle and
myself," he said reluctantly. "My mother and Miss Carew went out early
to some bridge party, and did not return until just before dinner."

"I see." Brett leaned back in his chair and contemplated Winthrop
thoughtfully.

"Mr. Winthrop," asked Douglas, breaking the short silence, "were you
and your uncle always on good terms?"

"Why, yes." Winthrop's twitching fingers closed unconsciously on the
slender desk file, and as he spoke his shifting eyes dropped from
Douglas' clear gaze, and fell on the sharp steel desk ornament in his
hand. With a convulsive shudder he dropped it and sprang to his feet.
"What's all this questioning about?" he demanded loudly. "I've had
enough of this, you----" his hands clinched, and the blood flamed his
pale face, a gurgle choked his utterance, and before Brett could reach
him he fell prone across the desk.




CHAPTER VII

A PIECE OF ORIENTAL SILK


"I'm glad you could come back, Mr. Hunter," said Brett, as Joshua
opened the library door of the Carew residence and admitted Douglas.
"Can you stay here all night?"

"If necessary," replied Douglas, glancing at him in surprise.

"I think it would be best. Mrs. Winthrop is completely unstrung; her
niece, Miss Carew, prostrated from shock, and Mr. Philip Winthrop
in bed with a bad attack of delirium tremens. In such a household
your presence to-night might be invaluable if anything else were to
happen--not that I am anticipating any further trouble or tragedies."

"Very well, I will stay," agreed Douglas.

"'Deed I'se mighty glad ter hyar dat," volunteered Joshua, who hovered
just inside the door on the pretext of arranging some furniture. "But I
dunno whar I'll put yo', suh. Miss Eleanor, she's in de gues' chambah,
an' Annette's in de room back ob her's, and de nusses fo' Marse Philip
has der spar rooms in der third flo'."

"Never mind, Joshua, I can camp out in this room. That sofa looks very
comfortable," and Douglas pointed to the large upholstered davenport
which faced the empty fireplace.

"Just a moment, Joshua," exclaimed Brett, as the old butler moved
toward the door. "Did you see Senator Carew leave the house yesterday
afternoon?"

"No, suh."

"Did he take luncheon here?"

"No, suh; he cum in 'bout three o'clock; leastways dat was when he rung
fo' me, an' I reckon he'd only jes' arrived, 'cause he had his hat an'
coat on his arm."

"What did he want with you?"

"He axed me why Hamilton hadn't called fo' him at de Capitol as
ordered, an' when I tole him dat Hamilton was a-sittin' in de stable
doin' nuffin, he said I was ter go right out an' send him to de
library--which I done."

"Did you see Senator Carew after that?"

"Yessir. After 'bout fifteen minutes Hamilton cum out lookin' mighty
black an' mutterin' under his breff. Den Marse James rung fo' me
ag'in, an' sent me to tell Marse Philip dat he wanted ter see him to
onst."

"Was there anything unusual in Senator Carew's manner?" inquired
Douglas, who had been listening attentively to the old darky's
statements.

"He seemed considerable put out, dat was all," responded Joshua, after
due reflection.

"Was Senator Carew irritable and quick-tempered?"

"Mostly he was real easy-going, but sometimes he had flare-ups, an' den
it was bes' ter keep outer his way."

"Did you find Mr. Winthrop?"

"Yessir. I gib him de message, an' he went right down to de lib'ary."

"Do you know how long Senator Carew and young Winthrop remained in this
room?"

"No, suh. I went ter de fron' doo', an' while in de hall I heard a
regular ruction goin' on inside dis room."

"Could you hear what was said?" demanded Brett eagerly.

Joshua shook his head. "I couldn't make out a word, but Marse James'
voice was powerful riz an' Marse Philip's, too."

"Was that the first time that Senator Carew and Mr. Winthrop have
quarreled?"

"Deys had words now and den," muttered Joshua, evasively.

"About what?" broke in Douglas, sharply.

"Oh, nuffin in particular. Marse James uster get mad with Marse Philip
'cause he wore so lazy, an' den he's been adrinkin' right smart, which
Marse James didn't like nuther."

"Is Mr. Winthrop a heavy drinker?"

"No, suh, but he's been adrinkin' pretty steady fo' de pas' three
months."

"Have you any idea, Joshua, what caused the quarrel yesterday
afternoon?"

"Well, it mighter started over Hamilton. Marse Philip persuaded Marse
James to keep him las' fall when he was 'bout to discharge him fo'
bein' impertinent."

"Did Senator Carew give you a letter to mail yesterday afternoon, or a
note to deliver for him?" inquired Douglas thoughtfully.

"No, suh, he did not," Joshua declared with firmness.

"How long have you been with Senator Carew, Joshua?"

"Most thirty years, suh. I worked fust fo' his father, der ole
Gineral. Ef yo' doan want me fo' nuffin' mo', gen'man, I reckon I'll go
an' close up de house fo' de night."

"All right, Joshua," and the butler beat a hasty retreat.

Douglas took out his cigarette case and handed it to Brett. "Formed
any new theory?" he asked, striking a match and applying it to the
cigarette between his lips.

Brett did not answer at once. "The inquest will make Winthrop and
Joshua talk. I am convinced neither of them has told all he knows of
this affair," he said finally.

Douglas nodded in agreement. "But the inquest will have to be postponed
now. Winthrop is in no shape to appear before it."

"And Miss Carew, who is an equally important witness, is still confined
to her bed," volunteered Brett. "Miss Thornton tells me that she cries
whenever the subject of the murder is mentioned, and that she is
completely unstrung by the tragedy."

"By the way, who is this Miss Thornton?" asked Douglas. "And what does
she look like?"

"She is a cousin of Mrs. Truxton, of Georgetown"--Douglas whistled in
surprise; Brett glanced at him sharply, then continued: "I am told she
is Miss Carew's most intimate friend, although about five years older.
Miss Thornton must be about twenty-three. She is tall and dark, and has
the most magnificent blue eyes I have ever seen in a woman's head."

Douglas drew in his breath sharply. "It must be the same girl whom
I knew in Paris, but I had no idea then that she was related to old
family friends of mine in Georgetown." He changed the conversation
abruptly. "Come, Brett, what theory have you formed?" he asked again
with more emphasis.

"I think both Winthrop and Hamilton have a guilty knowledge of Senator
Carew's death, but how deeply Winthrop is implicated we have yet to
learn."

"But the motive?" argued Douglas. "It is highly improbable that
Winthrop killed the Senator because he discharged a worthless servant."

"If we could find that letter which I am convinced the Senator was
writing when Winthrop entered the room yesterday afternoon, we would
know the motive fast enough," retorted Brett.

"Have you searched Carew's belongings?"

"Yes, all of them, and all the furniture in his bedroom, sitting-room,
and bath, as well as the rooms on this floor; but I couldn't find
a trace of it. I have also thoroughly searched his office at the
Capitol."

"Did you think to examine the landau? The Senator might possibly have
tucked it under the carriage seat."

"I thought of that, and examined the interior of the carriage, but
there is no possible place where a letter could be concealed. The
carriage has recently been reupholstered in leather and there's no
crack or tear where an envelope could slip through."

"Have you inquired at the different messenger services in town?"

"Yes, but there is no record at any of their offices that Senator Carew
sent for a messenger to deliver a note yesterday afternoon or night. I
also sent word to the post-office officials asking to have an outlook
kept, and a search made for a letter franked by Senator Carew and
postmarked yesterday."

"It's exceedingly doubtful if you get any results from that quarter,
when you don't know when or where such a letter was posted or to what
city it was addressed."

"The frank may help," Brett glanced at the clock. "Eleven-thirty--I
must be going." He rose. "Did you meet with any success, Mr. Hunter, in
the inquiries you said you would make this afternoon?"

"In a way, yes. Winthrop was at the Alibi Club, taking supper with
Captain Stanton. But Julian Wallace, who was one of the party, told me
that Winthrop left the club about twelve-thirty."

Brett whistled. "And he did not reach this house until three hours
later! I am afraid friend Winthrop will have much to explain when he
recovers his senses."

"Hold on; the Carew carriage returned here a few minutes before one
o'clock--when the Senator was found dead inside it. That only left
Winthrop less than half an hour to get from the club to Mrs. Owen's
residence, a considerable distance, and commit the murder."

"It's not impossible for a man in a motor," declared Brett sharply.

"I thought Senator Carew only kept horses," exclaimed Douglas.

"And so he did, but Winthrop owns an Oldsmobile roadster. I was here
at the house when he arrived this morning. The machine has a cover and
wind-shield, so he was fairly well protected from the rain. As I said
before, Winthrop will have much to explain. I hope you will have an
undisturbed night, Mr. Hunter; I told Joshua and the nurses to call you
if anything is needed."

"Don't worry about me," laughed Douglas, as the two men stepped into
the hall. "I've camped out in much worse places than this room."

"Well, good night. I'll be here the first thing in the morning," and
Brett pulled open the door and ran down the steps.

As Douglas replaced the night latch on the front door, Joshua joined
him.

"I brunged yo' dis 'comfort'," raising a soft eiderdown quilt, which he
carried tucked on his left arm. "I thought yo' might like it over yo'
on der sofa."

"Thanks very much," exclaimed Douglas, taking it from him.

Joshua followed him to the library door. "I ain't goin' ter bed," he
explained. "I couldn't sleep no-how," the soft, drawling voice held a
touch of pathos, "Marse James was mighty kind ter me--and thirty years
is a mighty long time ter be 'sociated in de fam'bly. So I jes' reckon
I'll sit on der window-seat in der hall. Ef yo' want anythin' jest let
me know, Marse Hunter."

"All right, Joshua. I'll leave this door open, so you can call me if I
am needed. Good night."

Douglas placed the door ajar, and walked over to the well-filled
bookcases, and, after some deliberation, selected a book and sat down
in the revolving chair. The book held his attention and he read on and
on. He finished the last chapter and tossed the volume on the table,
then glanced at the clock, the dial of which registered two-thirty.
The upholstered davenport, which stood with its back resting against
the length of the desk table, looked inviting, and Douglas rose,
extinguished the light, and walked over and lay down.

After placing several sofa cushions under his head he pulled the
eiderdown quilt over him, as he felt chilly. The added warmth and the
softness of the couch were most grateful to his tired body. He was
drowsily conscious of the clock striking; then his last thought was of
Eleanor Thornton--beautiful Eleanor Thornton--strange that they should
meet again; why, he had actually run away from her in Paris--a few
minutes more and he was sound asleep.

[Illustration: "He made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and darted
forward"]

Some time later Douglas opened his sleepy eyes, then closed them again
drowsily. The room was in total darkness. As he lay listening to the
tick-tock of the clock he became conscious that he was not alone in the
room. Instantly he was wide awake. He pulled out his matchbox, only to
find it empty. As he lay a moment debating what he should do, a soft,
small hand was laid on his forehead. He felt the sudden shock which
his presence gave the intruder, for the fingers tightened convulsively
on his forehead, then were hastily removed. He threw out his hands to
catch the intruder, but they closed on empty space.

Swiftly and noiselessly Douglas rose to his feet and stepped softly
around the end of the davenport, hands outstretched, groping for what
he could not see. Suddenly, his eyes grown accustomed to the darkness,
he made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and darted forward. His
foot caught in the long wire of the desk telephone and, dragging the
instrument clattering with him, he fell forward, striking his face and
forehead against the edge of the open door.

"Fo' de lub ob Hebben!" gasped Joshua, awakened out of a sound sleep,
and scared almost out of his wits. "Marse Hunter! Marse Hunter! Whar
yo' at?"

"Here," answered Douglas. "Turn on the hall light; then come to me."

Obediently Joshua groped his way to the button and switched on the
light, after which he hastened into the library and did the same there.
Douglas, who sat on the floor nursing a bleeding nose, blinked as the
strong light met his dazed eyes.

"Did you see anyone leave this room, Joshua?" he demanded.

"No, suh." The butler's eyes were rolling about to an alarming extent,
showing the whites against his black face, which had grown gray with
fright. "'Twarn't no one ter see--it must ter been a harnt."

"Nonsense," exclaimed Douglas heatedly. The telephone bell was keeping
up a dull clicking as the sleepy central tried to find out what was
wanted, and he leaned over and replaced the receiver on the hook as he
picked up the instrument. "No ghost put out your hall light, and no
ghost wears clothes. I caught the intruder's gown, and if it hadn't
ripped away I'd have caught her." As he spoke he opened his right hand
and disclosed a torn piece of oriental silk.




CHAPTER VIII

KISMET


"Good morning, Uncle Dana."

The tall, distinguished looking, gray-haired man standing in front of
the mantel wheeled around with a visible start of surprise.

"Good Lord! Eleanor, I didn't hear you enter the room. How silently you
move, dear."

Eleanor's pretty mouth dimpled into a smile as she kissed her uncle
warmly. "I'll send you an ear-trumpet," she declared, saucily. "Come
and sit by me on this sofa. Did you get my note this morning?"

"How like a woman!" He dropped down on the comfortable rosewood sofa
with a sigh of content. "Of course I received it--why otherwise should
I be here?"

"Then you will take the case?" she asked eagerly.

"I am not a criminal lawyer."

Eleanor's face fell. "Oh, don't refuse," she begged earnestly. "Dear
Mrs. Winthrop needs some one to watch her interests, and if, later on,
occasion requires a criminal lawyer, which pray Heaven may not be,
you can then engage one for her. She was so relieved when I suggested
sending for you."

"In what way does Mrs. Winthrop need my services?"

"Why, to take charge of everything"--vaguely. "A man in authority is
required here at once."

"Where is Philip?"

"Philip!" Eleanor's tone spoke her contempt. "He is sick in bed--a
trained nurse in attendance"--then added quickly, answering her uncle's
unspoken question--"too much dissipation has again caused his downfall."

"Um! I don't envy Mrs. Winthrop her precious stepson." Colonel
Thornton's pleasant face hardened, and Eleanor, seeing her advantage,
pressed the point.

"Mrs. Winthrop is almost overwhelmed with anxiety and sorrow, which she
has practically to face alone. Do, Uncle Dana, if it is possible, take
some of this dreadful responsibility off her shoulders."

"I will do what I can," announced the Colonel, after a moment's
deliberation.

Eleanor clapped her hands. "Dear Uncle Dana! I knew you would, when you
thought it over. Just a moment--I'll send word to Mrs. Winthrop that
you are here; she wants to see you."

Joshua was in the hall, and to him Eleanor confided her message for
Mrs. Winthrop, then returned to the drawing-room and seated herself on
the sofa by her uncle.

"Did you ever know anyone in Georgetown named Douglas Hunter?" she
inquired.

"Douglas Hunter--Douglas--why, surely, he must be the young son of John
Hunter who used to be a neighbor of mine in Georgetown. Cousin Kate
Truxton can tell you all about the Hunters. She was an intimate friend
of John's wife. The Hunters belong to the F. F. V.'s. Why do you ask
about Douglas?"

"Joshua told me that he spent last night here, and that he is taking a
deep interest in the mystery surrounding Senator Carew's tragic death."

"You must be mistaken," exclaimed Thornton, glancing at her in
surprise. "To the best of my recollection Douglas Hunter entered the
consular service very soon after he left college; then Carew evinced
an interest in his career and had him transferred into the Diplomatic
Service. He's not a detective, child."

"Well, he's acting as if he were one--prying around"--Eleanor checked
her hasty speech and rose as the portières parted, and Mrs. Winthrop
advanced into the room. She was a well-known figure in Washington
society. Although small of stature, her erect carriage and graceful
movements made her seem taller than she really was. She was said
to have the longest calling list in Washington, and, although an
aristocrat to her fingertips, she had friends and acquaintances in
every walk in life, for she possessed the true spirit of democracy
which springs from a kind heart and does not ape humility. She had been
of inestimable assistance to her brother, Senator Carew, during his
political career.

As Colonel Thornton bowed low over her small, blue-veined hand, he
noticed the heavy lines and dark shadows which fatigue and sorrow had
traced under her eyes, and his hand closed over hers in silent sympathy.

"It is good of you to come, Colonel," she began, seating herself in a
large armchair next the sofa, "and still kinder to offer to advise me,
I feel stunned"--she put her hand to her head with a gesture pathetic
in its helplessness, and her sad eyes filled with unbidden tears.
Eleanor put out her hand, and it was instantly clasped by the older
woman. "Forgive me, Colonel." She blinked the tears away, and by a
visible effort regained her lost composure. "My brother was very dear
to me, and----"

"I know no man who had more friends," replied Thornton gravely, as she
paused and bit her trembling lips.

"Exactly, therefore his violent death seems monstrous!" declared Mrs.
Winthrop. "Who would commit such a deed? My brother's greatest fault
was his kind heart--he accomplished so much good unobtrusively. Now,
Colonel, the first thing I wish to consult you about is offering a
reward for the discovery of his murderer. Can you arrange it for me?"

"Certainly. I think it a wise suggestion. How much shall it be?"
Thornton drew out his notebook.

"Five thousand dollars;" then, noting Thornton's expression, asked:
"You think it too much?"

"It would perhaps be better to commence with a smaller sum--say one
thousand dollars--then you can increase it, if that amount brings no
results."

"That is a capital plan. Well, James, what is it?" to the footman who
had entered a second before and approached her chair.

"Mr. Brett wants to know, ma'am, if you will see him an' Mister Hunter
fo' a few minutes. They want to ax yo' a few questions."

Mrs. Winthrop glanced interrogatively at Thornton. "What shall I do?"

"Perhaps it would be just as well to see them," he replied.

"Very well. James, show the gentlemen in here," and, as the servant
hastened out of the room, she turned to her two guests. "You must be
present at this interview, and I depend on you, Colonel Thornton, to
check any undue inquisitiveness on the part of the detective."

"I will, madam," and Thornton's grim tone conveyed more than the mere
words. He ranked as one of the leaders of the District bar, and few
opposing lawyers dared take liberties with him when trying a case.

Eleanor made a motion to rise, but Mrs. Winthrop checked her with a
low-toned "Wait, dear," as Brett, followed by Douglas Hunter, strode
into the room.

Mrs. Winthrop acknowledged Brett's bow with a courteous inclination
of her head, but, as he murmured Douglas' name in introducing him, she
rose and shook hands with him.

"I have frequently heard my brother speak of you, Mr. Hunter," she
said, "and have regretted not meeting you before," and, as Douglas
voiced his thanks, she added, "Eleanor, Mr. Hunter"--and Douglas gazed
deep into the beautiful eyes which had haunted his memory since their
last meeting in Paris. For one second his glance held hers, while a
soft blush mantled her cheeks; then Colonel Thornton stepped forward
briskly and extended his hand.

"No need of an introduction here, Douglas," he said heartily. "I should
have known you anywhere from your likeness to your father, though I
haven't seen you since you wore knickerbockers."

"I haven't forgotten 'Thornton's Nest,' nor you either, Colonel,"
exclaimed Douglas, clasping his hand warmly. "I about lived on your
grounds before I went to boarding school."

"Pray be seated, gentlemen," and, in obedience to Mrs. Winthrop's
gesture, Douglas pulled up a chair near hers, while Brett and Colonel
Thornton did likewise. "Now, Mr. Brett, what do you wish to ask me?"

"Have you any idea where Senator Carew dined the night of his death?"

"Not the slightest," was the positive reply.

"Was it your brother's custom not to inform you where he was dining?"
asked Brett.

"Stop a moment," Thornton held up a protesting hand. "Mrs. Winthrop,
you cannot be compelled to answer questions put to you by Mr. Brett; he
has no legal right to examine you now."

"I am quite aware of that, Colonel Thornton," put in Brett composedly;
"I am asking these questions that I may gain a little more light on
this mystery. I only saw Mrs. Winthrop for a short time yesterday, and,
while I do not wish to intrude, I feel that I can accomplish better
results by a longer talk. This tragedy must be investigated thoroughly."

"Very true; but you forget, Mr. Brett, that the inquest is the proper
place for bringing out testimony. Mrs. Winthrop will have to appear
before it, and, until that is held, she must not be pestered with
questions or harrowed by intrusions."

"I am willing to answer all questions within reason," said Mrs.
Winthrop, before the detective could reply. "If you mean, Mr. Brett,
that Senator Carew was secretive about his movements, you are mistaken.
On the contrary, he was most open and above board in his dealings with
me. Occasionally, when hurried, he did not tell me his plans for the
day, but, as a general thing, I knew all his social engagements."

"Ah, his social engagements," echoed Brett, "how about his official
engagements, Mrs. Winthrop?"

"With those I had nothing to do. I never meddled in my brother's
political or official career; that was out of my province," was the
calm reply.

"Then you think it likely that he dined with some of his official
colleagues?"

"I am unable to express an opinion on the subject."

"You had better ask his private secretary what engagements he made for
Monday, and with whom he was last seen," broke in Thornton.

"Mr. Philip Winthrop is in no condition to answer questions now. He
will be examined before the coroner's inquest when able to leave his
room."

"Then I do not see the object of this interview," objected Thornton.
"Young Mr. Winthrop is better able to tell you of Senator Carew's
movements that day than Mrs. Winthrop."

"I cannot wait so long." Brett shook his head decidedly. "What clews
there are will grow cold, and I cannot afford to risk that. I am
deeply interested in clearing up this terrible affair."

"And do you think I am less so?" demanded Mrs. Winthrop indignantly.
"On the contrary, Mr. Brett, I will move Heaven and earth to find the
perpetrator of that dastardly deed. I have just told Colonel Thornton
that I will offer a reward of one thousand dollars for information
leading to the criminal's arrest."

"Ah, then you do _not_ think the negro coachman, Hamilton, guilty?" put
in Brett quickly.

"I have not said so," but Mrs. Winthrop looked disconcerted for a
second, then regained her usual serenity. "My idea in offering the
reward was to assist your investigation, and Colonel Thornton agreed
with me that it was an excellent plan."

"Mrs. Winthrop," the detective spoke with greater distinctness, "was
Senator Carew on good terms with all the members of his family?"

"He was, sir, with members of this household." Mrs. Winthrop hesitated
briefly, then continued, "I think that I had better tell you that,
since his return from Panama a short time ago, my brother received a
number of threatening letters."

"Indeed," Brett's tone betrayed his satisfaction. "Can I see the
letters?"

"Unfortunately my brother destroyed the one he showed me."

"What was its contents?" inquired Brett.

"To the best of my recollection the message, which was written in an
obviously disguised writing, read somewhat like this:

"'Your movements are watched. If you act, you die'."

"Did you see the envelope?" asked Brett, as he jotted down the words in
his memorandum book.

"No. At the time my brother showed it to me he told me that he had
received several others; that he had no idea to what they referred; and
that he never paid attention to anonymous communications."

"I see." Brett thoughtfully replaced his notebook in his pocket. "Can I
talk to your niece, Miss Cynthia Carew?"

Mrs. Winthrop shook her head. "She is still too prostrated to be
interviewed."

"Poor little soul! It was a ghastly experience for her," ejaculated
Colonel Thornton.

"It was indeed," agreed Mrs. Winthrop. "She was devoted to her uncle,
and he to her. Consequently the shock has driven her half out of her
mind."

"Miss Thornton--" Brett turned and faced Eleanor--"do you know to
whom Miss Carew referred when she exclaimed on greeting you yesterday
afternoon: 'They quarreled, Eleanor, they quarreled!'"

Mrs. Winthrop caught her breath sharply.

"Why, her words referred to Hamilton, the coachman," replied Eleanor
quietly, and her eyes did not waver before Brett's stern glance.

The detective broke the short silence which followed. "I won't detain
you longer, Mrs. Winthrop. I am exceedingly obliged to you for the
information you have furnished. Mr. Hunter, are you coming down town?"

Douglas nodded an affirmative as he rose. Mrs. Winthrop and Colonel
Thornton detained Brett with a question as he was leaving the room.
Douglas seized his opportunity, and crossed over to Eleanor's side.

"How have you been since I saw you last, Miss Thornton?" he inquired.

"Very well, thanks. And you?"--Eleanor inspected him with good-natured
raillery: "You look--as serious as ever."

Douglas reddened. "It has been my lot in life to have to take things
seriously. I'm not such a Puritan as you evidently think me."

"Come and see me, and perhaps on better acquaintance"--she paused.

"What?"

"You will improve." Her charming, roguish smile robbed the words of
their sting.

"You think then that I am an acquired taste?"

"I have not seen enough of you to know."

"When may I call on you?"

She parried the question with another.

"Why did you leave Paris without saying good-bye to me?"

The simple question sobered Douglas. It brought back an unpleasant
recollection best forgotten. Eleanor's bewitching personality had
always exerted an extraordinary influence over him. He found himself
watching her every movement, instinct with grace, and eagerly waiting
to catch her smile. In Paris he had often cursed himself for a fool,
even when attending a reception just to catch a glimpse of her. She was
a born coquette, and could no more help enjoying an innocent flirtation
than a kitten could help frolicking. It was her intense femininity
which had first attracted him. Frightened at the influence she
unconsciously exerted over him, he had deliberately avoided her--and
Fate had thrown them together again. It was Kismet! Therefore, why not
enjoy the goods the gods provided and be thankful?

"'Time and tide wait for no man,'" he quoted. "I had to catch a steamer
at a moment's notice, hence the 'P. P. C.' card. Please show your
forgiveness, and let me call."

"And if I don't?"

"Why, I'll come anyway."

Eleanor's eyes twinkled. "Bravo. I like the spirit of young Lochinvar."

"He came out of the West, whereas I come out of the East."

"Oh, well, extremes meet."

"Then don't be surprised if I carry you off." The words were spoken in
jest, but the look in Douglas' eyes caused Eleanor to blush hotly.

"Marse Brett am awaitin' fo' yo', suh," said Joshua from the doorway,
breaking in on the _tête-à-tête_.

"Oh,--ah,--yes." Douglas was suddenly conscious of the absence of the
others. "Miss Thornton, I had no idea I was detaining you. Please say
good-by to Mrs. Winthrop and your uncle. I never realized in Paris that
you belonged to _the_ Thorntons in Georgetown."

"You never took the trouble to make inquiries about me?" She surprised
a look in Douglas' face--why did he appear as if caught? The expression
was fleeting, but Eleanor's eyes hardened. "Good-bye," she turned
abruptly away, without seeing his half-extended hand.

Douglas looked anything but pleasant when he joined Brett, who stood
waiting for him in the vestibule. They strolled down Massachusetts
Avenue for over a block in absolute silence.

Brett was the first to speak. "When you were eating breakfast I saw
Annette, Miss Thornton's French maid, and questioned her in regard to
the dressing gowns worn by the Carew household."

"What luck did you meet with?" inquired Douglas, rousing from a deep
study.

"She says Mrs. Winthrop, Miss Carew, and Miss Thornton all wear
dressing gowns made of oriental silk."

"Upon my word!" ejaculated Douglas, much astonished. "Still, they can't
be the same pattern."

"It won't be so easy to identify your midnight caller by means of that
silk," taking out the slip which Douglas had torn from the dressing
gown the night before. "Annette says the gowns were given to Mrs.
Winthrop and Miss Carew by Miss Thornton, who purchased them, with
hers, at a Japanese store in H Street. The French girl isn't above
accepting a bribe, so when I suggested her showing me the gowns, she
got them and brought them into the library, while Mrs. Winthrop and
Miss Thornton were breakfasting in Miss Carew's boudoir."

"Did you see all three of them?"

"Yes, and they are as alike as two peas in a pod. And, Mr. Hunter," his
voice deepened impressively, "I examined them with the greatest care,
and not one kimono was torn--nor had any one of them ever been mended."




CHAPTER IX

AT THE STATE DEPARTMENT


"This gentleman has called to see you, sir," and the messenger handed a
visiting card to the Secretary of State, who laid his pen down on his
desk and carefully inspected the card.

"Show Mr. Hunter in," he directed, then looked across at his
stenographer. "You need not wait, Jones."

As the stenographer gathered up his papers and hastened out of the
room, Douglas was ushered in, and after a few words of greeting the
Secretary motioned him to take the large leather chair placed beside
his desk.

"I was sorry not to find you when I called yesterday, Mr. Secretary,"
began Douglas.

"I was detained in the West and did not get here until this morning.
What do you wish to see me about, Mr. Hunter?"

"First, to thank you for granting me a leave of absence."

"That is all right. Senator Carew came here and asked as a particular
favor to him that you be allowed to return to Washington. By the way,
his death was terrible, terrible. His loss will be felt by the whole
country."

"It will, indeed," agreed Douglas.

"Did you see Senator Carew before his death?"

"No, Mr. Secretary; I only reached Washington on Monday, the night of
his murder."

"It seems an outrage in these days of our boasted civilization that a
man of such brilliant attainments, a man whose life is of benefit to
his country, should be killed wantonly by a worthless, drunken negro,"
exclaimed the Secretary, with much feeling.

"You believe, then, that Senator Carew was murdered by his servant?"

"I gathered that impression from the newspapers, and they all insist
that the negro is guilty. Do you think otherwise?"

"I do."

"And your reasons?"

"The use of the letter file, an extraordinary weapon for a negro
coachman to use."

"Is that your only reason for believing the negro innocent?" The
Secretary's piercing eyes studied Douglas' face intently.

"No, sir."

"Is there anything which strikes you as being of vital importance in
the case which has not yet been brought out?"

"Senator Carew was chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee."

The Secretary stared at Douglas for a full minute without speaking.

"I don't quite catch your meaning, Mr. Hunter," he said finally.

"Let me explain, Mr. Secretary," began Douglas earnestly. "Some time
ago I received a letter from Senator Carew _suggesting_ that I apply
for leave of absence."

"Why?" snapped out the Secretary.

"He did not specify directly," returned Douglas calmly; "he said he
wished to consult me about my future. One moment"--as the Secretary
opened his lips to speak. "At the end of the letter the Senator added
that he hoped I was making the most of my opportunities; that it was
only the part of wisdom to inform myself of all that was going on in
Japan, and that he expected that I would be able to give him some
interesting data about the 'Yankees of the East,' as he had always
been curious as regards their customs, past history, and future plans."

The Secretary settled back in his chair and fumbled with his watch
chain. He was the first to break the silence. "Did you follow Senator
Carew's advice?"

"I did, sir."

"With what results?"

"Among other things I discovered that there was an unusual activity
commencing in the shipyards; army maneuvers were being conducted
unostentatiously, and finally, the day I sailed, I heard a report that
three transports were being fitted out at Wakayama, a closed port, and
were to sail shortly under sealed orders."

"Excellent! Have you any idea of the transports' destination?"

"No, sir."

"Why did you not send me this information before?" the Secretary spoke
with unwonted sternness.

"I did cable a cipher despatch to Senator Carew. I thought you had
requested him to get certain information, and did not care to have it
sent through the Department directly."

"The Senator did not take me into his confidence in the matter,"
declared the Secretary, studying his companion's face intently.

"That's very strange," muttered Douglas. "Very strange. Detective
Brett, who is investigating the Carew case, declares, from writing
found on a blotter, that the Senator wrote a letter to some unknown
person. On one side of the blotter were clearly traced the words: 'Am
writing in case I don't see you before ...'--and on the other: 'I have
discovered....' Brett thinks Senator Carew was interrupted on two
occasions while writing the letter, and laid the blotter on the fresh
ink to prevent the person who entered from seeing what he had written."

The Secretary followed Douglas' story with the greatest attention.
"A likely hypothesis," he acknowledged, slowly settling back in his
revolving chair, for he had been leaning forward on his desk the better
to catch every word spoken by Douglas in his quiet monotone. "To whom
do you think that letter was written?"

"To you, undoubtedly, Mr. Secretary. Possibly my information may have
given him the clew he needed to verify certain suspicions. You were in
the West, he wanted to get the news to you without further delay, and
the only thing he could do was to write or wire."

"Or telephone," supplemented the Secretary; then, as Douglas' face
brightened, he added, "Unfortunately for your theory Senator Carew did
none of those things."

"You mean----?"

"That I have never received a letter, a telegram, or a telephone from
him while I was away," announced the Secretary solemnly.

"He may still have written a message and have been killed before he
could get it off to you."

"Has such a letter been found by Brett?"

"No, sir; nor any trace of it. So far, he has been unable to find out
whether such a letter was seen or posted by any member of the Senator's
household. All he has to go on is the blotter."

"Why did you not go at once to see Senator Carew when you arrived in
Washington?"

"Because my cousin, Captain Taylor, who met me at the Union Station,
gave me a note from Senator Carew asking me to call on him at nine
o'clock Tuesday morning at his residence."

"How did the Senator know where a note would reach you?"

"He enclosed it in a note to my cousin asking him to see that it was
delivered to me at once on my arrival."

"Has it occurred to you that Senator Carew's missing letter, which
Brett is so anxious to find, may have been addressed to you?"

"I never thought of that!" exclaimed Douglas, "I was so thoroughly
convinced that he had tried to communicate with you."

"I would inquire about your mail if I were you, Mr. Hunter."

"I will do so at once," Douglas half rose.

"No, no, sit down." The Secretary waited until Douglas had resumed his
seat. "Where are you stopping?"

"At the Albany."

"You have brought me very serious news, Mr. Hunter. So serious that I
must insist on some verification of your statements about Japan before
you leave me."

Douglas took from a cleverly concealed pocket in the lining of his coat
a number of sheets of rice paper and handed them to the Secretary,
who studied the closely written papers long and intently. Suddenly he
pulled open a desk drawer and took out his strong box.

"I will keep these papers, Mr. Hunter, for future reference," he
announced, unlocking the box and placing the rice papers in it. Then,
with equal care, he replaced the box in the drawer, which he locked
securely. "We must go slowly in this matter. A slip on our part, and
two great nations may become involved in a needless and bloody war."

"I realize the gravity of the situation, Mr. Secretary, and have come
to you for advice in the matter."

"Good. I depend on you not to mention our conversation to anyone, nor
do I think it wise to acquaint Brett at this time with your suspicions
in regard to the motive for Senator Carew's murder. With all good
intentions Brett might blunder and cause international complications."

Douglas stroked his clean-shaven chin reflectively for a moment. "Don't
you think, Mr. Secretary, that there is danger of being too secretive,
and that the guilty party may slip through our fingers?"

"It is a risk which we will have to take. Frankly, I think you and
Brett are equal to the situation." The Secretary glanced at his watch.
"Have you any engagement just now, Mr. Hunter?"

"No, sir. My time is at your disposal."

The Secretary reached up and touched the electric buzzer hanging above
his desk, and in a few seconds his stenographer appeared from another
room.

"Jones, call up Secretary Wyndham and ask if he can see me," and, as
the clerk disappeared to execute his order, he turned back to Douglas.
"There are certain charts of the Pacific which I wish you to see; they
have been made recently. Well, Jones?" as the clerk reëntered his
office.

"Secretary Wyndham is expecting you, sir."

"Thanks. Now, Mr. Hunter, get your hat, and we will go to the Navy
Department."




CHAPTER X

THE THEFT


The Secretary of State and Douglas hastened through the wide corridors
of the immense State, War, and Navy Building. As they passed an
elevator shaft in the navy wing, Douglas caught a fleeting glimpse of
Eleanor Thornton in one of the lifts as it shot downward toward the
ground floor. On their arrival they were ushered at once into Secretary
Wyndham's private office.

"Glad to see you," exclaimed Wyndham, "your call is most opportune"--he
stopped on seeing Douglas standing behind the Secretary of State, and
his eyebrows went up questioningly.

"This is Mr. Douglas Hunter, attaché of the American Embassy at Tokio,
Wyndham," explained the Secretary of State.

"How are you, sir." The Secretary of the Navy shook hands brusquely.
"Will you both be seated?"

"I brought Mr. Hunter with me that he might tell you of certain
information which he gathered in Japan about some prospective
movements of their navy." He glanced significantly at Douglas, who
nodded understandingly, and without more words gave a clear, concise
statement of naval affairs in Japan, omitting all mention of other
matters.

Secretary Wyndham listened to his remarks with the closest attention.
When he ceased speaking Wyndham sprang from his chair and, walking over
to the adjoining room, spoke to his confidential clerk, then closed the
door and returned.

"I have told him to admit no one," he explained briefly, as he seated
himself in his swivel chair.

"May we see the new charts of the Pacific?" inquired the Secretary of
State, moving his chair closer to the other's desk.

"Certainly; but first I must tell you of a remarkable occurrence which
took place here earlier this morning." A violent fit of coughing
interrupted Wyndham, and it was some minutes before he could speak
clearly. "Ah!" he gasped, tilting back in his chair and mopping his
flushed face, "a spring cold is almost impossible to cure."

"I don't think yours will be improved if you continue to sit in a
direct draft," remonstrated the Secretary of State, pointing to the
open windows.

"I had to have air. By George! man, if you had been through what I
have this morning--" he did not complete his sentence.

"What happened?" asked the Secretary of State, with growing interest.

"The plans of the two new dreadnaughts have been stolen."

"Impossible!" The Secretary of State half started from his chair.

"Impossible? Well, I'd have said the same five hours ago," dryly.

"Were they stolen from this office?" asked Douglas.

"Yes, and not only from this office, but under my very eyes."

"How?"

"To give you both a clear idea I must go into details," Wyndham drew
his chair up closer and lowered his voice. "About twelve o'clock
my private secretary brought me word that a man wished to see me
personally. Of course, I have daily callers who all wish to see
me personally, and usually my secretary takes care of them. This
particular caller refused to give his name and said he would explain
his business to me alone. I thought he was simply a harmless crank,
and told my secretary to get rid of him as soon as possible." Wyndham
sighed. "In a few minutes my secretary was back in the office, saying
that the stranger had a message for me from Senator Carew."

"A written message?" asked the Secretary of State.

"No, a verbal one. With everyone else in Washington, I have taken great
interest in the terrible murder of my old friend. The man's statement
aroused my interest, and, having a few minutes of leisure, I told my
secretary to show him in."

"What did he look like?" inquired the Secretary of State, deeply
interested.

"A tall, dark chap; his hair and beard were black, and he had the
bluest eyes I've ever seen in human head."

"Was he well dressed?"

"No, his clothes were shabby but fairly neat. He looked as if he had
spruced up for the occasion. I can't say I was prepossessed in his
favor by his appearance."

"Did he give you his name?"

"No."

"Do you think he was an American?" put in Douglas.

"It's hard to say. At first I sized him up as being a Spaniard."

"Didn't you ask his name?" again inquired the Secretary of State
impatiently.

"I did, and his errand. He ignored my first question, and in answer to
the second said that he had come to examine some records. I informed
him that he had come to the wrong office, and that my clerk would
direct him to the proper room. He then made the astounding statement
that he had an appointment to meet Senator Carew here in this office
at twelve o'clock. I was taken completely by surprise by the man's
statement and asked: 'What day did you expect to meet Senator Carew
here?'

"'This morning, at twelve o'clock,' he answered, and then added, 'He is
late.'

"Thinking the man a little daft or drunk, though I could detect no sign
of liquor, I said abruptly, 'A likely tale; Senator Carew is dead.'

"'Dead!' he shouted, springing out of his chair.

"'Yes, dead--murdered last Monday night.' I hadn't anticipated giving
him such a shock, or I would have broken the news more gently. The
effect on my visitor was appalling. He collapsed on the floor in a fit.
The electric bells in this office are out of order, and, although I
shouted for help, no one heard me. I sprang out of my chair, undid the
man's necktie and collar, threw the contents of my ice pitcher in his
face, and then bolted into the other room to get assistance. Most of
the clerks had gone out to their lunch. I called two men who happened
to be eating their lunch in an adjoining room, and we hastened back
here only to find my strange visitor gone!"

"Gone!" ejaculated the Secretary of State.

"Vanished. The only sign of his presence was the spilled ice water on
the floor, and that chair overturned," pointing to the one Douglas was
occupying.

"Did no one see him slip out of the door into the hall?" asked Douglas.

"No. Unfortunately the messenger, who sits near my door, had gone into
the room across the corridor. The man made a quick getaway, and luck
broke with him, for no one noticed him leaving the building."

"How do you know he isn't hiding somewhere?" inquired Douglas.

"If he is, he will be captured, for Chief Connor and a number of Secret
Service men are searching the building."

"When did you discover the plans of the battleships were missing?"

Wyndham swore softly. "That's the devilish part of it," he said
bitterly. "As soon as I realized the man had really run away I glanced
over my papers. Everything seemed to be all right. I pulled open this
drawer," opening it as he spoke, "and saw these blue prints lying
exactly as I had placed them under this folded newspaper. I slammed the
drawer shut, thinking my strange visitor was simply a harmless lunatic,
who had probably read about Carew's death until he became obsessed with
the subject, and dismissed the matter from my mind."

"Was this drawer locked when your strange visitor was admitted?"

"No."

"Then anyone might have stolen the papers," exclaimed the Secretary of
State in surprise.

Wyndham reddened. "No, they could not. The only time I've been out
of this room was when I ran out looking for aid for that miserable
scoundrel. That is the only chance there has been to steal the papers."

"You think, then," began Douglas, checking his remarks off on his
fingers, "first, that the whole thing was a plot; that the man used
Senator Carew's name to arouse your interest or curiosity; that he
faked a fit, and in your absence removed the plans and substituted
false blueprints, taking a chance that you would simply look to see
that everything was safe in your drawer and not examine further, and
then made his escape."

"You've hit it exactly," acknowledged Wyndham. "Those were the
conclusions reached by Chief Connor also."

"It was no irresponsible person who committed that theft," declared
the Secretary of State thoughtfully. "It was a well-laid plot, neatly
carried out. How long have the papers been in your possession, Wyndham?"

"They were sent here yesterday for my inspection. There has been a
leak here somewhere, damn it!" Wyndham set his bulldog jaw. "I'll
trace it to the bottom, and when I find out----" he clenched his fists
menacingly.

"What callers did you see besides the Spaniard?" asked Douglas.

"Let me see--the usual run, several office seekers, a number of naval
officers--oh, yes, my wife came in with Colonel Thornton and his niece,
Miss Eleanor Thornton."

"Before or after the Spaniard had been here?" questioned Douglas
swiftly.

"Shortly afterward. They came in about a quarter of one and did not
stay long."

"After you had discovered the loss of the plans?"

"No, before. I only discovered their loss three-quarters of an hour
ago."

"How long were your wife and her friends in this office?" inquired
Douglas persistently.

"About fifteen minutes."

"Then how does it happen that I saw Miss Eleanor Thornton descending in
one of the elevators when the Secretary and I were on our way to this
office to see you?"

"Oh, Miss Eleanor told me that she was going to the library to look
up the records of some of her ancestors, as she wishes to join the
Colonial Dames. I think she has been up there ever since. My wife and
Colonel Thornton left together without waiting for her."

"You are absolutely certain, Wyndham, that you haven't been out of this
office except on that one occasion?" asked the Secretary of State for
the second time.

"I will take my Bible oath on it," exclaimed Wyndham solemnly.

The three men gazed at each other in silence, each busy with his own
thoughts. The Secretary of State was the first to recover himself.

"Have you had your lunch, Wyndham?" he inquired.

The latter shook his head. "I've lost my appetite," he growled.

The Secretary of State rose and placed his hand on the broad shoulder
of the younger man. "Don't take it so much to heart, Wyndham," he said
kindly. "We'll get at the bottom of this tangle before long. We'll
all stand by and help you, and, remember, Chief Connor is a host in
himself."

"Thanks," Wyndham straightened his bent shoulders; his face was set and
his eyes snapped as the spirit of the born fighter returned. "I'll move
Heaven and earth until I catch that Spaniard. Must you both be going?"

"Yes." The Secretary of State answered for Douglas as well as for
himself. "We have detained you quite long enough. Let me know
immediately of any new developments."

"I will. Mr. Hunter, it's been a pleasure to meet you, although I am
afraid the information you have given me, considered with the loss of
the plans of the new battleships, complicates the situation. Good-bye,
come and see me again," and the big door swung shut.

Halfway down the corridor the Secretary of State paused and regarded
Douglas seriously. "Talk of complicated situations----" he passed his
hand wearily over his forehead, then started with sudden resolution.
"Come on, Hunter, I'm going over to the White House; a talk with the
President may clear my brain. Wyndham may have lost his appetite, but
he's given us food for thought."




CHAPTER XI

OVER THE TEA CUPS


Cynthia turned a flushed and tear-stained face toward Eleanor, as the
latter entered the boudoir and approached her couch.

"Is it all over?" she asked, choking back a sob.

"Yes." Eleanor lifted her black crêpe veil, and, pulling out the
hatpins, removed her hat and handed it to Annette, who had followed
her into the room. "Take my coat, too, Annette," she directed, "then
you need not wait." As the servant left the room she pulled a low
rocking-chair up to the couch on which Cynthia was lying, and placed
her hand gently on the weeping girl's shoulder. "Are you feeling
better, dear?"

"A little better." Cynthia wiped her eyes with a dry handkerchief which
Annette had placed on her couch some moments before. "Oh, Eleanor, I am
so bitterly ashamed of the scene I made downstairs."

"You need not be." Eleanor stroked the curly, fair hair back from
Cynthia's hot forehead with loving fingers. "It was a very painful
scene, and Dr. Wallace's tribute to Senator Carew, while beautiful, was
harrowing. I am not surprised you fainted, dear."

"Aunt Charlotte didn't, and she was so devoted to Uncle James."

"Mrs. Winthrop had not been through your terrible experiences of Monday
night. Consequently, she had the strength to bear to-day's ordeal with
outward composure."

"Was it very dreadful at the cemetery?"

"No, dear. The services at the grave were very simple, and, as the
funeral was private, it attracted no morbid spectators."

"Did anyone accompany you?"

"Just the handful of people who were here for the house services."

"Where is Aunt Charlotte?"

"She went to her room to lie down."

Cynthia raised herself on her elbow and glanced searchingly about the
pretty sitting-room filled with its bird's-eye maple furniture. The
yellow wallpaper, with its wide border of pink roses, chintz curtains
and hangings, cast a soft yellow glow, which was exceedingly becoming,
as well as restful to the eye. The afternoon sunshine came through the
long French windows which overlooked a broad alley.

"Eleanor, would you mind closing the door of my bedroom," she asked,
"and please first see that--that Blanche isn't sitting there sewing."

Eleanor glanced curiously at Cynthia as she rose, crossed to the
adjoining bedroom, and softly closed the door. "There is no one in your
room," she reported, on her return to her rocking-chair.

Cynthia settled back among her pillows with an air of satisfaction. "At
last I have you to myself. First the trained nurse, whom I didn't need,
and then Aunt Charlotte, have always been hanging around, and I haven't
had a chance to ask you any questions."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"Was there--was there--an autopsy?" Noting Eleanor's expression, she
exclaimed hastily: "Now, Eleanor dear, _don't_ say I must not talk of
Uncle James' death. The nurse wouldn't answer me when I spoke on the
subject; said I must not think of the tragedy, that it was bad for me.
Such nonsense! I would have asked Aunt Charlotte, but she's been so
queer lately, not in the least like her own dear self."

"Mrs. Winthrop is living under such great strain these days, Cynthia,
it's not surprising. Her brother dead--Philip very ill----"

"They told me he was better," hastily jerked out Cynthia, with a
startled look in her big, brown eyes.

"He is, now," Eleanor hesitated. "The doctor at first thought he might
develop brain fever, but I am told all danger of that is past."

"What is the matter with him?" persisted Cynthia. "I asked the nurse
what the trouble was, but she never told me. Was his attack also caused
by the shock of Uncle James' death?"

"Yes, from shock," answered Eleanor, mechanically. "You must not blame
your aunt if her manner is distrait; she is a very reserved woman and
dreads, above all things, letting herself go and breaking down."

"Oh, I hope she will keep well, she has been so unhappy. I can't bear
to think of her suffering more, but," she laid her hand pleadingly on
Eleanor's arm, "you haven't answered my question about the autopsy."

"Yes, they held one."

"And what was discovered?" eagerly.

"That Senator Carew was perfectly well physically, and that his death
was caused by a stab from the sharp-pointed letter file."

Cynthia suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, and lay for some
minutes without speaking. "Is Hamilton still in jail?" she questioned
finally.

"Yes, he is being held for the inquest."

"Inquest?" Cynthia glanced up, startled. "I thought the inquest was
over."

"No, it hasn't been held yet."

"But Uncle James was buried to-day."

"The funeral could not be postponed, Cynthia. The doctors who performed
the autopsy will testify at the inquest."

"But I thought it was always necessary to hold the inquest after a
violent death."

"It is usually, but in this case the inquest was postponed because you
and Philip, two of the most important witnesses, were too ill to attend
it."

Cynthia closed and unclosed her tapering fingers over her handkerchief
spasmodically. "Are the detectives still hanging around the house?" she
inquired.

"Yes."

"It's shameful!" announced Cynthia, sitting upright, "to allow those
men to intrude on our grief and privacy. They have arrested Hamilton
for the crime, and should leave us alone."

"They do not think Hamilton guilty."

"Whom--whom--do they suspect?" The question seemed forced from her.

"Mr. Brett hasn't confided in me."

"Mr. Brett?"

"He's the detective in charge of the case."

"Oh, is he the tall, fine-looking man I saw talking to Joshua in the
hall yesterday morning?"

"No, that was probably Douglas Hunter."

"Douglas Hunter? Not the Douglas Hunter of the Diplomatic Corps, whom
Uncle James was forever talking about?"

"The same. Do you know him?"

"No, he has always been absent from Washington when I've been in the
city. What is he doing here now?"

"Trying to help Mr. Brett solve the mystery of Senator Carew's death."

"Good Heavens! What earthly business is it of his?"

"Don't ask me," Eleanor's usually tranquil voice was a trifle sharp. "I
suppose he is hoping to win the reward offered by Mrs. Winthrop."

"Reward?" Cynthia's voice rose, and drowned the sound of a faint knock
at the hall door.

"Yes. Your aunt announced that she would give five thousand dollars
to anyone who could solve the mystery." Cynthia was listening with
absorbed attention to Eleanor, and neither noticed that the hall door
was pushed open a few inches, then softly closed. "Uncle Dana told her
that was too much to offer, and she reduced the sum to one thousand
dollars, with the proviso that it should be increased if the first
offer brought no result."

Cynthia sighed deeply. "Why, why did she do it?" she cried
passionately. "She must be mad!"

Eleanor glanced at her companion in astonishment. "Cynthia, you must
not excite yourself," she remonstrated firmly. "Otherwise, I shall
leave you."

Cynthia reached out and clutched her arm. "Don't go," she entreated. "I
must----" her words were interrupted by a sharp rap on the hall door.
"Come in."

In response Annette opened the door. "Pardon, Mademoiselle, but it is
five o'clock, and I thought you might like your tea up here instead of
downstairs."

"Capital, Annette," exclaimed Eleanor, as the maid entered carrying
a tray. "Wait a moment, and I will get that small table." Deftly she
removed the books and magazines, and then carried the table over to
the couch. Annette put a tray laden with tempting sandwiches, small
cakes, the teapot and its accessories, on the table, then bent over and
arranged Cynthia's pillows at her back with practiced hand.

"Mademoiselle is more comfortable, _n'est-ce pas?_" she asked briskly.

"Yes, indeed, Annette," Cynthia nodded gratefully at the Frenchwoman.

"Have you everything you wish, Mademoiselle Eleanor?"

"Yes, Annette, thank you. If I want anything more I will ring."

"Be sure and close the door, Annette," directed Cynthia, "I am afraid
of a draft"; and she looked around until she saw her order obeyed.

"Have a sandwich?" asked Eleanor, handing the dish and a plate to
Cynthia.

"I'd rather eat good sandwiches than solid food," announced Cynthia,
after a pause, helping herself to another portion.

"Solid?" echoed Eleanor. "I call _pâté de foie gras_ and deviled ham
pretty solid eating, Cynthia; especially when taken in bulk," glancing
quizzically at the rapidly diminishing pile.

"Don't begrudge me these crumbs." Cynthia's smile was followed by a
sigh. "I've lived on slops for three days. Why are you giving me such
weak tea, Eleanor? I loathe it made that way."

"I am afraid to make it stronger, Cynthia, it will keep you awake."

"I don't want to sleep; I'd give anything _not_ to sleep!"

"Why, Cynthia!"

"If I could really sleep--drop into oblivion--I would like it, but
instead I dream, and, oh, God! I fear my dream."

Eleanor laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Lie down," she
commanded, "and compose yourself."

Cynthia lay back on her pillows, panting a little from her exertion,
the color coming and going in her winsome face.

"I would give anything, Eleanor, if I had your tranquil disposition,"
she said, more quietly. "I cannot help my temperament. My mother was
Scotch to the fingertips, and, I have been told, had the gift of
second-sight--although I sometimes doubt if such a thing is a gift."

"Perhaps I can understand better than you think," said Eleanor gently.
"My mother was Irish, and the Irish, you know, are just as great
believers in the supernatural as the Scotch."

"You always understand," Cynthia bent forward and kissed her friend
warmly. "That's why you are such a comfort. Let me tell you why I am
so nervous and unstrung. Since a little child I have been obsessed by
one dream, it is always the same, and always precedes disaster." She
sighed, drearily. "I had it just before my grandmother's death; then
before my uncle, Mr. Winthrop, killed himself; and on Sunday night I
had it again." She shuddered as she spoke.

"What is your dream?"

"It is this way: I may be sleeping soundly, when suddenly I see a
door--a door which stands out vividly in a shadowy space, which might
be a room, or hallway--the door is white and the panels are in the
shape of a cross, so"--illustrating her meaning with her arms--"I hear
a cry--the cry of a soul in torment--I rush to the rescue, always to
find the door locked, and wake myself beating on the empty air"--she
shuddered as she spoke, and drew her kimono closer about her. "I awake
cold and trembling from head to foot."

"You poor darling," Eleanor took the limp form in her arms with a
gesture of infinite understanding and compassion.

"I had the dream Sunday night," sobbed Cynthia, "then Monday, when I
thought we could announce our engagement----"

"Whose engagement?" asked a quiet voice behind the pair. Startled,
Eleanor wheeled around to find Mrs. Winthrop standing behind her, as
Cynthia slipped from her arms and buried her head in the friendly
cushions, her slender form shaking with convulsive sobs.




CHAPTER XII

A COUNCIL OF WAR


Philip Winthrop moved restlessly in bed, then lay still, for a feeling
of deadly nausea almost overcame him. Half an hour passed, and, feeling
better, he raised his hand and felt his throbbing temples. Wearily he
tried to collect his ideas, but all appeared confused.

What was it that he had promised? Slowly his torpid conscience awoke.
"For value received"--the phrase held a double meaning which penetrated
even his dulled senses. He could not afford to lie there like a bump on
a log any longer. He opened his eyes; apparently it was late, for the
room was in total darkness, save for a streak of light which came from
the half-open hall door.

With an effort Philip raised himself on his elbow and glanced about
him, but even that slight exertion was too much in his weakened state,
and, with a groan, he slid back on the pillows. For some seconds he lay
without moving, but the yellow patch of light troubled him, and he
rolled over on his side facing the wall. He struggled apathetically to
piece together the occurrences of the past few days. Suddenly he caught
the sound of a light step and the swish of skirts approaching his bed.

The next instant a glass was thrust under his nose and placed gently
against his mouth. He raised his hand and pushed the glass away from
him. "G'way," he stammered faintly; "leave me 'lone."

Apparently no attention was paid to his request, for the glass was
again placed at his lips. Again he tried to thrust it from him, but
his feeble efforts made no impression against the strong wrist. His
resistance only lasted a few minutes, then his weaker will surrendered
to the stronger, and he sipped the medicine obediently, after which the
glass was withdrawn.

       *       *       *       *       *

Downstairs in the library three men sat smoking around the large desk
table.

"I am glad you could join us to-night, Colonel Thornton," said Brett,
as he placed one of the ashtrays conveniently near the lawyer. "Three
heads are better than one, and it is time we got together and discussed
certain features of this case."

"Quite right, it will help us to a clearer understanding," agreed the
Colonel.

"Then suppose, Mr. Hunter, that you first tell us any theories which
you may have formed."

Douglas dropped the paper-cutter he was balancing in his hand, and,
leaning on the table, looked seriously at his companions. "I think,"
he said deliberately, "that Philip Winthrop has a guilty knowledge of
Senator Carew's death, if he is not the actual murderer."

"Your reasons," demanded Colonel Thornton.

"There was bad blood between them, that has been proved," Douglas
picked his words with care. "Possibly the quarrel was brought about
because Senator Carew had found out something discreditable in Philip
Winthrop's past. He had a responsible position as the Senator's private
secretary, and there is a chance he betrayed his trust."

"In what way?" asked Brett eagerly.

"It may be that he is in the pay of some lobby anxious to influence
important legislation." Douglas, mindful of the Secretary of State's
caution, was feeling his way with care.

"Senator Carew was the last man to be influenced by such a character as
Philip Winthrop," said Thornton contemptuously.

"He may not have tried to do so, but simply have betrayed valuable
information of committee plans and caucus."

"That may be," acknowledged Thornton, "particularly as I am told that
Philip has been spending a great deal of money lately; far more than
his salary would warrant."

"'Value received.'" Douglas shrugged his shoulders expressively. "I
have also found out that Hamilton, the coachman, is a Jamaican negro,
his real name being Samuel Hamilton Quesada, and that he was brought
here nearly two years ago by young Winthrop when he returned from a
visit to Jamaica. The Senator took him into his employ at the former's
request and recommendation."

"And your theory is?" questioned Brett sharply, laying down his cigar.

"That Winthrop either bribed Hamilton to kill Senator Carew, or to help
him after he, Winthrop, had committed the murder. You must remember,"
he added hastily, as Brett started to speak, "the Jamaican negro has
a revengeful disposition when roused, and I have no doubt Senator
Carew gave him merry hell when he discharged him Monday afternoon, and
Hamilton was ready to risk everything to get even."

Brett shook his head. "How did Senator Carew get into that carriage?"
he asked doubtfully.

"Hamilton probably lied when he said he did not first stop at this
house on his way to the ball to bring Miss Carew home. Or perhaps
Winthrop came into this room, found Senator Carew busy writing, stole
up behind him, seized the letter file and stabbed him with it."

Again Brett shook his head. "If that had been the case, the Senator
would have been stabbed in the back; whereas he was stabbed directly
over the heart, and whoever committed the crime was facing him."

"Well, that is not impossible," argued Douglas. "Winthrop may have
stood near the Senator's chair and talked to him for a few minutes
without the latter suspecting danger, may have even picked up the
letter file, a harmless thing to do under ordinary circumstances, and,
without warning, thrust it into the Senator's chest."

"And afterward?" questioned Brett.

"Afterward--Winthrop may have stepped into the hall, found no one
there, tiptoed into the room again, telephoned"--pointing to the desk
instrument--"out to the stable and told Hamilton to drive at once to
the front door. The sound of the horses' hoofs was probably drowned by
the heavy rain, so no one in the house would have heard the carriage
enter the _porte-cochère_, but"--impressively--"Winthrop, from this
window, could see its arrival. He probably stepped into the hall again,
found the coast clear, opened the front door, dashed back, picked up
Senator Carew, who was much smaller than he, carried him out and placed
him inside the carriage. Hamilton had been drinking, and was perhaps
too befogged to notice anything unusual, and, when Winthrop slammed the
carriage door, he probably drove off none the wiser."

"As much as I dislike Philip Winthrop I do not think him capable
of committing murder," said Colonel Thornton, slowly. "Secondly, I
believe, no matter how secretly you think the murder was planned, that,
if Philip were guilty, Mrs. Winthrop would have some inkling of it,
and if their quarrel was so serious she would have known it, and would
naturally try to hush matters up. Instead of which, she is the first to
offer a reward, a large reward, mind you. It is not within reason that
she would have done such a thing had she the faintest idea that Philip
was the murderer."

"I beg your pardon, Philip is not her son. There may be no love lost
between them."

"Good God! what a suggestion. You don't mean to insinuate that she
offered that reward knowing her stepson might be guilty." Thornton
looked at Douglas with sudden horror.

For reply Douglas nodded quietly.

"No, no, Douglas, you are shinning up the wrong tree. I have known
Mrs. Winthrop for over fifteen years; she wouldn't injure a fly, let
alone try to trap one whom she loves as her own flesh and blood. She
was devoted to her husband, and for his sake legally adopted Philip and
brought him up as her own son; in fact, she was entirely too indulgent
and generous, which has proved his downfall. He hates work like a
nigger."

"Mr. Hunter has drawn a strong case against Philip Winthrop, except for
one serious flaw," broke in Brett, who had been a silent listener to
their argument. "And that is that Philip Winthrop was at the Alibi Club
on Monday evening. A number of reputable men are willing to swear to
that. It is certain that he could not have been in two places at once.
Secondly, Mrs. Winthrop swears that her brother spent Monday evening
away from this house." Brett leaned forward and spoke impressively,
"Senator Carew was killed by another hand than Philip Winthrop's."

"By whose hand?" asked Thornton and Douglas simultaneously.

"Captain Frederick Lane."

"Fred Lane, of the Engineer Corps?" ejaculated Thornton, much
astonished, while Douglas looked as blank as he felt.

"Yes, sir."

"Bah! you're mad."

"Just a moment," Brett held up a protesting hand. "Don't condemn my
theory unheard. I seemed up against a blank wall in this house, so
to-day I started an investigation at the other end; that is, at the
residence of Mr. and Mrs. James Owen, where Miss Cynthia Carew attended
a dance on Monday night."

"Go on," urged Douglas, as Brett stopped and glanced behind him to see
that the hall door was closed.

"I called on Mrs. Owen. She was not inclined to be communicative, but
her daughter, Miss Alice Owen, who came in during our interview, let
the cat out of the bag, and Mrs. Owen had to tell then what she knew,
which was this: that Captain Lane and Miss Carew were engaged----"
a muttered word escaped Colonel Thornton, and Brett turned to him
instantly, "I beg pardon, did you speak?"

"No," growled the Colonel.

"Apparently they had planned to announce the engagement at the dance,"
resumed Brett. "Anyway, Miss Owen, who already knew of it, was told by
Miss Carew that her uncle, the Senator, refused to give his consent,
and had threatened to turn her out of doors if she did not instantly
break the engagement."

"Poor Cynthia, poor little girl," murmured Thornton, "I am very fond
of her, and her father was my most intimate friend. It was beastly of
Carew to issue such an ultimatum. She is entirely dependent upon him."

"So Miss Owen thought. Miss Carew confided her troubles to her on her
arrival. Miss Owen said that while they were sitting in the library
Captain Lane came in looking very dejected, and she immediately got up
to leave the lovers together. Before leaving the room, however, she
overheard Lane tell Miss Carew that he had just seen her uncle, hoping
to persuade him to reconsider his refusal, but that he flatly refused
to do so in the most insulting terms."

"Upon my word, for a mild-tempered man, Carew managed to have plenty of
quarrels on his hands on Monday," exclaimed Thornton.

"And the last one undoubtedly brought about his death"; Brett spoke so
positively that Douglas hitched his chair nearer in his excitement.
"After I had finished my interview with Mrs. Owen I asked permission
to question her servants. The footman told me that Miss Carew left the
dance earlier than the other guests, and that she had to wait a long
time for her carriage. He said he called her carriage check number
repeatedly, and with no result. That Captain Lane, becoming impatient,
put on his overcoat and hat and walked down the street searching for
Miss Carew's carriage."

"And you think?" broke in Douglas.

"That Captain Lane not only found the carriage but the Senator sitting
in it, and seized the opportunity to punish him for his deviltry to the
girl he loved."

A long pause followed as Colonel Thornton and Douglas sat thinking over
Brett's startling news.

"Where did he get the weapon?" inquired Douglas finally.

"Out of Mrs. Owen's library, of course. He may have picked it up in a
fit of absent-mindedness and carried it with him."

"Did the footman or butler notice anything in his hand when he left the
house?" questioned Thornton.

"I asked them, and they declared that he carried an umbrella in his
left hand, and that they had not noticed whether he was holding
anything in his right hand or not. The footman declared that it was
raining so hard that it was impossible to see anything clearly. They
both said Captain Lane was some fifteen minutes returning to the house."

"Did he find the carriage?"

"He told the footman that he hadn't, and ordered him to keep calling
the number, which he did, and soon after the carriage drove up."

"Of all the cold-blooded propositions!" ejaculated Douglas. "Do you
honestly mean that you think Lane deliberately put the girl he loved
into the carriage to sit beside the man he had just murdered?"

"I do," firmly, "and I stake my reputation as a detective that Captain
Lane is guilty. You were with me, Mr. Hunter, when I overheard Miss
Carew exclaim, as Miss Thornton entered her bedroom on Tuesday--'They
quarreled, Eleanor, they quarreled.'"

"She may not have been alluding to Captain Lane," declared Douglas
stoutly; "she may have referred to Philip Winthrop. He also quarreled
with Senator Carew."

"Philip is very much in love with Cynthia and wishes to marry her,"
volunteered Thornton quietly.

"Is that why Senator Carew objected to her engagement to Captain
Lane?" asked Brett. "Did he wish her to marry Philip Winthrop?"

"I never heard that he did"; Thornton paused and reflected a moment.
"I might as well tell you, for you will probably hear it from some one
else eventually, that there has been a feud of long standing between
the Lanes and Carews."

Douglas whistled. "A Montague and Capulet affair?" he inquired.

"Exactly. Carew and old Governor Lane were political rivals. Lord!
how they hated each other! They almost tore Maryland asunder when
running for the governorship, which Lane won by a few votes. Carew
charged fraud, which, however, was never proved. They cherished their
animosity to the day of Governor Lane's death, and I can imagine it was
a terrible shock to Carew to find that his dearly loved niece wanted to
marry the Governor's son."

"What sort of a fellow is Lane?" asked Douglas.

"A fine specimen of the American gentleman," exclaimed Thornton
enthusiastically, "a soldier, every inch of him, brave to a fault; he
has twice been mentioned in orders for gallant conduct--just the sort
of a fellow a romantic young girl like Cynthia would fall head over
heels in love with."

"In naming his virtues you have overlooked his greatest fault," said
Brett calmly. "He has a fiendish temper, and, when provoked, falls into
the most insane rages, so his brother officers tell me."

"You are making out a black case against him," agreed Douglas, "but
there is one point you seem to have overlooked, and that is, did the
letter file used to kill Senator Carew belong to Mrs. Owen?"

"That is the one flaw in my case," acknowledged Brett regretfully. "She
declines to answer the question."




CHAPTER XIII

AT THE WHITE HOUSE


"There's a note done cum fo' yo', suh," announced the elevator boy
lounging in the doorway of the Albany as Douglas stepped inside the
entrance of the apartment hotel. "I'll get it," and visions of a tip
caused the mulatto to hasten his leisurely footsteps to the small
office to the left of the entrance. In a few seconds he was back at the
elevator shaft, where Douglas stood waiting, and handed him a square
envelope stamped with the words "State Department" in the left-hand
corner. "Wanter go to yer room, suh," slipping the expected coin in his
trousers' pocket.

"Yes." The door slammed shut, and the elevator shot upward. "Anyone
been to see me or telephoned, Jonas?"

"No, suh." The mulatto brought the cage to a standstill at the third
floor, and Douglas stepped out and hastened to his tiny apartment.
Throwing his hat and cane on the bed, he drew a chair to the open
window, having first made sure, with a caution which had grown upon
him, that the hall door was securely locked, and that the chambermaid
was not loitering in the vicinity. As he opened the note an enclosure
fell into his lap, and, without looking at it, he perused the few
written lines. It was from the Secretary of State.

  Dear Mr. Hunter: [he read] So far, no further developments. When
  people are at play they are usually "off guard." I enclose an
  invitation to the garden party at the White House this afternoon, for
  which I asked. The Diplomatic Corps will attend in a body. I hope to
  see you there.

  Very truly yours----

Douglas picked up the enclosed envelope with the words "The White
House" stamped in small gold letters in the upper left-hand corner,
and pulled out the engraved card. The gold eagle crest at the top of
the invitation was almost stared out of countenance, so long and so
steadily did he regard it, as he slowly weighed in his mind the events
of the past three days.

If the desk file used to kill the Senator did belong to Mrs. Owen, then
Brett had woven strong circumstantial evidence around Captain Lane. Was
it possible that the young officer, incensed at Senator Carew's threat
to turn his niece, Cynthia, out of doors, and goaded past endurance
by a possible tongue lashing at their last interview, had seized the
opportunity offered by chance and killed Carew, an hereditary enemy?
From time immemorial family feuds had, alas, often led to murder.

If so, what, then, became of his own theory of an international
intrigue? Were Senator Carew's interest in things Japanese, his desire
to see Douglas, the information gleaned by the latter in Japan, the
untimely death of the Senator, and last--the theft of the plans of the
new battleships--were these simply coincidences?

Douglas roused himself and glanced at the hour mentioned in the
invitation--five o'clock. Jerking out his watch he found he had but
half an hour in which to change his clothes before he was due at the
White House.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shortly afterward Douglas walked through Lafayette Square on his way to
the eastern entrance of the White House. A long queue of smart turnouts
and motors stretched along Pennsylvania Avenue from Seventeenth
Street to Executive Avenue, as the short street between the Treasury
Department and the White House is called.

The policeman on special duty scrutinized his card of admission
carefully before allowing him to pass down the corridor and out into
the garden.

The President and his wife were receiving on the lawn under a huge
blossoming chestnut tree near the south portico. As Douglas waited
in line to approach the President, he glanced about him with great
interest. He had been to many brilliant functions in other countries,
but he decided in his own mind that he had seldom seen a more beautiful
setting for an entertainment than that afforded by the stately mansion
and its surrounding gardens. The lovely rolling grounds, with their
natural beauty, and the towering white shaft of the Washington Monument
in the background, made a picture not easily forgotten.

The full dress uniforms of the military and naval aides on duty added
to the brilliancy of the scene. The Marine Band, their scarlet coats
making a vivid touch of color against the huge fountain with its myriad
sprays of water, were stationed on a raised platform far down the lawn.
The southern breeze carried the stirring airs they were playing to
Douglas' ears and sent the hot blood dancing in his veins. Or was it
the sight of Eleanor Thornton, looking radiantly beautiful, which set
his heart throbbing in a most unusual manner? Some telepathy seemed to
tell her of his presence, for she looked around, caught his eye, and
bowed.

He had kept moving as the guests ahead of him advanced, and the next
moment he was being presented to the President by the military aide
stationed in attendance at the latter's elbow. He had but time to
receive a hearty handshake and a cordial word of welcome from the
President and the "first lady of the land," for the other guests were
waiting impatiently to greet them, and he could not loiter.

"Douglas Hunter! as I'm a sinner!" A hearty slap on the shoulder
emphasized the words, and Douglas wheeled around and found Captain
Chisholm, of the British Royal Artillery, addressing him. "The idea
of your being here and not letting me know, old chap," he added
reproachfully, as they shook hands.

"I didn't know you were in town," declared Douglas. "Thought you were
still in Paris."

"I was transferred to the embassy in Washington three months ago. Upon
my word, Douglas, I took you for a ghost when I first saw you. I was
under the impression that you were stationed at Tokio."

"So I am; I am only here on leave of absence." The Englishman's
eyebrows went up. "I had to attend to some Washington property, which
has been recently left me. This is my native heath, you know."

"I wasn't aware of it," dryly; "but then, Douglas, you are perpetually
springing surprises, like your nation, on us benighted foreigners."

"Anything to drink around here?" inquired Douglas. "I am as thirsty as
a herring."

"There is some excellent champagne punch, come along," and the tall
Englishman led the way to a long table placed under the trees near the
tennis courts, where refreshments were being served. They corraled a
colored waiter, and soon were sipping iced punch as they stood at some
distance from the crowd about the table and watched the animated scene.

"I didn't want to come to Washington," acknowledged Chisholm, after
a moment's silence, "but now, I'd hate to leave it. The people are
delightful, and I have never met with such genuine hospitality."

"You are right; Washington people never forget you. Go away for ten
years, and on your return you will be greeted just as warmly as to-day."

"Don't talk of going away, I've only just come," laughed Chisholm.
"'Pon my word, Douglas, this seems like old times. I can almost
imagine myself back in Paris, the chestnut trees in blossom, which
remind me of the Parc Monceau, help the illusion. And there's another
illusion"--nodding his head toward Eleanor Thornton, who stood at
some distance talking to two staff officers--"or, I should say, a
_delusion_." He smiled gayly, but there was no answering smile on
Douglas' face. Not noticing his companion's silence, the Englishman
added, "Is she still hunting around looking up old files and records?"

Douglas started as if stung. "I don't know," shortly.

"A dangerous habit," commented Chisholm calmly. "If Miss Thornton
had not left Paris and gone to Berlin when she did, her interest in
government affairs might have led to serious trouble--for her."

"Now, what the devil do you mean?" demanded Douglas hotly.

Chisholm turned and regarded him steadily for a second, then his
monocle slipped down and dangled from its silken cord. "There, there,"
he exclaimed soothingly. "Don't get your rag up, I was only spoofing."

"You have very rudimentary ideas of humor," growled Douglas, still
incensed. In his heart he knew the Englishman was right; Eleanor
Thornton was an enigma. Dare he penetrate the mystery, or was he afraid
to face the issue?

Chisholm laughed good-naturedly. "Miss Thornton is looking at you,
Douglas; don't let me detain you. I'll see you again before I leave
here."

Douglas hesitated. "I'll be back soon, Chisholm," he said and walked
across the lawn to join Eleanor.

The Englishman looked after him with speculative eyes. "Still touched
in that quarter," he muttered, twirling his blond mustache in his
fingers. "Too bad, Douglas is such a bully good chap, and she----" he
was not allowed to indulge in more reflections, as he was seized upon
by a bevy of pretty girls and forced to dance attendance upon them for
the remainder of the afternoon.

Recollections of his last interview with Eleanor troubled Douglas.
How would she greet him? His doubts were soon put at rest, for at his
approach Eleanor put out her hand and greeted him warmly. The two staff
officers, who were introduced to Douglas, saw they were _de trop_, and,
after a few minutes, made their excuses and departed.

"Will you have an ice or sandwich?" inquired Douglas.

"Neither, thanks; I have already been helped."

"Then suppose we stroll down to the fountain. We can't hear the Marine
Band with all this chatter," and he glanced disgustedly at the joyous
crowd about them.

Eleanor laughed. "Don't be hard on your fellow creatures, if you are
out of sorts."

"What makes you think that?"

"You looked so cross when talking to Captain Chisholm. I am sorry you
found your topic of conversation so boring."

"What do you mean?"

"You both glanced so frequently at me that I naturally concluded I was
under discussion."

"On the contrary, we were discussing--masked batteries." She scanned
him covertly, but could get no inkling of his thoughts from his blank
expression. "Captain Chisholm has a fatal habit of talking shop
whenever he gets a chance. Isn't that Colonel Thornton beckoning to us
over there?"

"Why, so it is. Shall we walk over and join him?" She paused to
exchange a few words of greeting with several friends, then turned back
to Douglas smilingly: "Come," and he suited his steps to hers as they
started across the lawn. "How long will you remain in Washington, Mr.
Hunter?"

"Until the sale of some property of mine is completed," briefly. "I
asked for you this morning, Miss Thornton, thinking you might care to
go for a motor ride, but they told me that you were lying down and
could not be disturbed."

"They? Who?" swiftly. "This is the first I have heard of your call."

"Indeed? Why, I spoke to Annette when I reached the Carew residence
this morning."

"Annette!" in growing astonishment, "_Annette_ told you I was
indisposed and could not be disturbed?"

"Yes. My cousin had loaned me his car for the morning, and I thought it
just possible that a run in the fresh air might set you up after the
funeral yesterday."

"It was good of you to think of me, Mr. Hunter." She raised her eyes
in time to see the Secretary of State regarding her intently as they
strolled past him. He lifted his hat courteously and returned their
words of greeting, but his face was grave as he paused and watched them
moving through the throng. "I am sorry about this morning," continued
Eleanor, "Annette and I will have a reckoning when we reach home."

"Would you have gone with me?" eagerly.

"Yes." Douglas bent to catch the monosyllable. Her foot turned on the
uneven ground and he put his hand on her arm to steady her. As his
fingers closed over her soft, rounded arm, he instinctively drew her
closer. The warmth of her skin through her glove thrilled him.

"I hope you will ask me again," she said.

"To-morrow--will you go with me to-morrow?" insistently.

"Yes." She met his eyes for a second, then glanced away, while a hot
blush mantled her cheeks. "Provided, of course, that Cynthia Carew does
not need me." Then in a louder tone, "Well, Uncle Dana, how are you?"

"Feeling splendidly. No need to ask about you and Douglas"--he smiled
quizzically. "I am glad that you could come here to-day, Eleanor."

"I did not wish to, but Cousin Kate Truxton insisted that I had to
bring her here. She declared that she would not come otherwise, and
made such a point of it that I could not refuse, particularly as Mrs.
Winthrop and Cynthia would not hear of my remaining with them."

"I have just come from there," responded Colonel Thornton; "Cynthia
came into the library while I was talking to Mrs. Winthrop, and I was
shocked by her appearance. The child has wasted away."

"Is it not pitiful?" exclaimed Eleanor. "It nearly breaks my heart to
see her suffering. She neither eats nor sleeps."

"Can't you give her an opiate?" asked Douglas.

"She declines to take one."

"Can't you administer it surreptitiously?"

"I have a better plan than that," broke in Colonel Thornton. "The child
needs a change of ideas. The atmosphere of the house is enough to get
on anyone's nerves, particularly with that dipsomaniac, Philip, raising
Cain at unexpected moments."

"What's your plan, Uncle Dana?"

"That you bring Cynthia over to my house to-morrow to spend Sunday.
You come, too, Douglas. Cynthia hasn't met you, and she won't connect
you with any of the tragic occurrences of the past week." Then, as he
saw the look of doubt on Eleanor's face, he added, "Human nature can
stand just so much of nervous strain and no more. Cynthia must have
relaxation and diversion."

"But I don't think Mrs. Winthrop will approve of her going out so soon
after the funeral," objected Eleanor doubtfully.

"Bah! That nonsense belongs to the dark ages. What good will Cynthia's
staying in that gloomy house do poor Carew? I'll drop in to-morrow
morning and see Mrs. Winthrop; leave the matter to me, Eleanor. There
is no earthly reason why she should object. I'll ask Cousin Kate
Truxton also."

"Cousin Kate!" echoed Eleanor, her conscience smiting her. "Where has
she gone?"

"I left her talking with Senator Jenkins some time ago." The Colonel
glanced behind him. "Speaking of angels, here she comes now."

Mrs. Truxton was walking leisurely in their direction. Seeing that they
had observed her, she waved her parasol and hastened her footsteps.

"Cousin Kate, I think you already know Mr. Hunter," said Eleanor, as
the older woman reached her side.

"Indeed I do," Mrs. Truxton extended both her hands, her face beaming
with smiles. "Why haven't you been to see me, Douglas?" she added
reproachfully.

"I have been extremely busy since my arrival, Mrs. Truxton," apologized
Douglas. "I was looking forward to calling upon you this Sunday."

"Have you had a pleasant time this afternoon, Kate?" asked Thornton.

"Yes. It has been a delightful entertainment, just the right people and
the right number."

"It would be pretty hard to crowd these grounds," laughed Eleanor.

"There isn't any elbow room about the refreshment table," put in
Thornton; "I almost had to fight to get a plate of ice cream a few
minutes ago."

"A much needed improvement would be small chairs scattered about the
lawn," grumbled Mrs. Truxton, leaning heavily on her parasol. "It is
exceedingly tiresome having to stand so long."

"It would be prettier, too, and less formal," agreed Eleanor. "The
guests would then saunter over the lawns and not stand crowded together
near the President."

"It would also be much more brilliant if the members of the Diplomatic
Corps wore their Court dress," announced Mrs. Truxton with decision,
"instead of those hideous frock coats and gray trousers."

"What, in this weather, Kate?" exclaimed the astonished Colonel. "Do
you wish to kill off the Corps bodily? They wear their Court dress only
at the state receptions and the diplomatic dinners held at the White
House every winter, or when Royalty is present."

"I know that," pettishly. "But it would improve the brilliancy of this
affair."

"Even with the objectionable frock coat," laughed the Colonel, "this
is a scene characteristic of the national capital alone. Nowhere else
in this country can such a gathering of distinguished men and women be
brought together."

"You are quite right in that," acknowledged Mrs. Truxton. "I've seen
ten presidents come and go, and I have lived to see Washington develop
in a way which would have surprised the founders. Mercy on us, look at
'Fuss and Feathers.'" She nodded toward an overdressed, pretty little
woman who was advancing in their direction.

"Mrs. Blake has certainly outdone herself," agreed Colonel Thornton, as
he and Douglas raised their hats in greeting to the pretty woman who
strolled past them. "I wonder she doesn't make you wish to break the
eighth commandment, Eleanor."

"Why?" exclaimed his niece.

"On account of her collection of magnificent rubies"--Eleanor changed
color--"I thought that stone was one of your 'fads.'"

"I like _all_ jewelry." The slight emphasis was lost on her companions.
Eleanor fingered her parasol nervously and glanced uneasily over her
shoulder to where Douglas stood beyond earshot, talking to an old
friend. "But I shall spend my time in wishing--I can never hope to
rival Mrs. Blake's collection."

"Marry a rich man and persuade him to give you rings and necklaces,"
advised Thornton. Eleanor moved restlessly.

"Mrs. Blake looks like a jeweler's window," broke in Mrs. Truxton,
in her uncompromising bass. "Such a display at a garden party is
unpardonable. It is extremely bad taste for any woman to wear to the
White House more jewelry than adorns the President's wife."

Thornton laughed outright. "Few women will agree with you, Kate. By the
way, why didn't you come to the telephone last night? I wanted to speak
to you particularly. It wasn't late when I called."

"I gave Soto, Eleanor's cook, his English lesson last night, and when
we got to a present participle used in a future sense to indicate a
present intention of a future action I was so tired I had to go to
bed," explained Mrs. Truxton, as Douglas rejoined them.

"After that I am only surprised that you ever got up again," ejaculated
the Colonel.

"Cousin Kate nearly worries herself sick teaching Soto," laughed
Eleanor. "I only wish you had heard her describing the Kingdom of
Heaven to him. She introduced some new features into that Kingdom which
would probably surprise the Presbyterian synod. I suppose she didn't
want to disappoint his great expectations."

"Is Soto a Jap?" asked Douglas, curiously.

"Yes. I prefer Japanese servants, and both Soto and Fugi have been with
me for some time," said Eleanor. "Do you know, Uncle Dana, I have just
discovered that Fugi has studied five years at the American school in
Japan, two years at the Spencerian Business College, and is a graduate
of Columbia University."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mrs. Truxton. "After this I shan't dare to
ask him to pass me the bread. What did you want to say to me on the
telephone, Dana?"

"I wanted some facts about the late Governor Lane of Maryland, and,
knowing you were a walking encyclopedia, I thought you might help me
out."

"Of course I can. Do you----"

"Hush!" exclaimed Eleanor anxiously. "Here comes Captain Lane."

Douglas scanned the tall young officer approaching them with keen
interest. His uniform set off his fine figure to advantage, and his
face was one to inspire confidence.

"How are you, Mrs. Truxton," he said. "Miss Eleanor, I've been
searching the place for you. Won't you come and see the rose garden
with me? Oh, I beg pardon, Colonel, I didn't see you at first."

"That's all right, Lane. Have you met Mr. Hunter?"

"No. How do you do, sir." Lane wrung Douglas' hand. "Glad to know you."

"It is time for us all to go," declared Mrs. Truxton. "We must say
good-bye. Come with me, Douglas, I want to ask you some questions about
your family."

As the small group strolled toward the White House, Colonel Thornton
was buttonholed by an old friend. Mrs. Truxton, with Douglas in tow,
crossed the ground to where the President was standing talking to
several late arrivals.

"Now's our time," whispered Lane in Eleanor's ear. "The rose garden is
to our right." He said no more until they had passed the south portico
and walked down the path leading to the wonderful box hedges which
surround the rose garden. They had the place to themselves, and Eleanor
exclaimed with pleasure at the beautiful flowers which were blossoming
in profusion.

"How is Cynthia?" demanded Lane, stopping in the middle of the garden
path and regarding his companion intently.

"Almost a nervous wreck."

"My poor darling!" The soldier's strong face betrayed deep feeling.
"I wish I could comfort her." His voice changed. "Miss Eleanor, why
does she refuse to see me?" Eleanor hesitated perceptibly. "Wait, let
me finish. I have called repeatedly at the Carews', only to be told
that Cynthia is confined to her room; I have written notes which I
have given personally to Joshua to deliver, and have never received an
answer to one of them.

"I love Cynthia with all my heart and soul," Lane's voice shook with
feeling, "and I would have sworn, before her uncle's death, that my
affection was returned. I cannot understand her avoidance of me,
and her silence cuts deep"--Lane stopped a moment and cleared his
throat--"Miss Eleanor, you are Cynthia's most intimate friend, and you
are with her constantly. You must have heard of some reason for her
treatment of me."

Eleanor nodded without speaking. She heartily wished the interview was
over.

"Then I implore you to tell me the reason of Cynthia's silence."

"Cannot you imagine that for yourself?" began Eleanor; then, as Lane
shook his head, she added: "Cynthia is overwrought, every action on
Monday night seems distorted----" She again hesitated and bit her
lip--"You went to look for her carriage; you were gone a long time, and
when she entered the carriage her uncle was sitting there--dead."

Slowly her meaning dawned on Lane. "Good God! You don't mean----?" he
staggered back, his face gone white.

"Yes."

"And she thinks _that_! Cynthia, Cynthia, had you so little faith?"
Lane's agony was pitiful.

"You must not be unjust to her," cried Eleanor, her loyalty up in arms.
"Remember, you had just told her of your fearful quarrel with her
uncle; she had also seen you playing with a letter file when you were
with her in the library----"

"But, great Heavens! I didn't take that out in the street with me,"
exclaimed Lane passionately. "I tell you what it is, Miss Eleanor, I
must see Cynthia and explain this terrible tangle. Can you help me meet
her?"

Eleanor considered for a moment. "I have already urged Cynthia to see
you, but she has been so unnerved, so unstrung, that I could not make
her see matters in a reasonable light. I think the best thing for you
to do is to meet her when she least expects it."

"Capital! Can you arrange such a meeting?"

"My uncle, Colonel Thornton, has asked Cynthia and me to go to his
house in Georgetown to-morrow and spend Sunday. I think Mrs. Winthrop
will permit Cynthia to go, and, if that is the case, you can call there
to-morrow night."

"Good." Lane paced the walk restlessly for a minute, then returned to
Eleanor's side. "It's pretty hard to wait so long before seeing her,"
he said, wistfully.

Eleanor held out her hand. "Don't be discouraged; Cynthia loves you
devotedly."

"God bless you for those words!" Lane caught her hand and raised her
slender fingers to his lips.

"Miss Thornton," said a cold voice back of them, "Mrs. Truxton is
waiting for you," and Eleanor flushed scarlet as she met Douglas' eyes.




CHAPTER XIV

THE MOTH AND THE FLAME


Douglas brought the powerful roadster to a standstill under the
_porte-cochère_ of the Carew mansion, and disentangling himself from
among the levers and wheel, ran up the few steps. Before he could ring
the bell the door was opened by Colonel Thornton.

"Come in," he exclaimed heartily. "I saw you from the drawing-room
window, and, as Joshua has gone to ask Mrs. Winthrop if she can see me,
I thought I would let you in and not keep you standing outside."

"Thanks, Colonel." Douglas followed the older man into the
drawing-room. "Have you seen Miss Eleanor?"

"No. Here, don't sit on that gilt-edged insecurity," as Douglas pulled
forward a parlor chair. "This sofa is big enough to hold us both. Tell
me, are there any new developments in the Carew case?"

"Only that Brett is convinced Captain Lane is guilty, and, from what
he said this morning, I should not be at all surprised to hear of the
latter's arrest."

"Good Lord! you don't say so. Poor, poor Cynthia. I greatly fear
another shock will prove most dangerous in her present nervous
condition."

"Has Mrs. Winthrop consented to Miss Carew's spending to-morrow at your
house?"

"I don't know yet----" Colonel Thornton stopped abruptly as the
portières parted and a woman stepped into the room. Thinking it was
Mrs. Winthrop, he started to rise, but it proved to be Annette, and he
sank back in his seat.

"_Bon jour, Messieurs_," Annette readjusted the portières with care,
then walked with catlike quickness over to where the men were sitting.
"Mistaire Hunter, you are investigating ze death of Senator Carew,
_n'est-ce pas_, and you, Monsieur," turning to Colonel Thornton, "are
Madame Winthrop's man of affairs?"

"Well, what then?" asked Douglas quickly.

"Only that I may be of help."

"Indeed?"

"Oui, Messieurs," calmly. "I know--_much_."

"Good," Thornton's tone betrayed his satisfaction. "Go ahead and tell
us."

"Ah, _non, non, Monsieur_," Annette shook her head violently. "First,
I must have some monie."

"What, a bribe?" Douglas spoke with rising indignation.

"_Non, Monsieur_; a reward."

"You must first tell us what you know," explained Thornton patiently.
"Then, if your information leads to the arrest and _conviction_ of the
murderer, you will be paid the one thousand dollars offered by Mrs.
Winthrop."

"One thousand dollars, did you say, _Monsieur_? _Non_, I will not sell
my news for that."

"It is the amount offered by Mrs. Winthrop."

"But Madame Winthrop is willing to give five thousand." Annette glanced
eagerly at the two men. "My news is worth that."

Thornton shook his head. "Mrs. Winthrop has reconsidered, and will not
give more than one thousand," he declared with finality.

An obstinate frown marred Annette's pretty face. "I will not take less
than five thousand," she announced with emphasis.

"You go too fast," broke in Douglas quietly. "First, the reward will
not be paid until after the murderer is convicted; secondly, your
information may be of no value whatever."

"Zo?" Annette's smile was not pleasant. "Zen I keep my news to
myself," and she started for the door.

"Wait," commanded Thornton. "Come back here." Then, as she obeyed, he
added in a more kindly tone: "If your information is really valuable,
Annette, I am willing to advance you some money. But first you must
tell us what you know and suspect."

"How much?"

"Say fifty dollars," drawing out his leather wallet and extracting
several yellow backs which he held temptingly in his hand.

"Not enough, Monsieur."

Thornton lost all patience. "I shan't offer you another damn cent," and
he thrust the money back into the wallet.

Annette's eyes flashed. "Very well, Monsieur le Colonel; I go. But
when I come back you will have to pay me more--but yes--more than that
beggarly five thousand!" and with a stamp of her foot, she turned and
hastened out of the room.

"A nice she-devil!" remarked Thornton, gazing blankly at Douglas.

"I think----" Douglas stopped speaking as the portières were again
thrust aside and Eleanor walked in.

"Uncle Dana, Mrs. Winthrop is waiting to see you in the library. Oh,
Mr. Hunter, good morning"--her slender hand was almost lost in his firm
clasp--"I did not know you were here."

"I called hoping that you might care to take a motor ride," said
Douglas quickly.

"Why, yes, with pleasure." She sank down on the sofa and motioned
Douglas to draw up a chair.

"Eleanor," broke in Thornton, returning from the hall door, "did you
tell that precious maid of yours that Mrs. Winthrop would give five
thousand dollars reward for information leading to the conviction of
the murderer of Senator Carew?"

"Annette!" in profound astonishment. "No, certainly not; I've never
spoken to her on the subject. Where did you get such an idea?" Her
voice rose to a higher key.

"She has just been here and insists that we pay her five thousand for
some information which she declares will solve the puzzle of poor
Carew's death."

Eleanor smiled incredulously. "Nonsense, I don't believe she knows a
thing about it." Her bright color had faded and she gazed anywhere but
at the two men.

"It may be," suggested Douglas thoughtfully, "that while in this house
she has found a certain paper for which Brett is searching."

"That's possible," agreed Thornton. "It was announced in yesterday's
papers that a reward of one thousand dollars had been offered. But
what gets me is how Annette knew Mrs. Winthrop might raise the amount
to five thousand--the very sum, in fact, which she first thought of
offering."

"I'm sure I don't know." Eleanor frowned in perplexity.

"Is she a good servant?" inquired Douglas.

"I have always found her honest and reliable. She brought me excellent
recommendations when she came to me in Paris, where I engaged her,"
replied Eleanor.

"It may be that the mystery has gone to her head," suggested Thornton,
"and she is inspired to play detective."

"Personally, I think she is taking advantage of the present situation
to extort money," objected Douglas.

"I believe you've hit it," exclaimed the older man. "Tell Brett,
Douglas, he may be able to induce Annette to tell what she knows. I
must go now and see Mrs. Winthrop."

"Let me know what she decides about Sunday," called Eleanor, as
Thornton, for the second time, hurried out of the room.

"You are looking tired, Miss Thornton," said Douglas, glancing at her
attentively.

"I didn't get much sleep last night. Cynthia was miserable, and I sat
up with her until five o'clock this morning."

"No wonder you are worn out." Douglas looked his concern. "I really
think a motor ride would do you lots of good. Do keep your promise and
come for a spin."

Eleanor glanced doubtfully down at her pretty house gown. "If you don't
mind waiting while I change----"

"Why, certainly."

"I won't be long"--and Eleanor disappeared.

Douglas did not resume his seat; but instead paced the room with
long, nervous strides. Eleanor was not the only one who had passed a
sleepless night. He had sat up and wracked his brain trying to find the
key to the solution of the mystery surrounding the Senator's death.
Annette must be made to tell what she knew. Perhaps Brett's authority
as an officer of the law might intimidate her. It was worth trying.
Walking down to the folding doors, which led from the drawing-room to
the dining room, he opened them and found Joshua busy polishing the
mahogany table.

"Is there a branch telephone in the house?" he asked, "besides the one
in the library? Mrs. Winthrop is in there and I don't want to disturb
her."

"Suttenly, suh; dar's one right in de pantry, suh," and Joshua,
dropping his work, piloted him to the instrument.

It took him but a few minutes to get police headquarters on the wire,
only to find that Brett was out. Whistling softly, he hung up the
receiver and went back into the drawing-room. Eleanor had not appeared,
and he sat down at the inlaid desk, which was supplied with pen, ink,
and paper, and wrote a short note while he waited for her return.

"Where's Eleanor?" asked Thornton, coming into the room and picking up
his hat, which he had left on one of the chairs.

"Here," and his niece, who had entered just behind him, joined them.
"I am sorry to have kept you so long, Mr. Hunter, but I found Annette
had gone out on an errand for Cynthia, and I had to do without her
assistance."

"You were very successful." Thornton made her a courtly bow, as he
gazed at his beautiful niece. Her fashionable light-gray suit and smart
hat were extremely becoming. Eleanor colored faintly as she read the
admiration in Douglas' eyes.

"What luck did you have with Mrs. Winthrop, Uncle Dana?" she asked.

"The best. She said she thought it an excellent plan. So I shall expect
you both this afternoon, Eleanor, and you had better stop and pick up
your Cousin Kate Truxton on your way out."

"Very well, I will; but, Uncle Dana, we won't get over to you until
just before dinner."

"That will do." The two men followed Eleanor out into the square hall.
"Don't forget, Douglas, that I expect you, too."

"That's very good of you, sir," Douglas hesitated, "but don't you think
I might be in the way in a family party?"

"A family party is exactly what I wish to avoid," exclaimed Thornton.
"Cynthia needs to be taken out of herself. And, therefore, I want you
to spend Sunday with us, as if it were a regular house party."

"Then I'll come with pleasure." Douglas helped Eleanor into the low
seat of the motor, and clambered in behind the wheel. "I'm awfully
sorry there isn't a third seat, Colonel, and that I can't take you
where you wish to go."

"I left my car down by the curb; thanks all the same, Douglas," and
Thornton waved a friendly good-bye to Eleanor as the motor started
slowly down the driveway.

"If you have no objection, I will stop at the Municipal Building for a
moment, Miss Thornton," said Douglas, turning the car into Thirteenth
Street.

"I don't mind in the least. What a magnificent motor!"

"Isn't it?" with enthusiasm, as he steered safely between another
machine and a delivery wagon. "My chief in Tokio has one just like
this, and I learned to run his car."

As they crossed K Street he put on the emergency brakes hard and the
motor stopped just in time, as a touring car shot in front of them and
disappeared down the street. When the car was again under way, Douglas
turned to the silent girl by his side.

"That was the Japanese Ambassador, was it not?"

"Yes."

"He seemed to be in the devil of a hurry; it was a near smash."

"A little too near for comfort." Eleanor drew a long breath. "I noticed
some luggage in his car--oh, take care!" as the motor skidded toward
the gutter.

"I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to frighten you," said Douglas, as
he applied the brake going down Thirteenth Street hill to Pennsylvania
Avenue. "That chap got on my nerves; I don't care if he is an
ambassador, and exempt from arrest, he has no business to be breaking
our rules and regulations."

"Come, now, didn't you break some rules when in Japan?" asked Eleanor,
her lovely face dimpling into a smile. Douglas started slightly, but
she apparently did not notice his discomfiture. "Judging from the
luggage in the car, and the rate at which they were going, I imagine
the Ambassador was trying to catch a train."

"It does look that way." Douglas brought the car to a standstill before
one of the entrances to the Municipal Building. "I won't be a minute,
Miss Thornton."

"Don't hurry on my account," called Eleanor after him.

Brett was still out, so Douglas gave the note he had written when
waiting for Eleanor at the Carews' to the attendant, first adding a
postscript and enclosing it in a large envelope, with instructions that
it was to be delivered to the detective immediately on his return.
Then, with a lighter heart, he hastened out of the building and
rejoined Eleanor.

"Where do you wish to go, Miss Thornton?" he asked, as they started
slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue.

Eleanor considered a moment before answering. "Suppose we go out the
Conduit Road," she said finally.

Douglas swung the machine across the broad avenue and through the short
street behind the Treasury Department into the drive which circles
around the White House grounds. "It's some years since I've been out in
this direction, Miss Thornton, so, if I go astray, please put me back
on the straight and narrow path."

"Straight out Pennsylvania Avenue and through Georgetown," directed
Eleanor, as the big car swung back again into that avenue. "The narrow
path only comes after you reach the Conduit."

"Then it should be spelled 'Conduct.' You have been going out a great
deal this winter, have you not?"

"Yes; Washington has been extremely gay, and I have enjoyed it so much."

Douglas smiled down at her. "And I bet a thousand to one that
Washington enjoyed you. I asked about your going out, because I am
wondering if, among all the men you've met this winter, you have come
across a middle-aged man with black hair and beard and very blue eyes?"

Not receiving a reply, Douglas turned and scanned his companion. She
sat silent, gazing straight before her. The car sped on for several
squares before she roused herself.

"That is a very vague description, Mr. Hunter. Do you remember the
man's name?"

Douglas shook his head. "I have never heard it. I only asked because I
was under the impression that I saw him with you at the Navy Department
on Thursday morning."

"_With me--at the Navy Department_," gasped Eleanor, sitting bolt
upright. She was white to the lips.

"Yes, I thought I saw him talking to you in an elevator. I just caught
a glimpse of you as the cage descended past the floor on which I was."

"You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Hunter." Eleanor's eyes did not waver
before his questioning look. "I was alone, though I do recollect there
was another passenger in the elevator who got out on the first floor,
while I continued on down to the basement."

"Then I was mistaken." Douglas slowed the car down to the limit
prescribed by law as he crossed the M Street bridge over Rock Creek,
then increased the speed as they progressed through Georgetown.

"You have aroused my curiosity." Eleanor settled herself more
comfortably in the low seat. "Why do you take an interest in a man with
blue eyes and black hair?"

"Because I thought he was with you."

"Upon my word!" Eleanor's laugh held a shade of annoyance. "That's a
very silly reason."

"I don't think it is," replied Douglas, steadily. "I _am interested_ in
everything that concerns you."

Eleanor surveyed him keenly. She studied the fine profile, the broad
shoulders, and the powerful hands holding the steering wheel. The quiet
figure seemed instinct with the vital personality of the man, a living
part of the pulsing machine which he was guiding through the narrow,
congested street with such skill. They crossed Thirty-seventh Street,
and in a few minutes the car leaped ahead up the hill leading to the
Conduit.

Eleanor said nothing, and Douglas was equally silent. They had the
narrow road to themselves, and he increased the speed. The wheels
raced like velvet on the finished macadam. On they sped. Soon Eleanor
caught a glimpse of the Potomac below them, and the bright sunlight
sparkled on the water and on the green foliage of the wooded banks of
the Maryland and Virginia shores. They passed the Three Sisters, then
the reservoirs, and Douglas saw a straight stretch of road ahead and
no vehicle in sight. The next moment the powerful machine, gathering
speed, shot down the road, which seemed a narrowing white strip as the
revolving wheels devoured the distance.

Douglas turned his eyes a moment from the flying landscape to Eleanor,
who sat, tense, fearless, her pulses leaping as the rushing wind stung
her cheeks. She caught his look. "Faster, faster," she called. And
obediently Douglas threw wide open the throttle. On, on they flew. A
wild exhilaration engulfed Eleanor; her spirit seemed to soar, detached
from things earthly. She cast a glance of resentment at Douglas who,
seeing the road curved in the distance, slackened speed. By the time
the big car reached the turning, he had brought it to a standstill near
the side of the road.

Eleanor drew a long breath. "Oh, why did you stop?" Her eyes shone like
stars. "It was glorious."

"I stopped"--Douglas turned squarely in his seat, and faced
Eleanor--"because I want to ask you to confide in me."

"To do _what_?" Eleanor's deep blue eyes opened to their widest extent.

"To tell me"--Douglas hesitated over his choice of words--"your mission
in life."

Eye to eye they gazed at each other. Eleanor was the first to speak.

"I am at a loss to understand your singular request," she said,
freezingly.

"Miss Thornton, do me the justice to think that I am not asking from
idle curiosity--it is because I have your welfare so deeply at heart."

"If I did not know you to be a sane person, I would think you had
suddenly lost your mind. As you take the matter so seriously, I must
repeat that I am _concerned in nothing_."

Douglas held her gaze, as if in the limpid depths of her blue eyes he
would fathom the secret of her soul. Eleanor's breath came and went,
she colored painfully, but her eyes never dropped before his. Nearer he
bent and nearer. The virile strength of the man drew her, and his arms
closed about her slender waist.

"Eleanor, I love you." The very repression of his tone added to its
intensity.

Fearlessly she raised her lips to his--in surrender.

Some time later Douglas backed the car a yard or two, then turned it
toward Washington, but their return trip was made with due attention to
the speed law.

"Will you please tell me--Douglas"--she hesitated adorably over his
name--"Indeed, you must not kiss me again"--drawing back as far as the
seat would permit. "Why did you avoid me in Paris?"

A shadow passed over Douglas' radiant face, and was gone before Eleanor
observed it.

"I suppose you would call it false pride," he said. "I had no
money--you had much--and so I worshiped from a distance. Now that my
inheritance has made me well-to-do, I felt that I had a right to ask
you to marry me. In Paris I thought you would take me for a fortune
hunter."

"Which only goes to show what fools men are," exclaimed Eleanor
roguishly. "Bend down nearer me"--she placed her mouth close to his
ear. "You could have had me for the asking then, dear heart"--his left
arm stole about her--"for I know a man when I see one."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Not a word, remember."

"Madame has my promise." Annette tucked the small roll of bills inside
the bosom of her gown, as Mrs. Winthrop replaced her pocketbook in her
leather handbag.

"Where is Miss Eleanor?"

"Joshua tells me that in my absence Mademoiselle left ze house to motor
wiz Monsieur Hunter."

"If she asks for me on her return tell her that I will be back in time
to lunch with her and Miss Cynthia."

"_Oui, madame._" Annette assisted Mrs. Winthrop into her coat, then
left the bedroom. From a safe distance down the hall she watched Mrs.
Winthrop descend the staircase, and waited until she heard Joshua close
the front door after her and retreat into his own domain. She then
slipped noiselessly down the hall and into Mrs. Winthrop's bedroom.
Half an hour passed before she again appeared, wearing a satisfied
smile. The hall was empty. "I have seen what I have seen," she muttered
under her breath exultingly, as she proceeded downstairs. "And I think
I will haf more monie by to-morrow. _Mon Dieu!_"

The peal of the front bell had startled her from her reverie. As Joshua
did not appear to answer it, she crossed the square hall and opened the
door. A tall man, wearing nondescript clothes, confronted her in the
vestibule.

"Miss Thornton, is she in?" he questioned. The contrast of his deep
blue eyes against his tanned skin and black beard held her attention.
Receiving no reply, he repeated his question with emphasis.

"_Non_, Mademoiselle is out in ze motor," she answered, none too
civilly.

Without a word he turned on his heel and hastened down the steps.
Annette stared up the street after him; then closed the door softly,
her pretty forehead puckered in a frown. Where had she seen those eyes
before?




CHAPTER XV

"THORNTON'S NEST"


Douglas, suitcase in hand, ran across Seventeenth Street in time to
catch a Georgetown car. As he paid the conductor he heard his name
called and, glancing down the half empty car, saw Captain Chisholm
seated at the farther end and beckoning to him. He made his way down
the center aisle and joined the Englishman.

"Can you dine with me, Douglas?" asked Chisholm, making room for him on
the narrow seat.

"Ask me some other time, old man, I am dining with Colonel Thornton
to-night."

"Then suppose we make it Monday night at the Metropolitan Club?"

"Thanks, I will. At what hour?"

"Eight o'clock. I was sorry to miss you when you called this afternoon,
Douglas."

"How did you know I had been to see you, Chisholm?" in surprise. "The
telephone girl told me you were out."

"I stopped for a moment at the Rochambeau and found your card in my
letter box. I am on my way to the embassy now. Washington seems to
agree with you, Douglas," eying his companion with interest. "I never
saw you looking better."

"Happiness is a great health restorer," laughed Douglas.

"Happiness?" Chisholm tugged at his fair mustache. "Hum!" he looked
carefully around. They had that end of the car to themselves. "Heard
the news?"

"What news?"

"About the Japanese Ambassador?"

"No."

"He has been recalled."

"For what reason?"

"Not given out," shortly. "He called at the White House and State
Department, presented his papers and left this morning." Chisholm
looked Douglas squarely in the face. "Can't give a poor blasted
Englishman a point on the situation, I suppose?"

Douglas smiled with his lips, but his eyes were grave. "I would if I
could--but I can't. The Ambassador's sudden departure is as great a
surprise to me as to you."

Chisholm leaned forward and touched the electric button as the car
approached N Street. "I'll look you up to-morrow, Douglas. Ta-ta, old
chap," and he hurried out of the car.

Douglas settled back on his seat and pondered over the information
Chisholm had given him. What did the Ambassador's abrupt departure
portend? Was it but another of those puzzling coincidences which
seemed to follow in the wake of Senator Carew's murder, or was it the
culmination of an intrigue which would end in war?

The spring day was drawing to a close as Douglas left the car in
Georgetown and walked toward "Thornton's Nest." The old place had
not altered since he had seen it last, twelve years before, even
the beautiful old garden appeared as usual, the same box hedge, the
envy of the neighboring landowners, separated the sidewalk from the
well-kept private grounds. The large, old-fashioned mansion stood back
some distance in its own grounds. The bricks had been brought from
Philadelphia by sloop, and the fanlight over the front door had been
imported from England in the days prior to the Revolutionary War. The
huge columns supporting the arched roof shone white in the gathering
darkness. Douglas turned in at the gate and ran lightly up the few
stone steps leading to the portico and rang the bell. He had hardly
removed his hand from the button when the hall door was opened and an
old darky confronted him on the threshold.

"Cum right in, Marse Douglas, I'se mighty glad ter see yo' ag'in, suh."

"Nicodemus, is that you?" shaking the old man's hand. "I haven't seen
you since you chased me off the grounds for stealing apples. How's
Sophy?"

"Only tol'able, thank ye, suh; she's got a misery in her back. Want ter
go to yo' room, suh?"

"No; I'll just leave my hat and overcoat here."

"Yessir; let me take yo' bag, suh; I'll tote it upstairs. My!" as
Douglas stepped forward so that the hall light fell full on him, "how
yo' do favor yo' pa, the ole Cunnel."

Douglas laughed. "Thanks. Have the ladies come yet?"

"Yessir. Dey's upstairs makin' demselves comfo'able. Cunnel Thornton
will be down direckly. Yo' jes' walk inter de pawlar."

Douglas strolled over to the large hall mirror and inspected his tie
with care; he had been in a hurry when getting into his evening clothes
at the Albany, and the tie had proved troublesome. He readjusted it
with care, felt in his vest pocket for a small box, then turned and
surveyed his surroundings. A coach and four might have driven through
the broad hall which ran the length of the house. At the end of the
hall two broad circular staircases led to a wide landing, from which
branched the two flights of steps leading to the first bedroom floor.
Doors leading to the drawing-room, library, billiard, and dining rooms
opened on the right and left of the hall.

Remembering that the drawing-room was to the left of the entrance,
Douglas entered the open hall door and walked over to the mantelpiece
to see the time by the tall marble clock.

"Aren't you going to speak to _me_?" asked a voice behind him, and
Douglas sprang around with an exclamation of delight. Eleanor was
seated on a chair by one of the windows, and its high back, which was
partly turned to the hall door, had concealed her from view.

"My darling!" Douglas kissed the winsome face rapturously. "Nicodemus
told me you had arrived, but that you were upstairs, otherwise I should
have come in at once; I begrudge the time I wasted in the hall."

"I hurried and came down ahead of the others, hoping that you would get
here early; I particularly wanted to see you, Douglas."

"Did you?" in mock surprise. "I've been wanting to see you ever since I
left you this morning. The time has dragged since then."

She slipped her hand in his. "It's just this, Douglas," her softly
modulated voice had a trace of nervousness: "I want to ask you to keep
our engagement a secret"--his face fell--"just a few days," hastily. "I
want to get accustomed to it before telling the family"--she blushed
divinely. "It's such a precious secret."

Douglas took her face between his hands and pressed a passionate
kiss on her lips. "Your wish is my law," he said gravely. "I was
disappointed for the moment, because I am anxious to have the whole
world know my happiness. I brought you this"--pulling a small square
box from his vest pocket and laying it in her outstretched hand.

With a low cry of pleasure she pulled off the wrapping paper and opened
the box. The light from the lamp on the table near her chair was
reflected back from a superb ruby in a diamond setting. The box slipped
from her nervous fingers and rolled on the floor.

"Oh, get it quick, Douglas, I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

Douglas reached under the table, where the box had rolled, and picked
it up. "It's all right, my dearest; don't look so worried; the ring
isn't injured, for it is still in the box, see----" he held it before
her eyes. "Give me your left hand, dear;" Eleanor shrank slightly
away from him, but Douglas was intent in removing the ring from the
box and did not notice her agitation. "It is very becoming to your
hand," slipping it on the third finger, "the deep crimson shows off the
whiteness of your skin."

"It's just lovely." Eleanor drew a long breath, then raised her head
and kissed him tenderly. "Thanks, dear heart, for so beautiful a
present. But I am afraid if I wear it to-night our engagement will be a
secret no longer."

"That's true!" exclaimed Douglas, his voice betraying his
disappointment. "Put it back in the box"--holding it out to her.

"I'll do no such thing"--indignantly. "Take it off, Douglas, and give
it to me"; he did so, and she slipped the ring inside the bodice of her
low-cut evening gown. "Tell me, dearest, how did you happen to select a
ruby?"

"It's my birthstone"--Douglas colored--"I hope you won't think me
horribly sentimental."

"I shall not tell you what I think--it might turn your head. Hush! here
comes Uncle Dana."

Thornton strode into the room with outstretched hand. "Welcome to 'The
Nest,' Douglas; I am sorry I wasn't downstairs when you came. I hope
Eleanor has been doing the honors acceptably."

"She has, indeed, and proved a host in herself," laughed Douglas.

"Good; though it's a mystery how she got down ahead of the others."

"I was selfish enough to keep Annette to myself until I was fully
dressed," said Eleanor, "then I sent her to Cousin Kate."

"So you brought Annette with you?" asked Thornton.

"Yes, indeed. I had no intention of inflicting your bachelor household
with three women and no handmaiden. I knew Sophy would have her hands
full cooking dinner, therefore I brought Annette along." Her restless
eyes detected a figure hovering just outside the hall door. "Come in,
Cynthia," and she went forward to meet her friend.

The two beautiful girls made a picture good to look upon as they stood
together. Cynthia wore a simple frock, which matched her cheeks in
whiteness; while the pathetic droop of her mouth and the dark shadows
under her eyes did not detract from her charm, she looked wretchedly
ill. She shook hands with Douglas, when he was presented to her, with
polite indifference, then seated herself in a chair and leaned back
wearily. Douglas and Thornton exchanged glances, and the latter shook
his head sadly. He was about to speak when Mrs. Truxton bustled into
the room.

"I am sorry to keep everybody waiting," she exclaimed, as Douglas
pulled forward a chair for her. "But, if you will have dinner at such a
ridiculously early hour, Dana, you must expect your guests to be late."

"You are not late, Kate, for dinner has not yet been announced. I had
it earlier than usual as I thought we would retire soon afterwards and
get a good night's rest."

Cynthia shuddered involuntarily, and Eleanor, whose hand rested on her
shoulder, patted it affectionately. "It's all very well for you older
people to keep early hours, Uncle Dana, but Cynthia and I are going to
do just as we please. Personally, I expect to stay up until the wee
sma' hours."

"Dinner am served," announced Nicodemus, opening the folding doors
leading to the dining room, and, with an old-fashioned courtly bow,
Colonel Thornton offered his arm to Mrs. Truxton and escorted her to
the table, the two girls and Douglas following in their wake.

The dinner passed quickly. Thornton was an agreeable talker, and
Douglas, who had traveled in many lands, seconded his efforts by
recounting many amusing experiences which had befallen him. Cynthia's
pale cheeks assumed a more natural hue as the two skilful talkers
drew her out of herself, and Thornton sat back, well pleased, when he
finally succeeded in making her laugh.

"Washington isn't what it used to be," he declared. "As trite a
statement as it is true. Its very bigness has spoiled it socially.
There are cliques within cliques, and too many foreign elements
dominate it nowadays."

"Do you refer to the Diplomatic Corps?" asked Douglas, breaking off a
low-toned conversation with Eleanor.

"Not entirely. When I speak of the 'foreign element,' I also mean the
'climbers.'"

"We Georgetown people call them the 'pushers,'" announced Mrs. Truxton,
helping herself to the ice cream which Nicodemus was passing.

"And yet," continued Thornton, "I dare say there were just as amusing
characters in Washington fifty years ago as now."

"How about the woman of whom I have heard," asked Eleanor, "who carried
off the silver meat skewer at the French Legation, as it was then, as a
souvenir, and afterwards proudly used it as a hatpin?"

"Human nature is very much the same from one generation to another,"
acknowledged Mrs. Truxton. "But the types are different. I recollect my
grandmother's telling me that she attended services one Sunday at St.
John's Episcopal Church on Lafayette Square when the rector preached a
fiery sermon against the sin of dueling. Mrs. Alexander Hamilton and
her daughter sat in the pew just in front of my grandmother, and she
said Miss Hamilton bore the tirade for some minutes, then rose, turned
to her mother, and remarked in an audible tone: 'Come, Ma; we'll go.
This is no place for us.'"

"Come, you needn't put it all on Washington," exclaimed Douglas.
"Georgetown has famous blunderers and eccentric characters as well."

"And ghosts," added Mrs. Truxton. "Do not deprive Georgetown of its
chief attraction. Ghosts and Past Glory walk hand and hand through
these old streets."

"Ghosts," echoed Douglas, turning to his host. "Unless my memory is
playing me false, this house used to be thought haunted. It seems to me
I've heard tales of secret passages and mysterious noises."

Thornton laughed outright. "That old legend was caused by flying
squirrels getting in the wall through cracks in the eaves and chimneys.
Sometimes on still nights I can hear them dropping nuts, which make a
great noise as they fall from floor to floor. It's enough to scare a
nervous person into fits."

"You are very disappointing, Uncle Dana," objected Eleanor. "When
Douglas--Mr. Hunter,"--catching herself up, but no one apparently
noticed the slip, and she went on hurriedly--"spoke of spooks I had
hopes of an ancestral ghost."

"I always understood that this house was haunted, Dana," put in Mrs.
Truxton.

"Well, I believe we are supposed to possess a ghost--a very
respectable, retiring one," added Thornton, as Cynthia's eyes, which
were fixed upon him, grew to twice their usual size. "My great-aunt,
Sophronia Thornton, was a maiden lady, a good deal of a Tartar, I
imagine, from the dance she led my Great-grandfather Thornton, who
was an easy-going, peaceable man. She ran the house for him until his
marriage, and then ran his wife, and, according to tradition, she has
run her descendants out of her room ever since."

"Good gracious!" ejaculated Cynthia. "Do tell us all about her."

"There is not so very much to recount." Thornton smiled at her
eagerness. "The story goes, as I heard it first from my grandfather,
that when he attempted to occupy her room, the southwest chamber, he
was driven out."

"How?"

"He was very fond of reading in bed. As I said before, my great-aunt
was very rigid and did not approve of late hours, which was one rock
she and her brother split on. My grandfather, not having the lighting
facilities of the present day, used to read in bed by placing a lighted
candlestick on his chest, holding his book behind the candle so that
its light fell full on the printed page. At eleven o'clock every night
he would feel a slight puff of air and the candle would go out. He
tried everything to stop it. He stuffed every crack and cranny through
which a draft might be supposed to come, but it was of no use; his
light was always extinguished at eleven o'clock."

"Do you believe it?" asked Cynthia.

Thornton shrugged his shoulders. "I can only give you my own
experience. I occupied the room once, when home on a college vacation.
The house was filled with visitors, and I was put in the southwest
chamber. Everything went on very smoothly until one night I decided
to cram for an examination, and took my books to my room. I had an
ordinary oil lamp on the table by my bed, and so commenced reading.
After I had been reading about an hour the lamp went out suddenly. I
struck a match and relit it; again it was extinguished. We kept that up
most of the night; then I gathered my belongings and spent the rest of
the time before breakfast on the sofa in the library, where I was not
disturbed by the whims of the ghost of my spinster great-aunt."

"'There are more things in Heaven and earth,'" quoted Eleanor, as she
rose in obedience to a signal from Mrs. Truxton. "Where shall we go,
Uncle Dana?" as they strolled out into the hall.

"Into the library. Nicodemus will serve coffee there, and, if you
ladies have no objection, Douglas and I will smoke there also."

"Why, certainly," exclaimed Mrs. Truxton, picking out a comfortable
chair and signaling Douglas to take the one next hers, and without more
ado she plunged into questions relating to his family history. He cast
longing glances at Eleanor, but she refused to take the hint conveyed,
and, to his secret annoyance, walked out of the room shortly after.

Cynthia was having an animated conversation with Colonel Thornton and
sipping her coffee when, happening to look in the direction of the
hall door, she saw Eleanor standing there, beckoning to her. Making a
hurried excuse to the Colonel, she joined Eleanor in the hall, who,
without a word, slipped her arm about her waist and led her into the
drawing-room.

"What is----?" The words died in her throat as she caught sight of
a tall, soldierly figure standing under the chandelier. Eleanor
discreetly vanished, closing the hall door softly behind her as she
went.

"You!" Cynthia shrank back against the wall as Lane stepped forward.

"Cynthia, darling!" He held out his arms pleadingly, but with a moan
she turned her face from him. His eyes flashed with indignation.
"Cynthia, you have no right to condemn me unheard. I am innocent." He
approached her and gently took her hand in his.

Her eyes were closed, and a few tears forced themselves under the lids,
the scalding teardrops that come when the fountain is dry and only
bitter grief forces such expression of sorrow.

"Dear one, look at me. I am not guilty. I have forced myself upon you
because I want you to understand"--he spoke slowly, as if reasoning
with a child--"that I am absolutely innocent...."

"Not in thought!" burst in Cynthia.

"Perhaps not,"--steadily,--"but in deed. I spoke in anger. Your uncle
had insulted me grossly when I met him just before going to Mrs. Owen's
dance, and in my indignation I uttered a wish which would have been
better left unsaid. But listen to reason, dear; to think evil is not a
crime."

Cynthia threw back her head and gazed at him wildly. "Oh, I would so
gladly, gladly believe you innocent!" She placed her small, trembling
hands on his breast. "It hurts horribly--because I love you so."

Lane caught her in a close embrace. "My darling--my dear, dear one----"
His voice choked.

Cynthia lay passive in his arms. Suddenly she raised her white face and
kissed him passionately, then thrust him from her. "Oh, God! why did
you take that sharp letter file with you?"

"I didn't!" The words were positive, but his looks belied them.

"She says you did--she declares that when she met you looking for the
carriage you held it in your hand----" The words seemed forced from
Cynthia. She placed a hand on the chair nearest her as she swayed
slightly.

"She! Who?" The question was almost a roar.

"Annette."




CHAPTER XVI

A CRY IN THE NIGHT


Eleanor tiptoed over to the bed. At last Cynthia had dropped asleep.
It seemed hours since Lane's call for help had taken her into the
drawing-room, where she found Cynthia stretched upon the floor and the
young officer bending frantically over her. Dr. Marsh, who fortunately
resided next door but one, had been sent for, and, on his arrival in
hot haste, Cynthia had been revived and carried to her room. Cynthia
had shown a sudden aversion to having Annette about, so Eleanor had
sent the maid to bed, and since ten o'clock had been sitting with
Cynthia, trying to quiet her.

Eleanor glanced about the room. There was nothing more she could do,
and, stretching herself wearily, she arranged the night light so that
it would not shine in Cynthia's eyes, and placed an old-fashioned
brass bell on the small table by the bed, so that if Cynthia needed
assistance she could ring for aid. Then, moving softly for fear of
waking the sleeper, she stole across the room, turned out the gas, and,
stepping into the hall, closed the door gently after her.

Some time later she was busy undressing in her own room when a faint
knock disturbed her. On opening the door she found Mrs. Truxton
standing in the hall with a quilted wrapper drawn tight around her
portly figure.

"I thought you hadn't gone to bed," she remarked in a sibilant whisper
which was more penetrating than an ordinary low-pitched voice. "I just
could not go to bed"--selecting a large oak rocker--"until I had some
explanation of this extraordinary affair. Will you please inform me
what made that poor girl faint in the drawing-room?"

"She is in a very nervous, excitable condition, Cousin Kate, which
reacts on her heart action." Eleanor glanced despairingly at Mrs.
Truxton. She knew the latter was an inveterate, though kindly, gossip.
Apparently she had come to stay for some time, as she sat rocking
gently to and fro, her curl papers making a formidable halo around her
soft gray hair.

"Heart action?" echoed Mrs. Truxton. "That's as it may be. What was
Captain Lane doing here?"

Eleanor started violently. She particularly wanted to keep the fact
that Cynthia and Lane had been together a secret. She had watched
for his arrival, and had let him in before he had an opportunity to
ring the front door bell, and had shown him at once into the deserted
drawing-room. During their interview she had mounted guard in the hall.
Hearing Lane's call for assistance, she had opened the drawing-room
door, and, before summoning her uncle and the servants, had advised
Lane to leave the house. She supposed he had followed her advice.

"Where in the world did you see him?" she asked.

"So he was here!" Mrs. Truxton smiled delightedly, while Eleanor
flushed with vexation as she realized she had given herself away
unnecessarily. "Your uncle and Douglas were discussing politics, and I
slipped away to remind Nicodemus to put some sandwiches in my room, as
I always want a late supper, particularly after so early a dinner. When
I walked through the billiard room on my way to the library I happened
to glance through the door leading into the hall, and was surprised to
see a man standing by the hatrack. As he raised his head I thought I
recognized Fred Lane--I wasn't quite sure, though, but before I could
call his name he had vanished."

"I see." Eleanor came to a quick resolution. "You have probably heard,
Cousin Kate," sitting down on the edge of her bed nearest the older
woman, "that Fred Lane is very much in love with Cynthia." Mrs. Truxton
nodded her head vigorously. "Eventually, after he had paid her a great
deal of attention, they became engaged. Unfortunately"--Eleanor was
feeling her way with care--"unfortunately they had a lover's quarrel.
Cynthia refused to see Fred, and he finally came to me and asked me
to arrange an interview, saying that he felt convinced, if given the
opportunity, he could straighten out their misunderstanding."

Mrs. Truxton pondered some moments in silence. "Did this lover's
quarrel take place _before_ Senator Carew's death?" she asked.

"Yes." Eleanor's blue eyes did not waver before Mrs. Truxton's piercing
look. "Why?"

"I was just thinking that, if Senator Carew had known of an engagement
between a member of his family and a Lane, he'd have died of
apoplexy--instead of having to be stabbed to death."

"What was the exact trouble between Senator Carew and Governor Lane,
Cousin Kate?" asked Eleanor. "I never have heard."

"It began years ago." Mrs. Truxton hitched her chair close to the bed.
"Governor Lane was an intimate friend of Philip Winthrop, Sr., and,
after the latter's marriage to Charlotte Carew, came frequently to
Washington to visit them. To my thinking, Philip Winthrop was a bad
egg, specious and handsome; and he took in the Carews completely, as
well as Governor Lane. He was a stock broker in Wall Street, and during
a panic was ruined financially. He promptly committed suicide."

"Oh, poor Mrs. Winthrop!" exclaimed Eleanor warmly. "What hasn't she
been through!"

"Well, losing her rascal of a husband was the least one of her
troubles," said Mrs. Truxton dryly. "Philip Winthrop's failure was not
an honorable one; there was talk of criminal proceedings, but all that
was put a stop to by Senator Carew stepping forward and paying his
creditors." She paused for breath.

"I don't see what Governor Lane has to do with it," objected Eleanor,
glancing meaningly at the clock, which was just striking one o'clock.
She stifled a yawn.

"I am coming to that," explained Mrs. Truxton. "Philip Winthrop
appealed to Governor Lane, among other of his old friends, to loan him
money to tide over the financial crisis, and the Governor trusted him
to the extent of ten thousand dollars."

"That was exceedingly generous of him."

"Yes, and I reckon he repented of his generosity many times." Mrs.
Truxton spoke with emphasis. "He loaned it to Winthrop without taking
security and without knowing that the latter was on the point of
absolute failure. And this is where the row comes in. Lane went to
Carew and told him of the transaction, showed him the canceled check,
and the latter, on finding that Lane had no promissory note or other
security, declined to pay off the indebtedness."

"I see." Eleanor was paying full attention to the older woman.

"Lane was naturally incensed, for Carew had assumed all the other
obligations, and he felt that his was a prior claim, being a debt of
honor between friends. Carew didn't see it that way, and it led to a
bitter quarrel. The ill feeling between the two men was intensified on
Governor Lane's part because he met with financial reverses later, and
the old Maryland homestead, which might have been saved by the return
of the ten thousand dollars, was sold under the hammer."

"This is all news to me. I was only told they were political enemies."

"They were. Lane vowed to get even in every way in his power, and
so entered politics. He was a man of great force of character and
intellectual ability--although lacking in business sense," she
interpolated, "and a born orator. And when he found, after holding
several important state positions, that Senator Carew was going to run
for governor of Maryland, he entered the field against him, and Carew
was beaten by a few votes only."

"When did this happen?"

"Oh, back in the early nineties. The quarrel was most acrimonious,
particularly on Carew's side. He must have realized that he had not
acted fairly to his old friend. As long as he had assumed Winthrop's
debts it seemed only right that he should return the money owing to
Lane. Public opinion was with the latter."

"Perhaps at that time he may not have had the ten thousand," suggested
Eleanor. "I have always heard and believed the Senator an honorable
man; and certainly it was good of him to shoulder any of his
brother-in-law's debts."

"He only did it to protect his sister, who was left penniless, and
quiet scandal."

"Mrs. Winthrop penniless! Why, how comes it, Cousin Kate, that she
lives as she does."

"Senator Carew gave her a large allowance. He always said that Cynthia
should inherit his fortune."

"I never knew until the other day that Philip Winthrop was not Mrs.
Winthrop's son."

"She adopted him legally, I believe, at the time of her husband's
death, and persuaded her brother, the Senator, to have him brought
up as one of the family. Philip Winthrop's first wife was a South
American, I am told. I never saw her, as she died before he came to
Washington. Mercy on us!" glancing at the clock, "I had no idea it
was so late." She rose and started for the door. "How did you leave
Cynthia?"

"Sound asleep, thank Heaven!"

"Did she and Fred Lane patch up their quarrel?"

"I am afraid not." Eleanor kissed her cousin a warm good night, and
watched her cross the wide hall to her bedroom, then closed and locked
her own door and hastened to complete her undressing.

About three in the morning Cynthia awoke and lay for a few minutes,
bewildered by her surroundings. Then recollection returned to her with
a rush, and she sank back among her pillows with a half-strangled
sob. Slowly she reviewed her interview with Fred, trying to find some
solace; but she could discover none, and with a moan turned on her side
and buried her face in the pillow. Their romance had promised so much,
but, instead, her happiness had been nipped in the bud.

She raised her hot face and glanced about, looking for a glass of
water, for she was parched with thirst. Eleanor had forgotten,
apparently, to place any drinking water in the room. Cynthia sat up
and gazed eagerly around by the aid of the night light, but she could
discover no glass on either the chiffonier or bureau. She was on the
point of lying down again when she remembered having seen a pitcher of
ice water on a table near the head of the stairs. She started to ring
the brass bell, but decided it would be cruel to call Eleanor, who had
been up with her most of the night.

She pondered a moment, but she was growing more thirsty, and, after a
few minutes of indecision, she climbed out of the huge four-poster and,
slipping on a wrapper and bedroom slippers, stole out of her room and
down the hall in the direction of the stairs.

So intent was Cynthia in reaching her goal that she never noticed a
figure crouching on the landing of the stairs, who drew back fearfully
into the shadows at her approach. She found the ice pitcher on the
table with several glasses. Filling one of them, she took a long drink
of the ice-cold water, then, feeling much refreshed, she refilled the
glass, intending to take it with her to her room. She paused again and
looked about her with interest, for the hall was illuminated by the
moonlight which streamed through the diamond-shaped panes of a window
at one end of a wing of the house. The figure below her on the stair
landing peered at her intently, poised for instant flight to the darker
regions below in case she started to descend the stairs.

Cynthia was about to return to her room when her roving eyes fell on a
closed door leading to a room in the wing. The moonlight was beating
upon it. For one long second Cynthia stood transfixed; then she uttered
a cry which roused the sleeping household--a cry of such terror that it
froze the blood in the listeners' veins.

The figure on the landing stood glued to the spot until recalled
to action by the hurried opening of doors; then, with incredible
swiftness, it vanished, as Eleanor, her hastily donned wrapper
streaming in the wind, rushed to Cynthia's side.

"Good God! Cynthia! What is it?" she gasped, throwing her arms about
her friend.

Cynthia caught her wrist in a grip which made her wince. "Look!" she
cried. "Look!" pointing toward the door at the end of the wing. "My
dream! See, the panels are in the shape of a cross!"

Eleanor cast a startled glance in the direction indicated. It was true.
The panels stood out in bold relief in the brilliant moonlight, and
they formed an unmistakable cross.

"Yes, yes, dear," she said soothingly. "It simply shows that your dream
was founded on fact. Come to bed."

"No, no!" Cynthia was trembling violently, but she refused to leave the
spot. "You forget that in my dream the door is always locked."

"In this case it is not," exclaimed Colonel Thornton, who, with
Douglas, had rushed into the hall as soon as they had struggled into
some clothes. Mrs. Truxton brought up the rear, her curl papers
standing upright and her eyes almost popping from her head. "It's
simply used as a storeroom," he added. "Don't be so worried, Cynthia,"
catching sight of her agonized face.

"I tell you it is _not!_" She stamped her foot in her excitement.

For answer Thornton stepped down the short hallway and turned the knob.
To his intense surprise the door did not open.

"Ah!" Her cry was half in triumph, half in agony. "I told you it was
locked. It must be opened--I shall go mad if it is not," and her looks
did not belie her statement.

Douglas joined Thornton as he stood hesitating. "I think it would be
best to humor her," he said in an undertone.

Thornton nodded in agreement. "I can't understand how it got locked,"
he muttered. "How the devil can I get it open? It is English quartered
oak."

"Is there any way of entering the room by a window?" asked Douglas.

"No, it's too high from the ground, and there's nothing but the
bare brick wall to climb up; no tree grows near it," said Thornton
thoughtfully. "And unfortunately I have no ladder long enough to reach
the window."

"Then there's nothing left but to try and force the door." Douglas
braced his powerful shoulders against the panels until his muscles
almost cracked under the strain. "Run against it," he gasped,
perspiration trickling down his face; and Colonel Thornton obediently
threw himself forward as the door gave slightly. "Again!" cried
Douglas, and he threw his own weight on the panel, which yielded a
little. "Once more," and with a rending crash the upper and weaker
panel splintered sufficiently to allow Douglas to slip his hand inside
and turn the key which was in the lock. He also shot back the rusty
bolt with difficulty, and withdrew his hand.

"Get the women back into their rooms," he whispered, his face showing
white in the moonlight. "The room is full of escaping gas."

Thornton gazed blankly at him for a second, then turned to Mrs.
Truxton. "Kate, I insist upon your taking these girls to your room."
She nodded understandingly, and he turned to Cynthia with an air of
command. "Go with Mrs. Truxton, Cynthia. I promise to come instantly
and tell you what we discover in this room."

She nodded dumbly, past speech. The reaction had come, and Mrs. Truxton
and Eleanor led her, unresisting, back to her room and helped her to
bed, where she lay, her eyes pleading to be relieved from her mental
anguish.

Colonel Thornton and Douglas watched them until they disappeared inside
the bedroom, then the latter opened the broken door of the locked room.
An overpowering smell of illuminating gas choked them, and they drew
back, gasping. Douglas stepped over to the hall window and threw up
the sash, letting in the cool air. Then, holding his breath, he rushed
inside the room and, locating the escaping gas jet by the overpowering
odor, he reached up and turned off the cock of the wall bracket.

"It's no use; we'll have to wait and give the gas a chance to
evaporate," he said, returning to the Colonel's side. "Are you sure the
room is unoccupied?"

Thornton's eyes were half starting from his head. "Unoccupied?" he
stammered. "It's been unoccupied for half a century. This is the
southwest chamber, which is supposed to be haunted by my great-aunt. A
dog won't sleep there."

Douglas stared at his companion in amazement for some seconds, then,
holding his breath, again bolted into the room. The remaining gas
almost overcame him, but fortunately, catching sight of the outlines
of the windows, he opened first one and then the other, and rejoined
the Colonel, who was hovering in the doorway, as quickly as possible.
Without speaking they waited until the pure night air had swept away
the poisonous gas; then Douglas stepped inside the room, struck a match
and applied it to the chandelier. As the light flared up a horrified
exclamation escaped Thornton.

"Good God! Look!"

Douglas' eyes followed his outstretched arm. Stretched on the high
four-posted bedstead was the body of a woman, lying on her side, her
face concealed by the masses of dark hair which fell over it. A book
lay by her side, one finger of her left hand caught between the pages.
A drop light, minus shade and chimney, stood on a low table beside the
bed.

Reverently the two men tiptoed to the bedside. Thornton laid a shaking
hand on the drop light. "She must have been reading and fallen asleep,"
he muttered between twitching lips. "She didn't know that the light is
always blown out after eleven o'clock in this room."

Awestruck, Douglas gazed down at the silent figure. No need to feel
pulse or heart; to the most casual observer the woman was dead.

"Who--who--is it?" demanded a quivering voice behind them. Both men
wheeled about to find Eleanor, white-lipped and trembling, standing
there. She had stolen into the room without attracting their attention.

Douglas leaned forward and raised the strands of hair gently from the
cold face.

"_Annette!_" Eleanor's trembling lips could hardly form the whisper;
she swayed backward, and Douglas caught her as she fell.




CHAPTER XVII

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS


"Where's Brett?" asked Thornton, coming hurriedly into the library,
where Douglas was seated at the telephone. The latter hung up the
receiver before answering.

"He will be here directly, Colonel; at present he is with the doctor
and coroner in the southwest chamber. You had better sit down, sir,"
glancing with commiseration at Thornton's haggard face; but the Colonel
continued his nervous pacing to and fro.

"Jove!" he muttered. "This affair has given me a devilish shock." He
paused before a small wall cabinet, and, selecting a key on his ring
bunch, he opened the door and took out a decanter.

"Will you join me?" he asked, placing it on the table with several
tumblers.

"No, thanks, Colonel." Douglas heard the glass click faintly against
the mouth of the decanter as the Colonel poured out a liberal portion,
which he drank neat. He was just replacing the decanter in the wall
cabinet when Brett, followed by the coroner, walked into the room.

"If you have no objection, Colonel Thornton, we will hold an informal
investigation here," said Dr. Penfield, courteously.

"Not at all, sir, not at all," exclaimed Thornton heartily. "I am most
anxious to have this terrible affair cleared up as soon as possible.
Simply state your wishes and they will be carried out to the best of my
ability."

"Thanks." The coroner seated himself at the mahogany table standing
in the center of the room and drew out his notebook and fountain pen,
while Brett established himself on the opposite side.

"Shall I retire?" inquired the Colonel.

"I think it would be best," replied Dr. Penfield gravely. "I prefer
to examine the members of the household separately. No offense is
intended."

"And none is taken." Thornton smiled wearily. "You forget I'm a lawyer,
Doctor, and understand your position. If you wish to see me I will be
in my room."

"All right, Colonel." The coroner consulted his notebook as Thornton
left them, then turned to Douglas. "You were the first to enter the
southwest chamber, were you not?"

"Yes, I broke in a panel of the door with Colonel Thornton's
assistance, and----"

"One moment." Penfield held up his hand. "Was the door locked on the
_inside_?"

"Yes, by an old-fashioned bolt, as well as by lock and key."

"Did the bolt and lock work stiffly?"

"They did."

"In your opinion would a person locking the door and shooting the bolt
into place make enough noise to awaken the sleeper?"

"I think so, yes."

"Did you find the windows of the room also bolted when you entered?"

"No, they were closed, but the bolts, similar to the one on the door,
only smaller, were not fastened."

"I see." Penfield drummed on the table for a moment with his left hand.
"Could anyone have slipped past you and Colonel Thornton when you stood
waiting in the hallway for the gas to evaporate?"

"No, we would have been sure to see them, and, besides, no one could
have remained in that room alive, the escaping gas was overpowering."

"Did the room have no other exit except the one door leading to the
hall?"

"That is all I could discover. I searched the room thoroughly with
Brett." The detective nodded affirmatively. "We could find no trace of
any other entrance or exit."

"Strange!" exclaimed Penfield. "The windows are too great a height from
the ground, and can only be reached by a scaling ladder."

"And beside that," put in Brett, "I've examined the ground under
and near the two windows of that room, and there isn't a trace of a
footstep or ladder anywhere around."

The coroner laid down his pen. "I think that is all just now, Mr.
Hunter. Brett, will you ask Dr. Marsh to step here."

The two men left the room. "I'll wait in the drawing-room, Brett,"
called Douglas, as the detective started upstairs to find the doctor.
In a few minutes Brett reappeared in the library with Dr. Marsh.

"I won't detain you long, doctor," began Penfield. "Be seated. You were
the first to examine the dead woman upstairs; what do you think caused
her death?"

"She was asphyxiated by illuminating gas. Every symptom points to
that. Of course," added the doctor cautiously, "this cannot be proved
absolutely until the autopsy is held."

"I think you are right; my diagnosis coincides with yours," said the
coroner. "Did you discover any evidence of a struggle or marks of
violence about the woman's person?"

"No. Judging from what I found, and I believe nothing had been
disturbed by either Colonel Thornton or Mr. Hunter, I think that the
Frenchwoman was reading in bed, fell asleep, and was overcome by the
gas."

"How long do you think she had been dead before you reached her?"

"Several hours, judging from the condition of the body. She was lying
in such a position that she got the full force of the gas directly in
her face; the room did not have to become filled with the deadly fumes
before she was affected by them."

"I noticed that," exclaimed the coroner, "the drop light stood on a
low stand, so that the gas fixture was on a level with the woman's
head, as the four-poster bed was an unusually high one. I have no
further questions to ask just now, Doctor; an autopsy will be held this
afternoon at the city morgue, where the body will be taken shortly.
Brett, ask Miss Cynthia Carew to come here."

Doctor Marsh stopped on his way to the door. "I have just given Miss
Carew an opiate," he said quickly; "she must not be disturbed at
present."

The coroner's face fell. "That's too bad," he grumbled. "I particularly
wanted to ask what she was doing in the hall at that hour, and what
drew her attention to the closed door."

"As it happens, I can answer those two questions." Marsh returned
to the table. "Before I could quiet Miss Carew she repeated her
experiences a dozen times. It seems that she was thirsty and went into
the hall to get a glass of water, as she recollected seeing an ice
pitcher and tumblers on the hall table near the stairs. She drank some
water, and was returning when she noticed the door in the moonlight,
dropped the glass she was carrying, and screamed."

"I found a broken glass lying in the hall," supplemented Brett.

"What was it about the door that caused her to scream?" asked the
coroner.

"The panels, which are made in the shape of a cross," explained Doctor
Marsh. "It seems that Miss Carew apparently suffers from nightmare
which takes the form of a door with panels of that shape. She declares
it always foretells disaster. When she found such a door confronting
her in the ghostly moonlight it was too much for her nerves and she
screamed."

"What is all this I am told about the southwest chamber being haunted?"

Marsh shrugged his shoulders. "I have resided all my life in Georgetown
and have always heard that a room in this house was supposed to be
haunted. That particular kind of door with the panels forming a cross
is called the 'witches' door,' and was put there in the days just after
the Revolution. It is to ward off evil, so the legend goes."

"Well, it doesn't seem to have fulfilled its mission." The coroner
carefully turned a page in his notebook and made an entry. "I am very
much obliged to you, Doctor," as Marsh prepared to depart. "I wish you
would let me know when Miss Carew is in fit condition to see me."

"I will; good-bye," and the busy physician beat a hasty retreat.

"Suppose you get the butler, Brett," said the coroner when the two men
were alone.

"May I suggest, Dr. Penfield, that you allow Mr. Hunter to be present
when the servants are examined," began Brett. "He is deeply interested
in the murder of Senator Carew, and is assisting me in trying to
unravel that mystery, and I think"--deliberately--"this French maid's
singular death has something to do with the other tragedy."

"Indeed!" The coroner's eyes kindled with fresh interest. "Certainly,
Brett, if you think Mr. Hunter should be present, call him in. I will
be glad of his assistance."

The detective hastened out of the room, to return within a few minutes
with Douglas and Nicodemus. The old darky was gray with fright, and
his eyes had not regained their natural size since being awakened by
the commotion attending the breaking in of the door. He had lain in
his bed, too frightened to get up, until Douglas entered his room and
hauled him out from under the bedclothes and made him go downstairs
and build the fire for the cook, Sophy, who was more composed than her
brother, and busied herself in preparing coffee and an early breakfast
for those who desired it.

"Is there such a thing as a long scaling ladder on the premises?"
inquired the coroner, after he had asked Nicodemus' full name and
length of service.

"No, suh; dey isn't, only a pa'r ob steps so high"--demonstrating with
his hand. "Dat's der onliest one on de place."

"Is any house being built in this neighborhood?"

"No, suh, dar isn't."

"How did you come to put the maid in that room?"

"I didn't put her dar," in quick defence; "she went dar ob her own
accord; 'deed dat's so, Marse Douglas," appealing to him directly. "De
Cunnel, he done tole Sophy an' me ter fix three rooms fo' de ladies,
an' a room fo' yo', suh; he done say nuffin' about de maid, Annette."

"Then you were not expecting her?"

"No, suh. I was 'sprised when Miss Eleanor brunged her. After I haid
shown de ladies ter dey rooms I took Annette up ter de third flo', an'
tole her she could take de front room dar."

"Then how did she come to be occupying the other room?" asked the
coroner quickly.

"It were dis-away, suh; jes' befo' dinnah she cum ter me an' Sophy an'
say she doan like de room in de third flo'----"

"Why not?" broke in Penfield.

"She said it were too far off from her folks, dat she had to be down
whar she could hear dem. I tole her dat de warn't no room down on de
second flo', dat dey was all occupied, an' she says, quick-like, dat
she had jes' been in de room in de wing, an' dat she'd sleep dar."

"Ah, then it was her own suggestion that she should occupy the room,"
exclaimed Brett quickly.

"Yessir. She dun say dat de bed looked comfo'able, an' dat she'd jes'
take de bedclothes offer de bed in de room on de third flo', an' move
her things down inter de odder room. Sophy tole her dat de place were
mighty dusty, 'cause it's been used as a storeroom, but Annette said
she'd 'tend ter dat."

"Did she speak to Colonel Thornton or to Miss Eleanor before moving
into the room?" asked Douglas, thoughtfully.

"No, suh, I don't think she did. I axed her ef she had, an' she said
dat dey was all in de drawin'-room, waitin' fer dinnah, an' dat she
didn't want ter 'sturb 'em, an' dat dey wouldn't care whar she slep'."

"Then _no_ one knew she was occupying that room except you and Sophy?"
asked the puzzled coroner.

"No, suh; 'less she tole dem later. I done warned her dat dat room were
unlucky,"--Nicodemus' eyes rolled in his head,--"an' dat no good would
cum ob her sleepin' dar, an' she jes' larf and larf. An' now she's
daid,"--he shook his woolly head solemnly; "it doan do ter trifle wid
ghosts."

"I won't keep you any longer," said the coroner, after a long pause.
"Send Sophy up here, Nicodemus. By the way, is she any relation of
yours?"

"Yessir, she's ma sister, an' we've bof worked hyar since befo de wah.
I'll send her right up, suh," and he disappeared.

Sophy was not long in coming, and she confirmed all that Nicodemus
had said. She added that the southwest chamber had not been occupied
as a bedchamber for years, although the four-poster was left standing
with its mattresses and pillows in place, after which she was excused.
Colonel Thornton was then sent for by the coroner.

"Your servants say, Colonel, that you did not expect your niece to
bring her French maid, Annette, with her last night," began Penfield.
"Is that so?"

"My niece is at liberty to bring anyone," with emphasis, "to this
house," said Colonel Thornton. "But I must admit that I did not know
until just as dinner was announced that the maid had accompanied her."

"Did you not see them arrive?" asked Brett.

"No, they came earlier than I anticipated, and I was not in the house
when they reached here."

"Did Nicodemus inform you that the maid was here?"

"No; why should he? He knows that this is my niece's second home, and
that she is virtually mistress of the house."

"Then your niece is thoroughly acquainted with this building?" put in
Brett.

"Haven't I just said so,"--impatiently. "Miss Thornton brought her maid
with her because she knows I have but two old servants, enough for my
bachelor needs, but she very naturally considered that my other guests,
Mrs. Truxton and Miss Carew, might desire a maid's services."

"I understand. Were you aware that Annette intended to sleep in the
southwest chamber?" continued Brett.

"I was not. If I had known it I would not have permitted her to occupy
the room."

"Please tell me the exact superstition which hangs about that room,"
said the coroner, after a brief pause.

"It is believed that no light can be burned in that room after eleven
o'clock; after that time it is always extinguished by some mysterious
agency."

"How comes it, then, that you allowed gas pipes to be placed in the
room?"

"I gave the contract to have gas put in the house years ago, at the
same time that I had running water and plumbing installed. The gas
contractor naturally fitted each room with modern appliances. As the
room is never used after dark, I never gave the matter another thought."

"Then why was a drop light fastened to the wall bracket by the side of
the bed?"

"I've been puzzling over that fact myself,"--the Colonel tipped his
chair back on two legs,--"that drop light is one I used to have in my
bedroom. It didn't give very satisfactory light to read by, so several
months ago I purchased another, transferred the chimney and shade to
the new lamp, and sent the other one into the storeroom."

"Then it is highly probable that Annette found it there, and, wishing
to read in bed, attached it to the bracket herself."

"And thereby sealed her own fate," added the Colonel solemnly.

"Do you really think that supernatural means caused her death?" asked
the coroner incredulously.

"It seems to be either that or suicide."

"From what I hear I incline to the latter theory," acknowledged Dr.
Penfield. "I don't take much stock in ghosts or other hallucinations,
Colonel, with all due respect to you, sir. Will you be so kind as to
ask your cousin, Mrs. Truxton, to step here for a few minutes?"

On being summoned by Colonel Thornton, Mrs. Truxton hastened into the
library. Her statements added nothing to what the coroner already knew,
and she was quickly excused and Eleanor Thornton sent for.

Douglas had not seen her since carrying her to her room some hours
before, and he was shocked by her appearance. "My precious darling!" he
murmured in a tone which reached her ear alone as he opened the library
door to admit her. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She shook her head and smiled at him, a smile which hurt him woefully,
for it showed the effort it cost her. Dr. Penfield, struck by her
beauty, which was enhanced by her unnaturally flushed cheeks and the
dark shadows under her large eyes, rose and pulled forward a chair for
her use.

"I won't detain you long, Miss Thornton," he commenced, reseating
himself. "Did you know your maid was sleeping in the southwest
chamber?"

"No, I did not. On the contrary, she told me, when helping me change my
dress for dinner, that she had been put in the room over mine."

"When did you last see your maid?"

"She came to my assistance when Miss Carew fainted, shortly after
dinner. After I had seen Miss Carew revived and put in bed I had
Annette help me out of my evening dress, and then told her to go to
bed, as I would not require her services any longer."

"At what hour was that?"

"Shortly before ten o'clock. I do not recollect the exact time."

"Did she say nothing to you then about having moved down on your floor?"

"Not a word."

"Has your maid had an unfortunate love affair?" inquired the coroner.

"Not to my knowledge."

"Has she been despondent of late?"

"No; she seemed in her usual good spirits."

"Do you know if she had lost money?"

"I never heard her mention such a thing."

"Has she been with you long?"

"About two years."

"And you found her----?"

"Excellent in every way; honest, reliable, and capable."

"Miss Thornton," facing her directly, "have you formed any theory as to
how your maid came to be asphyxiated?"

"I think it was due to an accident. She probably fell asleep, leaving
the gas burning."

"But Mr. Hunter found the two windows closed, no possible draft could
get into the room to blow out the light--nor could any person have
blown it out, for the door, the only way of entrance, was locked
on the inside. How was it possible to have an accident under those
circumstances?"

"Possibly it was suicide, though I cannot bear to think so," Eleanor
spoke with much feeling.

"Miss Thornton,"--Brett rose, walked over to the table, and stood
looking directly down into the lovely face raised so confidingly to
his--"did your maid ever utter any threats against Captain Frederick
Lane in your presence?"

"Never!" Eleanor's eyes opened in surprise.

"Did she ever insinuate that he had something to do with the murder of
Senator Carew?"

"No, never!" But Eleanor's firm voice quivered as she uttered the
denial, and Brett detected it. His eyes lighted with excitement.

"What was Captain Lane doing here last night?"

The question was unexpected, and Eleanor started perceptibly.

"He came to see Miss Carew," she admitted, faintly.

"Did he see your maid?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Did Captain Lane spend the evening with you and Colonel Thornton?"

"Oh, no, he only saw Miss Carew."

"How long was he with Miss Carew?"

"About ten minutes."

"Indeed!" Brett paused and spoke with greater deliberation. "Captain
Lane, who is being shadowed by several of my men, was seen to enter
this house last night between nine and half-past--and, though my men
waited all night, he was never seen to leave it."




CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE NAME OF THE LAW


"Well, and what then?" demanded a curt voice behind the group. The
three men and Eleanor wheeled around and gazed at the young officer in
surprise too deep for words. "Well, what then?" demanded Captain Lane
for the second time.

"How did you get here?" asked Brett, recovering from his surprise.

"Through the door. How did you suppose?" with a flicker of amusement in
his handsome eyes. "The butler told me I would find you here when he
admitted me a few seconds ago." Then his face grew stern. "I entered
in time to overhear your remark,"--turning directly to Brett. "Because
your men did not see me leave the house it doesn't follow that I spent
the night here."

"Then where did you spend it?" asked Brett swiftly.

"With my cousin, General Phillips, at his apartment at the Dupont,"
calmly.

"At what hour did you reach his apartment?"

"About twelve o'clock."

"And where were you between the hours of nine-thirty and twelve?"

"Most of the time walking the streets."

"Alone?"

"Alone." Lane faced them all, head up and shoulders back, and gave no
sign that he was aware of the antagonism which he felt in the tense
atmosphere. The coroner was the next to speak.

"Suppose you take a chair, Captain Lane, and give us a more detailed
account of your actions last night," he suggested, and Lane dragged
forward a chair and seated himself. "When did you leave this house?"

"About half-past ten o'clock." He caught Eleanor's start of surprise,
and added hastily, "I am, as perhaps you already know, engaged to Miss
Carew. During our interview last night she fainted, and I summoned Miss
Thornton, who urged me to go, but I felt that I could not leave the
house until I knew that Miss Carew was better. So, instead of going out
of the front door, I picked up my coat and hat and slipped into the
dining room, which was empty."

"What was your object in going there?"

"I hoped that Miss Thornton would come downstairs again, and I could
then get an opportunity to speak to her."

"Would it not have been better and more straight-forward to have
stepped into the library and informed Colonel Thornton of your presence
in his house?" asked the coroner, dryly.

Lane flushed at his tone. "Possibly it would,"--haughtily,--"but I was
acting on impulse; I was extremely alarmed by Miss Carew's condition
and could think of nothing else."

"What caused Miss Carew's indisposition?" inquired the coroner.

"She is not strong, and overtaxed her strength yesterday."

The coroner did not press the point, to Lane's relief. "Did anyone see
you in the dining room last night?"

"I think not; the room was not lighted, and the table had been already
cleared, so no servant entered the room."

"Did you see Miss Thornton again?"

"No. I had not been waiting long before I saw Colonel Thornton come
down the stairs with a man whom I judged to be a physician. As they
passed the dining room door I heard the doctor tell Colonel Thornton
that Miss Carew had regained consciousness, and would be all right
after a night's rest. A few minutes after that I left the house."

"How?"

"I have dined frequently with Colonel Thornton and know the house
fairly well; so, as I had promised to keep my visit to Miss Carew
a secret, I opened the long French window which gives on the south
veranda, ran down the steps, and walked down the garden path, jumped
the fence between this property and the next, and walked out of their
gate into the street."

Brett said something under his breath that was not complimentary to
his detective force. "May I ask you why you thought such precautions
necessary?" he inquired.

"Because I was perfectly aware that I had been followed over here,"
retorted Lane calmly. "And, as I considered it nobody's business but my
own if I chose to call on Miss Carew, I decided to avoid them."

"And what did you and Annette, Miss Thornton's French maid, discuss
before you left here?" Brett rose to his feet and confronted Lane
squarely as he put the question.

"I did not speak to anyone except Miss Carew and Miss Thornton while in
this house,"--steadily.

"No? Then perhaps you only saw the maid, Annette, when she was
_asleep_?"--with emphasis.

"I don't catch your meaning?" Lane tapped his foot nervously with his
swagger stick.

"Listen to me, Captain Lane,"--Brett dropped back in his chair and
emphasized his remarks by frequent taps on the table with his left
hand. "You can't dodge the issue with fake testimony."

"I am dodging nothing!" Lane's eyes flashed ominously and his voice
deepened, the voice of a born fighter, accustomed to command. "I have
no testimony to fake."

"I suppose you will say next,"--sarcastically,--"that you don't know
the maid, Annette, is dead."

"Dead?" echoed Lane, bounding from his chair.

"Dead--murdered last night."

"Good God!" There was no mistaking Lane's agitation and surprise. Brett
watched him closely; if he was acting, it was a perfect performance.
"How--what killed her?"

"Asphyxiated by illuminating gas,"--briefly,--"when asleep last night."

"This is horrible!" Lane paced the floor in uncontrollable excitement.
"But what," pulling himself up, "what has that unfortunate girl's
death to do with me?"

"What had _you_ to do with the unfortunate girl's death is more to the
point," retorted Brett meaningly, and Lane recoiled.

"By God; I'll not stand such an insinuation!" He made a threatening
step toward Brett, who did not move. "Are you such a fool as to imagine
because I was in this house for a short time last night that I killed a
servant whom I had seen occasionally when she opened the door for me on
my calling at Miss Thornton's residence?"

"I am not a fool, nor am I a believer in miracles." Brett grew cool
as Lane's excitement rose. "I was to have seen Annette this morning
to get sworn testimony which she said would implicate you in Senator
Carew's murder." Lane staggered back, appalled. "Instead, I find her
dead, under mysterious circumstances; you are the only person whom her
death benefits. And you were in this house, unknown to the inmates,
and, by your own admission, no one saw you leave it. It is stretching
the probabilities to suppose her death was a coincidence. You, and
you alone,"--his voice rang out clearly,--"had the motive and the
opportunity to bring about her death."

"I deny it--deny it absolutely!" thundered Lane, his knuckles showing
white, so tightly were his fingers clenched over his swagger stick,
which he raised threateningly.

"Stop, Mr. Brett!" exclaimed Eleanor, who, with Douglas and the
coroner, had sat too astounded to speak during the rapid colloquy
between the two men. "You forget that the door to the southwest chamber
occupied by Annette was locked on the _inside_, and that door was
the only means of entering the room. It is only fair to you, Captain
Lane,"--turning courteously to the young officer,--"to remind Mr. Brett
of the very obvious fact that no one could have entered the sleeping
woman's room, blown out the light, and, on leaving the room, locked and
bolted the door on the inside, leaving the key in the lock."

"Thanks," exclaimed Lane gratefully, as he sat down and wiped the
perspiration from his white face.

Brett scowled. He had hoped that his summing up of damaging facts and
sudden accusation might wring a confession from Lane, or, if not that,
some slip of the tongue which the other might make in his agitation
might give him a clew as to how the murder was committed. He was
convinced of Lane's guilt. He glanced angrily at Eleanor. Why had
she intervened? Long and silently he gazed at the beautiful face. The
broad forehead, delicately arched eyebrows, and the large wistful eyes,
shaded by long curling eyelashes, and finely chiseled features were
well worth looking at; but Brett did not see them--a new problem was
puzzling his active brain.

"I understood you to say, Captain Lane, that you had promised to keep
your visit here a secret," he said, breaking into the conversation of
the others. "To whom did you make such a promise?"

"To Miss Thornton." The question was unexpected, and the answer slipped
out thoughtlessly; then Lane bit his lip as he caught Eleanor's warning
glance too late.

Brett turned swiftly on Eleanor. "Why did you wish him to keep his
visit here a secret, Miss Thornton?"

"Because I was afraid Mrs. Winthrop would hear that Captain Lane and
her niece had met here; my uncle might inadvertently mention it to her.
Mrs. Winthrop does not approve of Captain Lane's attentions to Miss
Carew," explained Eleanor quietly.

"On what grounds?"--quickly.

"Ask Mrs. Winthrop; she can tell you better than I."

"I will," grimly. "Captain Lane," wheeling around, "why have you
returned to this house at so early an hour in the morning?"

"I came to inquire for Miss Carew. I asked to see Miss Thornton, and
the butler showed me into this room. And this is the first opportunity
I have had, Miss Eleanor, to ask you how Cynthia is this morning." His
face betrayed his anxiety.

"She is asleep just now," answered Eleanor, "but I hope she will be
much better when she wakes up. I will tell her that you have called."

"Thanks." Lane rose. He felt that he was dismissed. "Has Cynthia been
told of Annette's death?"

"Not yet. We explained the breaking in of the door of the southwest
chamber by saying that Nicodemus had locked it and neglected to tell
Colonel Thornton, who had it forced open."

"I understand." Lane shook hands with her warmly. "Will you please
telephone me how Cynthia is. I'll be at the Army and Navy Club all
day. Good morning." He bowed formally to the coroner and Douglas, then
turned to leave the room, only to find his exit barred by Brett.

"It is my duty to inform you, Captain Lane, that a warrant has been
sworn out for your arrest," he announced, taking a paper from his
pocket.

Lane stepped back involuntarily. "What do you mean?" he stammered.

"In the name of the law I arrest you for the murder of Senator Carew."
Brett ceased speaking and signaled to several men who were sitting in
the hall to enter the room.

It was some seconds before Lane broke the strained silence.

"Stand back!" he growled between clenched teeth, as the two detectives
approached him. "I'll go with you peaceably. Let me tell you, Brett,"
glaring defiantly at him, "you'll live to regret this day's work! Who
swore out that warrant?"

"Mrs. Winthrop."

Lane gazed at him in dazed surprise. "Mrs. Winthrop!" he mumbled. "Mrs.
Winthrop!"




CHAPTER XIX

THE ACCUSATION


Eleanor dropped her embroidery and gazed out into the garden, with its
flower-beds lit by the fading rays of the Western sun and the soft wind
from the open window fanned her cheeks. An involuntary sigh escaped her.

"A penny for your thoughts," and Douglas, who had approached unnoticed,
stepped up to the raised window-seat. A loving smile curved Eleanor's
pretty mouth as she made room for him beside her and slipped her hand
confidingly in his.

"Do you think a penny would bring me any comfort?" she asked.

"Take me for a penny, and I will do my utmost to comfort you." Douglas
kissed her gently as she leaned her head against his broad shoulder.

"Take you--gladly!" She raised her hand and pressed it against his
cheek. "And I am richer in happiness than I ever was before."

"My darling!" Douglas checked his impetuosity; the dark circles under
Eleanor's eyes had deepened and her extreme nervousness was betrayed by
her restless glances about the room and the incessant movement of her
fingers. "Now for your thoughts."

"My thoughts? They are all with Cynthia. Oh, Douglas!"--straightening
up,--"I can't tell her of Fred Lane's arrest; on top of all she has
borne it would be cruel, cruel!"

"Is she better?"

"She is at last sleeping naturally. When she awoke from the opiate,
some hours ago, she evinced no interest, and so I was able to avoid the
questions which I feared she would ask me."

"She was probably still under the effects of the opiate and too drowsy
to recall the events of last night."

"I dread her awakening."

"You will have to put off telling her of Lane's arrest and Annette's
death until she is strong enough physically to bear the shock."

"Do you think him guilty?" The question seemed wrung from her.

"Of which crime?"

"Of both."

"I don't see how it is possible for him to have had anything to do
with Annette's death," replied Douglas thoughtfully, "for the very
reason you pointed out when Brett was accusing him this morning. It
would be physically impossible for him to have left the room and locked
and bolted the door on the inside."

"What do you think caused her death?"

"I think it highly probable that she committed suicide."

"You don't think the draft blew out the gas?"

"A draft? Where on earth could it come from? Both windows were tightly
closed, and the door also. Upon my word," turning to look at her, "you
don't place any faith in that old legend about the ghost--of your
great-great-aunt's habit of extinguishing all lights in her room after
eleven o'clock at night?"

"Yes, I do," reluctantly.

"Oh, come now," a chuckle escaped Douglas, but it died out suddenly. He
had remarkably keen eyesight, and as he raised his head he encountered
a steady stare from an oil portrait hanging on the wall opposite him.
It was not the stare that attracted his attention, but the remarkable
whiteness of the eyeballs in the painted face on which the light from
the window was reflected. As he looked the eyes seemed to blink,
then were gone. With an exclamation he rose, startling Eleanor by his
sudden movement, and walked across the room until he stood directly in
front of the painting, which was life-size and represented a handsome
man in a navy uniform of the War of 1812. On closer inspection, the
eyes appeared not to be painted in at all, and were represented by
shadows. As he retreated from the portrait, however, the shadows took
form and he distinctly saw the long lashes and eyeballs. It was an
optical illusion, cleverly conceived by the artist, and, satisfied on
that point, he returned to Eleanor, who had watched his movements with
growing curiosity.

"Why this sudden interest in my great-great-grandfather?" she asked.

"It's a fine portrait." He reseated himself by her side. "I didn't
notice it last night. What is the old gentleman's name?"

"Commodore Barry Thornton; my father was named for him. He inherited
the same black hair, blue eyes, and tastes of that old sea-fighter,"
nodding toward the portrait. "Do you know on what grounds they arrested
Fred Lane for the murder of Senator Carew?"

[Illustration: "With an exclamation he rose, and walked across the
room"]

"Only in a general way. It is known that the Senator opposed his
engagement to Cynthia, that they had a bitter quarrel that night, and
that Lane left the ball to look for Cynthia's carriage. He was gone
some time, and, when the carriage did turn up, Senator Carew was seated
in it--dead."

"Is that enough to convict?"

"It's purely circumstantial evidence,"--evasively,--"I don't know yet
what new testimony Mrs. Winthrop may have contributed to cause his
arrest."

"Mrs. Winthrop's attitude is incomprehensible to me," burst out
Eleanor. "Fred's father, Governor Lane, was her husband's best friend,
and Mr. Winthrop was under great financial obligations to him when he
died. And now look at the way Mrs. Winthrop is treating that friend's
son--hounding him to the gallows. Is that gratitude?" with biting scorn.

"Some natures don't wear well under an obligation, and the cloven hoof
crops out." Douglas pushed the window farther open. "Ingratitude is an
abominable sin, and the one most frequently committed." A faint knock
on the hall door interrupted him. "Come in," he called, and Brett
opened the door. He drew back when he saw Douglas was not alone.

"Don't go," said Eleanor, gathering up her embroidery and workbag, "I
must run upstairs and ask the nurse how Miss Carew is." She hastened
toward the door, which Brett still held open, but he stopped her on the
threshold.

"I will be greatly obliged if you will spare me half an hour, Miss
Thornton; when you come downstairs again will be time enough," he
added, as Eleanor stepped back into the library.

Eleanor studied his impassive face intently for a second before
answering, then: "I'll be down again shortly," and she disappeared up
the hall.

Brett closed the door carefully and selected a chair near Douglas, and
sat down heavily. Douglas pulled out his cigarette case and handed it
to the detective, who picked out a cigarette and, striking a match,
settled back in his chair contentedly as he watched the rings of smoke
curling upward.

"I am glad of an opportunity to have a quiet word with you, Mr.
Hunter," he began. "Things have been moving pretty swiftly to-day, and
I'm free to confess that the death of Annette has stumped me. Was it
murder or suicide?"

"Everything points to suicide."

"I'm not so sure of that," drawing his chair nearer and lowering his
voice. "I've been searching Annette's belongings and have found several
things which puzzle me completely."

"What were they?"

"Well, for one thing, the torn kimono."

"What--you don't mean----?"

"Exactly. Annette apparently owned a wrapper precisely like Miss
Thornton's, and it was she who paid you that midnight visit when
you spent the night in the library on Tuesday evening at the Carew
residence. I found the wrapper upstairs among her effects. She had
mended the tear very neatly, but the slip which you tore out of it that
night exactly fitted the darn. I had the slip with me in my pocket and
fitted the two together."

"Great Scott! what on earth was she doing in the library at that hour?"

"Aye, what?" significantly. "You recollect that Nicodemus testified
that Annette did not want to sleep on the third floor because--'it wor
too far off from her folks, an' she had to be down whar she could hear
dem.' It looks as if Annette were in the habit of taking an unusual
interest in her mistress' affairs."

"It does indeed," agreed Douglas, knocking the ashes from his cigarette
on the window ledge. "Did you get any information from Annette
yesterday?"

"Very little. I saw her soon after I found your note telling me of her
interview with Colonel Thornton. She admitted that she had information
which she was willing to sell, and finally made an appointment to see
me early this morning. Thanks to circumstances--call it murder or
suicide--I am no wiser than I was twenty-four hours ago."

"Do you still cling to the theory that she met her death because some
one was afraid of what she would tell you to-day?"

"Yes; it looks that way to me. And yet I can't for the life of me
discover how anyone could have committed a murder in that locked room."

"In searching the room did you discover any secret passages leading to
it?" exclaimed Douglas.

"I did not. I thought I might find one, so I tapped that entire wall,
but could not find a trace of any concealed door. I tell you, Mr.
Hunter, Annette did not commit suicide," Brett spoke earnestly. "She
expected to receive a large sum of money within a few days; I virtually
pledged the amount to her. There was no object in her taking her own
life."

"Why don't you investigate her past, Brett? That might give you a clew."

"I have already cabled her description to the Paris police, asking
for any information about her which they may have. I expect an answer
shortly."

"Good. Tell me, what information did Mrs. Winthrop supply which induced
you to arrest Captain Lane?"

"She told me that he had been seen on the street Monday night, when
looking for Miss Carew's carriage, and that he was carrying a sharp
letter file."

"Who gave her that information?"

"She didn't state, but I have an idea that it was Annette; probably the
girl wanted money and went to her direct, she was none too scrupulous,
apparently."

"I believe you are right," exclaimed Douglas.

"Mrs. Winthrop also told me that she found, tucked away among her
brother's papers, yesterday an envelope containing a threatening
letter. The contents were written in a disguised hand, but the postmark
on the envelope read, 'Lanesville, Maryland.' She is firmly convinced
that, if young Lane didn't write those letters himself, he instigated
them."

"Oh, nonsense! He isn't such a fool," roughly. "I believe he is
innocent."

At that moment the door opened and Colonel Thornton walked in. He flung
his hat on the table. "I am glad to find you both here," he said.
"Don't get up," as Douglas rose, "I'll take this chair. I called you
up at headquarters, Brett, but they told me you had just come here, so
I hurried over from Mrs. Winthrop's to catch you."

"Does she want me for anything in particular?" asked Brett.

"She simply wanted to ask a few more details in regard to the coroner's
inquest. She is very much upset over Annette's extraordinary death.
It seems that the girl made some statement to her, and Mrs. Winthrop
depended on her testimony to prove Lane killed Senator Carew."

"What did I tell you?" Brett glanced triumphantly at Douglas. "I'm
afraid, though I'm morally certain of Captain Lane's guilt, that we
will have some difficulty in establishing the fact."

"You will," agreed Colonel Thornton. "So far you have only proved,
first, that there was enmity between the two men; second, that Lane had
the opportunity; third, that Annette saw him with the letter file, the
weapon used to kill Carew, in his hand."

"The last has not been sworn to," objected Douglas, "and Annette is
dead, so that statement, the most important of all, cannot be accepted
as testimony."

"Unless some one else saw Lane in the street at the time Annette did,"
burst in Brett swiftly, resuming his seat.

"If they had they would have come forward before this," reasoned
Douglas. "I consider it extremely probable that Annette was lying when
she said she saw a letter file in Lane's hand. Remember the drenching
rain; walking in what proved almost a cloudburst would make most people
blind to so small a thing as a letter file carried in a man's closed
fist."

"What on earth was her object in making such a statement?" asked
Colonel Thornton.

"That is what we have yet to find out," answered Douglas. "And there's
another point, Brett, which you have overlooked."

"What's that?"

"You recollect that you told me Senator Carew's clothes were absolutely
dry when his dead body was found in the carriage. Considering the
downpour of rain that night, it seems incredible that he should not
have got wet."

"I have come to the conclusion that the coachman, Hamilton, lied when
he said he had not stopped at the house for Senator Carew on Monday
night," replied Brett. "Having lied in the beginning, he is now afraid
to admit the truth for fear that he may be convicted of killing the
Senator."

"That sounds plausible," acknowledged Colonel Thornton.

"I don't believe it." Douglas shook his head obstinately. "It has been
proved already that the Senator did not spend Monday evening at home.
I tell you the key to this mystery is how Senator Carew got into that
carriage on such a stormy night without getting his clothes wet. When
you have solved that problem you will know who committed the murder."

Thornton was about to reply when the hall door was thrown open, and
Eleanor, her lovely eyes opened to their widest, exclaimed:

"Uncle Dana, the Secretary of State wishes to see you!"

"God bless me!" Colonel Thornton sprang out of his chair as the
distinguished statesman followed Eleanor into the room.

"Please don't let me disturb you," exclaimed the Secretary, as Douglas
stepped forward, and Brett edged toward the door. "I only dropped in
for a second to pick up Mr. Hunter," laying a hand on Douglas' arm.
"They told me at the Albany that you were stopping here for a few days,
so I came over in my motor to ask you to drive back to my office with
me, although it is Sunday."

"Won't you be seated, Mr. Secretary?" asked Colonel Thornton, as
Douglas hastily gathered up some papers which he had left on the center
table, and started for the door.

"Thanks, no; it is imperative that I get to my office----" The
Secretary stopped speaking as a man darted inside the door and slammed
it shut. In his haste the newcomer collided with Douglas and then
collapsed into the nearest chair.

"Philip Winthrop!" gasped Eleanor, while the others gazed at the
exhausted figure in amazement.

"Have you any brandy?" exclaimed the Secretary, noticing the ghastly
color of Winthrop's face. Thornton hastily produced a decanter and gave
the half-fainting man a stiff drink, which in a few minutes had the
desired effect of bringing him round.

"Thanks," he murmured faintly.

"What does the doctor mean by letting you come out?" asked Thornton.
"You are in no condition to leave your room."

"I'll be better in a minute; give me some more," Winthrop motioned
toward the decanter. Colonel Thornton glanced questioningly at the
Secretary, who nodded assent, so he gave Winthrop a milder dose, which
restored him somewhat, and his voice was stronger when he resumed
speech. "The doctor doesn't know I'm here. I slipped out while Mother
was lying down, caught a cab at the corner, and drove over here. I want
to see the detective, Brett."

"Here I am, sir." Brett stepped forward into the circle about Winthrop.

"Good!" Winthrop raised himself just in time to see Eleanor open
the hall door softly. "Come back!" he shouted; then, as she paid no
attention to him, cried, "Stop her! stop her; don't let her slip away!"

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Colonel Thornton, as he stepped
forward and pulled Eleanor back into the room and shut the door. "You
drunken loafer! stop bellowing at my niece."

"I won't, I won't!" Winthrop had worked himself into a frenzy. "She
can't drug me here, fortunately--I won't be silent--_she is an
international spy, and she murdered Senator Carew!_"




CHAPTER XX

WEAVING THE WEB


Slowly the meaning of Winthrop's words dawned on the four men.

"It's false! false as hell!" thundered Douglas. He stepped forward and
seized Winthrop in a grip of iron and shook him as a dog would shake a
rat; then, before the others could intervene, threw the struggling man
on the floor. "Bah! you're not worth killing."

Whimpering with rage and weakness, Winthrop caught hold of the table
and dragged himself upright, and stood swaying on his feet.

"It's true, it's true!" he reiterated. "Look at her,"--pointing a
shaking finger to where Eleanor stood aghast, watching the scene. Her
hand was on the doorknob and she seemed poised for instant flight. A
curious smile twisted her pale lips as the men turned and faced her.

"He doesn't seem to have recovered from delirium tremens," she remarked
slowly.

"It may be, Miss Thornton,"--the Secretary of State spoke with grave
deliberation,--"but it is a serious charge which he is making, and I
think it had better be investigated now." Eleanor winced visibly, then,
controlling herself, advanced further into the room.

"I am at your service," she said with sudden hauteur, "but as I have an
important engagement later I trust you will be brief."

"Sit by me here, Eleanor." Colonel Thornton, who had listened to
Winthrop's charges in stupefied silence, pulled forward an armchair.
"Mr. Secretary, will you occupy the desk chair, and you," turning to
Winthrop, who cowered back as he caught the smoldering wrath in the
older man's eyes, "sit over there," pointing to a chair some distance
away.

Brett, seeing that Winthrop was too exhausted to move without
assistance, piloted him to the chair indicated by Thornton, and,
getting another chair, placed himself by Winthrop's side. Douglas, at a
sign from the Secretary, sat down at the further end of the table and
handed the statesman some paper and ink.

"Now, Mr. Winthrop," began the Secretary, "if you are more composed,
kindly answer my questions. Why have you waited all this time before
mentioning that you think Miss Thornton guilty of Senator Carew's
murder?"

"Because I've been drugged, so that I couldn't give evidence. I tried
twice to get a message to Brett, but Annette said she couldn't reach
him." Winthrop spoke with labored effort.

"Annette!" chorused Colonel Thornton, Brett, and Douglas, while the
Secretary and Eleanor looked their surprise.

"Yes, Annette," peevishly, "she used to come in occasionally to give me
water when those devilish nurses were neglecting me. She told me that
Brett was seldom at the house, and that she never had an opportunity to
speak to him alone."

"The monumental liar----" Brett checked himself. "Never mind that now,
Mr. Winthrop, go on with your story."

"She told me how Miss Thornton used to steal in and drug me, and asked
me why she did it."

"Great Heavens!" Eleanor's exclamation was followed by a half-strangled
laugh which ended in a sob. "What a viper!"

"You were not there last night," sputtered Winthrop vindictively,
"and therefore I didn't get my usual dose, so I can tell what I know
to-day." A triumphant leer distorted his features.

"Suppose you continue your story without making comments," directed the
Secretary sternly.

Winthrop nodded sullenly, then began: "You recollect that I spent
Monday night at the Alibi Club, Brett?"

"Yes."

"Well, when I left there I motored up Nineteenth Street, instead
of taking the more direct way home. I thought I would turn into
Massachusetts Avenue at Dupont circle, where there was less danger of
running into electric cars, for the rain was falling in such torrents
that I could hardly see through my wind-shield.

"When opposite the Owen residence I ran into a lot of waiting carriages
and motors, and had to slow down. In fact, I went so slowly that by
the time I was nearly opposite Miss Thornton's residence I stalled
my engine and had to get out in all the wet and crank up," he paused
dramatically. "You can imagine my surprise when I saw Miss Thornton
come down under the awning which led to her front door and stand at the
curb, looking up and down the street."

"How do you know it was Miss Thornton?" broke in Douglas harshly.

"There was a street lamp by the side of the awning and the light fell
full on her; besides, I recognized the scarlet cloak she was wearing. I
have seen it many times."

"What did my niece do, besides standing still and looking up and down
the street?" demanded Colonel Thornton scornfully.

"She ran out into the middle of the street and down where a carriage
was drawn up at the curb, opened the door, stood there talking,
apparently, for a few minutes, then shut the door and bolted back to
the awning, and I presume entered her house, as I saw no more of her."

"What did you do next?" inquired Douglas, with peculiar emphasis.

Winthrop flushed at his tone. "I had curiosity enough to step back and
see that it was Senator Carew's landau, the last of a long queue of
vehicles, at which she had stopped; then I went on about my business."

"Do you mean to say that you did not investigate further?" asked the
Secretary, leaning forward the better to scan Winthrop's face.

"No. I knew enough never to interfere with Senator Carew's love
affairs!" His sneer was intolerable.

"By God!" Colonel Thornton sprang to his feet and advanced on
Winthrop, but Brett stepped between the two men.

"Have a little patience, Colonel," he said, pushing the irate man
toward his seat; "then you can settle with Mr. Winthrop."

"Do you think I'm going to sit here and listen to aspersions on my
niece's character?" he shouted. "Let me get my hands on that scoundrel!"

"Wait, Uncle Dana,"--Eleanor leaned forward and placed her hand on
his arm,--"let him finish; then I will speak," and her lips closed
ominously.

"That is excellent advice," agreed the Secretary; "resume your seat,
Colonel Thornton." His tone of command was not to be denied, and
Thornton dropped back in his chair. "Now, Mr. Winthrop, explain your
last remark."

"Senator Carew told me on Monday afternoon that he expected to marry
Miss Thornton, and that he intended to spend the evening with her."

Douglas leaned forward and gazed earnestly at Eleanor, but she refused
to meet his look, and with a troubled expression he turned his
attention to Winthrop, who was again speaking.

"I told Senator Carew that I had heard a member of one of the embassies
here declare that Miss Thornton was an international spy."

"And what did he say to that statement?"

"He said that he would look into the matter."

"When did this conversation take place?"

"On Monday afternoon."

"And is that all you have to go upon for such an accusation?" inquired
Brett scornfully.

Douglas was gazing moodily ahead of him. A memory of Paris, of
Eleanor's extraordinary behavior there, of the whispers which followed
her about, harassed him. Had his faith been misplaced? No, a thousand
times no. He would pin all hope of future happiness on her innocence
and purity of soul. He rose suddenly and stepped behind her chair, and
laid his hand encouragingly on her shoulder. She looked up, startled,
then, seeing him, her lips parted in a smile, and her hand stole up to
meet his. His firm clasp gave her courage to face the situation, for it
told her of his unshaken confidence and love.

Winthrop glowered at them when he saw the tableau, and his eyes gleamed
wickedly. "It is very obvious," he said, "that Senator Carew found
my statement was true, and charged her with being a spy; then left
her house. Exposure meant Miss Thornton's ruin; even her influential
relatives,"--he glanced meaningly at Thornton,--"could not intervene
to save her, so she took the law into her own hands, picked up the
letter file, stole out of the house, opened the carriage door, engaged
the Senator in conversation--and stabbed him."

A strained silence followed, which the Secretary was the first to
break. He turned directly to Eleanor.

"You called to see Secretary Wyndham at the Navy Department on
Wednesday morning, did you not, Miss Thornton?"

Douglas' hand tightened involuntarily, but Eleanor showed no sign of
agitation as she answered, "Yes, Mr. Secretary, I did."

"Have you anything further to say, Mr. Winthrop?"

"Not now, Mr. Secretary."

"Then let me suggest," exclaimed Thornton, "that Mr. Winthrop, in
trying to implicate my niece in a dastardly crime, has but established
his own guilt."

"How so?" The question shot from Winthrop's clenched teeth.

"We all know from the testimony of reputable servants that Senator
Carew and you had quarreled," continued Thornton. "We know your habits
are none of the best; we know that you have suddenly become possessed
of large sums of money----"

Winthrop moistened his dry lips. "I deny it," he exclaimed.

Thornton paid no attention to the interruption. "You alone knew where
Senator Carew was spending the evening, and you went there and laid in
wait for him, and now, you despicable cur, you are trying to lay the
blame on an innocent girl."

Winthrop rose, goaded by the scornful looks of the others. "I may
have had the motive and the opportunity to kill Senator Carew," he
admitted sullenly, "but I did not have--the weapon. The criminal sits
there,"--he pointed at Eleanor;--"I am absolutely positive of her
guilt, for the letter file used to kill the Senator belonged to a
silver desk set given her by Miss Cynthia Carew."

Thornton frowned and turned a troubled countenance toward Eleanor, who
nodded reassuringly as she rose to her feet, stepped back to Douglas'
side, and, leaning on the back of the chair she had just vacated,
addressed the Secretary.

"I am a young girl, Mr. Secretary," she began, "and, living alone as I
do, I have been forced on numerous occasions to use my own judgment.
It would have been better, perhaps, had I spoken of certain events
before this, but I was so alarmed by the position in which I found
myself placed that I foolishly held my tongue. I had hoped that certain
facts would not become public. Those facts Mr. Winthrop has maliciously
distorted. I have been guilty of a blunder, not a crime."

"I would be most happy to believe you, Miss Thornton," said the
Secretary gravely; "but to probe this matter to the bottom I must ask
certain questions."

"Which I will gladly answer."

"Did Senator Carew call on you on Monday night?"

"He did, reaching my house about nine-thirty, just before the rain
commenced."

"Did anyone else know that he was there?"

"Only my Japanese butler, Fugi, who admitted him. My cousin, Mrs.
Truxton, who is spending the winter with me, had gone to bed
immediately after dinner."

"Was Annette in the house?" asked Brett quickly.

"No, it was her evening out. She returned shortly after the Senator
left."

"At what hour did he go?" questioned the Secretary.

"About half-past twelve o'clock."

"Wasn't that rather an unusual hour for him to stay?"

Eleanor colored warmly. "It was most unusual," she admitted. "But the
pouring rain was responsible for that. He telephoned for a herdic cab
or a taxi, but they were all engaged, and he waited, hoping that one
would eventually be sent to my house."

"Mr. Winthrop spoke of an awning at your door, Miss Thornton," again
broke in Brett. "I have passed your house a number of times and have
never seen one."

"I had a large tea on Monday afternoon, and had the awning put up for
that occasion, as the weather was threatening and my house stands some
distance from the curb. The awning was removed early the next morning."

"It is not so very far from your house to the Senator's residence,"
mused the Secretary. "I should have thought, considering the lateness
of the hour, that he would have walked home."

"But he was not going home, Mr. Secretary. He told me that he was going
to drive to your house, as he had to see you immediately on your return
that night."

"Indeed!" The Secretary was bending forward in his eagerness. "Did the
Senator state what he wished to see me about?"

"Only in a general way. He said that he had that afternoon discovered
proof of a gigantic plot against the United States; that the secrets
of the Government were being betrayed; and that he must give you the
names of the arch traitor and his confederate. He called up your house
by telephone earlier in the afternoon, and found that you were expected
home on the eleven o'clock train."

"I had intended to take it, but was detained at the last moment by
pressing business and did not reach Washington until the following
night," explained the Secretary. "If he couldn't get a cab, why did
he not call up his own house and send for his carriage earlier in the
evening?"

"He tried to, Mr. Secretary, but his telephone was out of order, and no
one answered the stable call."

"How, then, did he get his own carriage?"

"My drawing-room windows look out on Nineteenth Street, and the
Senator, in one of his numerous trips to discover if the rain was
letting up, saw his carriage standing in front of my door. He
recognized the horses and Hamilton by the light from the lamp-post
under which they stood, waiting for the long queue of carriages
ahead to move up the street. The Senator instantly decided to enter
his carriage, wait for Cynthia, and then drive to your house, Mr.
Secretary."

"So that's how he got into the carriage without getting wet," cried
Brett; "the awning protected him. I suppose he just popped into his
carriage and said nothing to Hamilton, as he intended to wait for his
niece, and Hamilton was too befuddled with drink and the storm to
notice the opening and closing of the door. Did you watch the Senator
leave the house?"

Eleanor shook her head. "No," she said.

"Miss Thornton,"--the Secretary bent forward impressively,--"were you
engaged to Senator Carew?"

Eleanor's color rose, but she faced the keen eyes watching her
unflinchingly. "No, Mr. Secretary; the Senator did me the honor to ask
me to marry him on Monday night, but I refused."

"Then you deny running out after his carriage, which Mr. Winthrop
declares you did?"

"No, sir, I do not deny it. Mr. Winthrop is quite right." She paused,
and the men looked at her expectantly. "I have a quest in life--not the
one attributed to me by this gentleman,"--waving her hand scornfully
toward Winthrop, who was listening to her statement with an incredulous
smile distorting his features,--"but an honorable legacy which my dear
mother left me to execute.

"On bidding me a hasty good night, Senator Carew, whether in jest or
earnest, told me that, if I would marry him, he would assist me to
bring my mission to a successful conclusion."

"Would you mind stating what this quest is?" asked the Secretary.

Eleanor hesitated. "It is a family matter, and I would rather not go
into it just now. But--if necessary--I promise to explain later."

The Secretary did not press the point. "Continue your story, Miss
Thornton."

"About five minutes or more after the Senator left I came
to the conclusion that my duty"--she glanced appealingly at
Douglas--"compelled me to marry him. On an impulse, I picked up my
cloak, which was hanging on the hall rack, opened the front door, and
ran down to the curb.

"The Carew landau is easily recognized, and after peering up and down
the street I saw that it had moved up several doors. Without stopping
to think or consider the consequences, I ran down the street to the
carriage and opened the door----" She stopped, breathless.

"Go on, go on," urged Douglas.

"I opened the door," she repeated, "and, as God is my witness, I found
Senator Carew sitting there--_dead._"




CHAPTER XXI

AN INTERNATIONAL INTRIGUE


As her voice ceased on the last solemn word Eleanor read astonishment
and incredulity written on her listeners' faces, and her heart sank.
She bit her lips to hide their trembling.

"How did you discover Senator Carew was dead, Miss Thornton?" asked
the Secretary harshly. "It has been testified that the interior of the
landau was dark and that the carriage lamps had been extinguished."

"I did not see he was dead,"--Eleanor hesitated. "After opening the
carriage door I spoke to him several times. On getting no reply, I
put out my hand and accidentally touched his chest, and my fingers
encountered the round base of the letter file." Her large eyes filled
with horror at the recollection. "I did not, of course, know what
it was then, but I realized that something was dreadfully wrong.
The Senator's silence, the touch of that cold metal in such a place
terrified me. I drew back, instinctively closed the carriage door, and
fled to my house. The next morning I heard of the murder from Annette."

"Why did you not come forward with this information then?" asked Brett
sternly.

"Because I was afraid." Eleanor threw out her hands appealingly. "I
had no one to verify my statements, and I feared I would be charged
with the crime. Confident of my own innocence, I did not think any
information I might furnish would assist the arrest of the guilty
person."

"You should have spoken sooner," said Colonel Thornton sharply.
He tempered his rebuke by rising and leading Eleanor to his
own comfortable chair, into which she sank wearily. "But the
harm your silence has done can fortunately be remedied. Philip
Winthrop,"--swinging around on the young man,--"your plea that you
lacked the weapon used is puerile; you could easily have picked one
up at the club; letter files are kept on most desks. Knowing where
Senator Carew was to be on Monday night, you laid your plans carefully
beforehand, and with devilish ingenuity picked out an unusual weapon,
so that it would be harder to trace the murder to you."

"You lie!" growled Winthrop fiercely; then, addressing them all, "I
had nothing whatever to do with the Senator's death. She did it, though
your misplaced sympathy blinds you to the truth."

"Miss Thornton's sex will not shield her," declared the Secretary
firmly, "if she be guilty--but, Mr. Winthrop, your story will also be
investigated to the minutest detail. Until your innocence is proved
without a shadow of a doubt you will consider yourself under arrest.
Brett will see that the proper papers are made out."

Winthrop blanched. "I'm--I'm--in no condition to go to jail," he
stammered. "It is monstrous!"

"Just a moment," broke in Douglas. He had been deep in thought, and had
paid but little attention to their conversation. "You say, Winthrop,
that the letter file used to slay Senator Carew belonged to a desk set
given to Miss Thornton by Miss Cynthia Carew."

"I do," exclaimed Winthrop positively.

Eleanor's surprise was reflected in her uncle's face. Was Douglas
taking sides against her? Her eyes filled with tears, which she winked
hastily away.

"Have you such a desk set, Eleanor?" demanded Douglas.

"Yes, Cynthia gave it to me last Christmas."

"Is the letter file missing?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Yes," she breathed faintly.

"Ah! What did I tell you?" cried Winthrop triumphantly.

Douglas paid no attention to him, but continued to address Eleanor.
"Where do you keep this desk set?"

"In the writing room across the hall from my drawing-room."

"Describe your first floor, please, Eleanor."

"The drawing-room is to the left of the front door; to the right
is the small writing room, back of that the staircase, and back of
the drawing-room is the dining room. The house is what is called
three-quarters."

"I see. Does the dining room communicate with the drawing-room?"

"Yes; there are old-fashioned sliding doors between the two rooms."

"Do you use portières?"

"Yes, on all the doors."

Douglas smiled at her encouragingly, then he turned to the four men.
"Miss Thornton has testified that no one of her household knew that
Senator Carew was with her Monday night. She is mistaken. There was
one other person who knew that fact; who had ample opportunity to
overhear her conversation with the Senator; to take the letter file
from the desk in the writing room, and steal after him when he left,
open the carriage door, and stab him."

"Who was it?" questioned Eleanor breathlessly, while the others hung on
his words.

"The servant who admitted him."

"Fugi!" gasped Thornton. "My God! I believe you're right. But the
motive, man?"

"An international intrigue." Douglas caught the Secretary's eye, who
nodded appreciatively. "Miss Thornton has already stated that Senator
Carew told her that he had discovered proof of a plot against this
country, that the secrets of this government were being betrayed, that
he knew the names of the spy or spies, and that he was on the way to
inform the Secretary of State. Concealed in one of the portières, Fugi
overheard all this, and, to save his own life, killed Senator Carew."

"You've solved it," declared Brett, rising. "I'll run over to your
house now, Miss Thornton, and catch Fugi before he can get away."

"I don't think you'll find him there," interposed Eleanor. "Mrs.
Truxton went out in my motor for a drive this afternoon, and Fugi, who
acts as chauffeur as well as butler, is driving the car. I expect them
here at any moment."

"So much the better."

"There is a car drawn up alongside of mine now," exclaimed the
Secretary, who had gone over to the window overlooking the street.

Brett started for the door, but, before he reached it, it was flung
open and Mrs. Truxton precipitated herself into the room. Her hat was
cocked on one side in the most rakish manner and her flushed face
testified to her perturbed state of mind.

"I've found you, Mr. Secretary!" she exclaimed, slamming the door shut.
"Don't go," as Brett moved past her. "I went to your house, then to the
State Department----" She stopped, breathless.

"Sit down," said the Secretary soothingly, "and tell me why you wished
to see me so urgently."

"Oh, dear, I'm so confused!" Mrs. Truxton drew a long breath, then
plunged into her story. "I stopped at our house, Eleanor, as I had
forgotten to bring my writing materials here. I found my letter book in
my room where I had left it, and, on opening it, discovered this letter
addressed to you, Mr. Secretary"--drawing out an envelope from her
handbag. "I can't conceive where it came from," added the poor woman,
"except that I left my letter book in Eleanor's drawing-room on Monday
night on my way to bed. I was up early Tuesday morning before any of
the servants were down, and, on entering the drawing-room, found my
letter book still lying on the table, with several of its leaves turned
over. I gathered up all the papers without looking at them carefully,
and took them up to my desk and laid them away in a drawer. This is the
first time I have opened the letter book, for in your absence, Eleanor,
I have used your writing room." Mrs. Truxton paused to take breath.
"It's marked 'important,' and that's why I hurried after you; besides,
handwriting is like a photograph to me, and I never forget one I have
seen--that letter is from Senator Carew."

"Good God! the missing letter!" shouted Brett.

The Secretary took the letter from Mrs. Truxton and tore it open, and,
in a voice of suppressed excitement, read its contents aloud.

  "MY DEAR MR. SECRETARY:

  "I am writing to you in case I do not see you before you attend the
  Cabinet meeting to-morrow morning. Your servant tells me that you
  are expected home on a late train to-night, but I may be detained
  in reaching your house, or the train may be later than scheduled,
  and therefore I might miss you. The President will reach Washington
  to-morrow on the _Mayflower_ from his trip down the Chesapeake, and it
  is impossible for me to reach him to-night.

  "I have discovered that Colombia is inciting Panama to revolt. We
  are not too well liked down there as it is. I have also discovered
  that Japan will take a hand in the game. The Island of Gorgona, in
  the Pacific, which belongs to a wealthy Colombian, has a magnificent
  harbor--the Harbor of Trinidad--and it has been offered to the latter
  nation as a coaling station. Japan does not have to appeal to European
  nations to finance a war; the South Americans will provide funds. They
  are jealous of our growing prestige, our increasing commerce, and fear
  our colonization. We reached out and grasped Panama, and they think
  we are casting covetous glances at Mexico and other countries to the
  South. Japan has also been guaranteed the Philippines.

  "I induced Douglas Hunter, attaché of the American Embassy at Tokio,
  to make certain investigations. I expect to see him to-morrow, and, if
  he has discovered anything of material value, I will bring him with me
  to the State Department at once.

  "In making these researches I find perfidy and dishonor exists in an
  astounding quarter. Government secrets are being betrayed by a paid
  spy and traitor--Dana Thornton----"

A chair was dashed aside, and, before anyone could move, Colonel
Thornton had thrown open the hall door and disappeared. So totally
unexpected was the _dénouement_ that the others sat too stunned to
move, and that moment's respite gave Thornton his chance. The roar of
a motor broke the spell, and the men, galvanized into sudden action,
raced to the front door, only in time to see Eleanor's powerful car,
far down the street, with Colonel Thornton at the wheel. He turned the
machine into Wisconsin Avenue and disappeared.




CHAPTER XXII

THE PURSUIT


"Take my car!" called the Secretary of State, as Brett and Douglas
started up the street on a run. They turned and rejoined the Secretary
as the latter's chauffeur, attracted by the disturbance, hastened out
of the garden, where he had gone to get a glass of water.

The three men sprang into the machine, and in a few seconds were off.
They swung into Wisconsin Avenue and sped on up that thoroughfare.
The avenue was almost deserted at that hour, and the Sunday quiet was
only broken by the whirr of their car as it gained headway. Far in
the distance they could descry Thornton's motor, and, in obedience to
Brett's order, the chauffeur increased his speed.

On and on they went. A bicycle policeman shouted at them as they
whizzed by and, clambering on his machine, started in pursuit. They
passed a crowded trolley car, and the passengers stared at their mad
speed. They reached the outskirts of Georgetown and the more open
country beyond. They gained on the car ahead of them, and Brett shouted
aloud with the joy of the chase as they drew nearer. They passed the
Naval Observatory, cut across Massachusetts Avenue extended, just
shaving several other automobiles, the startled drivers thereof wasting
their breath in sending endless curses after them. They swept past the
Cathedral Close and continued their race along the Rockville pike.

As they approached the River Road they saw Thornton turn his car,
scarcely reducing his speed, and cut across the road. It was a
dangerous corner at any time, and as the front wheels made the turn the
body of the car slued around. There was a grinding, splintering crash
as the car struck one of the tall poles supporting the overhead trolley
wires, and the big machine turned turtle.

Brett's chauffeur put on a final burst of speed, and the limousine
leaped madly down the road. A cry of horror broke from the three men as
a tongue of flame shot up from the overturned car ahead of them.

"By Heavens! the gasolene has ignited!" gasped Douglas. He was on the
running board when the car slowed down near Thornton's motor. The
latter was a mass of flames. Douglas sprang to the ground, and the
others followed him. "Get some fence rails," he directed. "We must try
and lift the car so that Thornton can crawl out."

In a few minutes the men were back with boards torn from a nearby
fence, but in that short time the flames had gained headway, and they
were driven back by the intense heat. Unfortunately there was no loose
sand at hand. An outgoing trolley car stopped, and several passengers
ran to Douglas' aid. The fence boards caught fire and had to be put
out, but finally the car was raised a slight distance from the ground,
and a cry of exultation broke from the toiling men, only to die into a
groan as a sharp explosion, followed by a heavier detonation, rang out.
Dropping their hold on the boards, the men bolted to a safe distance
down the road.

"It's hopeless!" gasped Brett. "No man can live in that fiery furnace."

Douglas groaned aloud. He had been shocked beyond measure by the
discovery of Thornton's guilt and treachery, for he had liked him, and
had accepted his hospitality. It was horrible to see him meet such a
fate. Better the electric chair than being roasted alive.

"Perhaps he jumped from the car before it turned turtle," he suggested.

"It's hardly likely," exclaimed Brett dubiously. "Still, we might look
along the road. We can do no good over there." He shuddered slightly as
he turned to look at the still burning car. The steel and metal work
had been twisted into grotesque shapes by the great heat, which added
to the ghastly picture.

Their search along the roadside was fruitless, and Douglas and Brett
returned to the Secretary of State's limousine. They had to wait some
time before the flames about the remains of Thornton's car died down
into a smoldering mass. After the fire had burned itself out, Brett,
with the assistance of horror-stricken spectators among the crowd that
had collected with the Aladdin-like magic which characterizes street
gatherings, examined the ground with minute care. Suddenly he moved
over to where Douglas was standing, keeping back the curious crowd, and
beckoned him to one side.

"Colonel Thornton did not jump from the car, Mr. Hunter," he said
gravely. "We've just found all that's left of him--his ashes."




CHAPTER XXIII

THE END OF THE QUEST


"And so that was his end!" Eleanor drew a long, shuddering breath.
"Poor Uncle Dana! Douglas, do you really think he was guilty?"

"I'm afraid so," sorrowfully. "The very fact that he was trying to
escape proves it; otherwise he would have stayed here and faced an
investigation."

"It's dreadful, dreadful!" moaned Eleanor. "And almost unbelievable.
A traitor! A murderer! But"--checking herself--"that last hasn't been
proved."

"That's Brett's voice," exclaimed Douglas, springing from his chair and
crossing to the hall door. "Come in, Brett; Miss Thornton and I are
sitting in the library."

The detective gave his hat and light overcoat to Nicodemus and followed
Douglas back into the room, first closing the door carefully behind him.

"Has Captain Lane been here yet?" he inquired.

"Yes, he came over at once on being released. Mrs. Truxton took him
upstairs to see Cynthia, who is rapidly improving, now that the mystery
of Senator Carew's death is solved and Fred cleared of any complicity
in it," explained Eleanor.

"Then would you mind asking Captain Lane to come down, Miss Thornton?
I have several pieces of news which I must tell you, and I think his
presence is necessary." Eleanor looked at him questioningly, and he
added hastily, "He won't be involved in any further trouble."

"What tragedies have happened since I reached this house twenty-four
hours ago," exclaimed Douglas, pacing the room restlessly. "Annette's
death last night, and now the Colonel----" He did not finish his
sentence, but instead stopped before the full-length portrait of a
dead and gone Thornton, and gazed moodily at the painted face. From
that gallant naval hero to Dana Thornton, traitor, was indeed a great
descent. "A good man gone wrong," he commented, finally.

"An accomplished scoundrel," growled Brett. He stopped speaking as
Eleanor reëntered the room, followed by Fred Lane. The young officer
showed the ordeal he had gone through that morning and afternoon by the
deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth. He bowed curtly to
Douglas and Brett.

"You wish to see me?" he asked.

"Sit down, please." Brett pushed forward a chair for Eleanor, and the
others grouped themselves about the center table. By common consent
they all avoided Colonel Thornton's favorite armchair. "I am anxious to
have a talk with you because there are several loose threads to this
mystery which must be straightened out."

"What are they?" questioned Lane impatiently; he longed to be back with
Cynthia.

"On my return from the River Road to headquarters I found an answer
from the Paris police to my cable. They tell me, Miss Thornton, that
your maid, Annette, was an international spy."

"Great heavens!" ejaculated Eleanor, in round-eyed astonishment.

"She was also in the habit of impersonating you." Eleanor's face was a
study. "She had clothes made exactly like yours, even her kimono was
a duplicate. From what I hear, Mr. Hunter, I judge Annette, who you
recollect was in the hall when we were discussing the mysterious letter
written by Senator Carew, decided to try and find it, and that's why
she paid you a visit in the library last Tuesday night. She did not
know that I had asked you to sleep there."

"I was grossly deceived in her," declared Eleanor bitterly. "I presume
her splendid recommendations were all----"

"Forgeries," supplemented Brett. "Quite right, they must have been. I
have just talked with one of the nurses from Providence Hospital who
attended Philip Winthrop, and he declares that he caught Annette trying
to give Philip a sleeping powder. Probably she wished to reap all the
reward that she could, through blackmail and otherwise, and was afraid
if Philip saw me that he would spoil her 'scoop.' With her usual habit
of involving you, Miss Thornton, she made that crazy fool believe you
were drugging him."

"Will you please explain to me," broke in Fred Lane, "why Mrs. Winthrop
swore out a warrant for my arrest? What led her to believe me guilty?"

"Mrs. Winthrop wished me to tell you, Captain Lane, that she bitterly
regrets her hasty action. I never saw anyone so completely broken up.
It seems she wanted that graceless stepson of hers to marry her niece,
Miss Carew, so that he would eventually inherit the Carew fortune. Then
she has a natural antipathy for you because you are your father's
son, and she was, unfortunately, only too ready to believe you guilty.
Annette told her a number of lies,"--Brett shrugged his shoulders
expressively,--"and there you have it--along with other circumstantial
evidence, which would have pretty nearly convicted you."

Lane flushed angrily. "So Mrs. Winthrop took the word of a worthless
servant, the better to humiliate me...."

"Had Annette any grounds for her accusation?" questioned Brett swiftly.
"Mrs. Owen said her library desk file mysteriously disappeared the
night of her dance."

"A coincidence which I cannot account for," declared Lane, looking the
detective squarely in the eye. "It may be that Annette saw the end of
my silver handled umbrella which I was carrying, and in the uncertain
light mistook it for a weapon of some sort."

"Considering Annette's natural disposition to lie," broke in Douglas,
"I think it highly probable that she made up the story, and told it to
Miss Carew."

"And probably promised to keep silent if Miss Carew paid her,"
suggested Brett scornfully. "It's too bad Miss Carew permitted the maid
to blackmail her."

"What about the threatening letters to Senator Carew which Mrs.
Winthrop thought I sent?" inquired Lane.

"Philip Winthrop wrote them."

"The miserable scoundrel!" ejaculated Lane.

"He was that and more--the Secretary of State and I took him back home
in the former's motor, and when we had done grilling him we had cleared
up many details in regard to this international intrigue. Through
Senator Carew's letter and Winthrop's disclosures the intrigue has been
nipped in the bud before more serious results can happen."

"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Douglas devoutly.

"It seems that Philip Winthrop has been a go-between for a wealthy
Colombian, whose name he obstinately withholds, and some person
whom the conspirators called 'our mutual friend.' Strange to say,
Philip declares he never knew until Carew's letter was read that the
mysterious individual was Colonel Dana Thornton. He says he gave all
communications for the 'mutual friend' to Annette, and Annette, if you
please, made him believe that the spy was--Miss Thornton."

"Well, upon my word!" cried Eleanor, her eyes blazing with indignation.
"I was a nice cat's-paw for her. Do you know, I believe she, and not
my uncle, killed Senator Carew."

"I'm sorry,"--Brett hesitated, then went slowly on. "I'm sorry to say
there's no doubt but that Colonel Thornton did murder the Senator. I
don't want to inflict any more pain than necessary, Miss Thornton,
but you will hear the details from others if not from me. I have seen
Soto, your Japanese cook, and he swore that Colonel Thornton called at
your house on Monday night, just after the Senator's arrival, and Fugi
admitted him. On being informed that Senator Carew was with you, your
uncle told the butler not to announce him, but that he would wait in
the writing room until the Senator left. Soto showed me an umbrella
which Fugi had carried to the kitchen to dry for the Colonel. It has
your uncle's initials engraved on the handle, and Nicodemus positively
identified it as belonging to the Colonel when I showed it to him on my
arrival here just now.

"On being pressed, Soto also admitted that late Monday night he left
your house to post a letter. As he came up the area steps to the
terraced walk, which was covered by the awning, leading from the house
to the sidewalk, he almost collided with Senator Carew, who seemed
buried in thought and did not notice his approach. Soto drew back
respectfully toward the area steps to let him pass. As the Senator
entered his carriage another man sped down your high front steps, and,
on reaching the carriage, pulled open the door and entered the vehicle,
which then moved on. Soto swears solemnly that this last man was
Colonel Thornton."

Eleanor drew a long, sobbing breath, and glanced helplessly at the
others. Her uncle was not only a traitor but a murderer. Her worst
fears were realized. None cared to break the pause, and, after waiting
a moment, Brett took up his narrative where he had left off.

"It must be, Miss Thornton, that your uncle overheard all or part of
your conversation with the Senator. He probably waited in the writing
room until the Senator left the house, picked up the letter file, as
he had no other weapon handy, and stole after him. Hamilton was too
drunk to notice anything. The horses probably moved up the street of
their own accord when the preceding carriages made room for them to
advance. It was unpremeditated murder, and yet chance concealed Colonel
Thornton's tracks most successfully."

"You are right," agreed Douglas. "If Annette had found Carew's letter
to the Secretary of State instead of Mrs. Truxton, Thornton would have
escaped detection."

"Annette was always complaining of Mrs. Truxton's early rising,"
Eleanor laughed hysterically, then cried a little.

"My darling, let me get you some wine!" exclaimed Douglas in distress.

"No, no, sit down!" Eleanor clutched his coat. "Don't pay any attention
to me; I'll be all right in a minute."

"Fugi has disappeared," went on Brett, after a brief silence. "I think
he overheard our conversation here this afternoon, for Nicodemus says
he was loitering in the hall. On searching his room at your house, Miss
Thornton, I found evidence, through certain papers, that he had been in
your uncle's pay."

"He thought it wiser to bolt," commented Fred Lane. "I have no doubt he
knew more of affairs than we are giving him credit for."

"It's a great pity, Miss Thornton, that you kept silent so long," said
Brett. "If I had known that Senator Carew spent the evening with you,
and also about the awning, I would have cleared up this mystery sooner."

"I should have spoken." Eleanor looked so troubled that Douglas sat
down on the arm of her chair and took her hand gently in his. As
his strong grasp tightened she formed a sudden resolution. "There
is another reason for my silence which I have not told you; wait a
moment," and she rose and hurriedly left the room.

The men smoked in silence until her return. "The room is very dark,
won't you light another burner, Douglas?" she asked, on her return. She
waited until her wish had been complied with, then, as the men seated
themselves near her, she began her story. "On Tuesday morning, just
after I had heard of Senator Carew's death, I received a cardboard box
containing jewels. That in itself bewildered me, but I was astounded by
the message written in an unknown hand which I found on a card inside
the box." As she spoke she opened the small box which she had just
brought into the room with her. "Here is the card; read the message
aloud, Douglas."

"'_The appointment was not kept. Well done._'"

Douglas laid the card on the desk and the three men looked at each
other in amazement.

"The message frightened me horribly," continued Eleanor. "I realized
that some one must have thought me guilty of the Senator's death--and
_approved_ of it. The mystery of it appalled me. I did not know whom
to take into my confidence; so I put the jewels into my strong box and
said nothing, hoping that I would be able to ferret out the mystery by
myself."

"Let us see the jewels," suggested Douglas.

Eleanor opened the box and pulled off the top layer of cotton, then
rolled the necklace of rubies on the table, where the stones lay
glittering under the strong light.

"They are superb!" exclaimed Douglas, while a low murmur of admiration
broke from Lane.

"Their almost priceless value frightened me more than anything else,"
explained Eleanor. "I could not imagine who had sent them to me----"

"That's easily answered." Brett picked up the necklace and examined it
minutely. "This necklace was sent you by the man who stole it."

"What?" ejaculated the two men, while Eleanor collapsed limply in her
chair.

"These are the Hemmingway rubies," went on Brett. "They were stolen
about a month ago in New York, and the police of this country and
Europe were notified of their loss. I have here," drawing out a leather
wallet and extracting a thin, typewritten sheet, "one of the notices
sent to headquarters. Let me refresh my memory." He skimmed over
the lines, then a shout of exultation escaped him. "Listen: 'Mrs.
Hemmingway was entertaining a house party at the time of the theft.
Among her guests were Mr. and Mrs. Henry St. John, of Philadelphia;
Miss Snyder, of Chicago; Colonel Dana Thornton, of Washington----'"

"Oh, no, no!" Eleanor cried, throwing out her arms as if to thrust the
idea from her, then dropped forward and buried her head on her arms on
the table.

Douglas started to move over to her side, but Brett checked him. "Let
her alone," he advised in an undertone; "it's a shock, but she will
recover." Then, in a louder tone: "By Heavens! that man was a positive
genius!" in reluctant admiration. "He probably heard that the case had
been turned over to the police, although the Hemmingways had asked to
have the search conducted quietly, and therefore it did not reach the
papers. Fearing to keep the necklace in his possession, he sent it to
his niece with a cryptic message which he knew she would not, under
the circumstances, dare show to others, and also reasoned that she
would keep the necklace concealed for the same cause. I don't doubt he
expected her eventually to ask his advice about the jewels and then
he would get them back again, as soon as all danger of detection was
over, on the plea that he would have them returned to the rightful
owner, or some such plausible excuse."

"Upon my word, such villany exceeds belief." Lane gazed incredulously
at the detective. "And yet I don't doubt you have guessed the right
solution of the problem."

"Eleanor, dear,"--Douglas turned to the weeping girl. "If you feel
strong enough I wish you would tell us about your quest to which
you alluded this afternoon." Eleanor raised her head and looked
reproachfully at him. "I realize the subject may prove painful to you
at this time, but, Annette having implicated you in her transactions, I
think it is best for you to clear up any seeming mysteries."

"Perhaps you are right." Eleanor sighed as she wiped away her tears. "I
must first tell you that my mother was Nora Fitzgerald----"

"The famous actress?" broke in Brett.

"The same. She gave up the stage when she married my father, Barry
Thornton, then a lieutenant in the United States Navy. Their married
life was unusually happy; therefore it was all the more incredible and
tragic when one day he disappeared----"

"Disappeared?" echoed Douglas blankly.

"Disappeared utterly. His ship was at Hampton Roads and he was given
shore leave one day. At the wharf he told the coxswain to come back for
him at ten o'clock that evening, and he walked on up to the hotel. From
that hour to this he has never been seen or heard from." Eleanor paused
and pushed her hair off her forehead, then continued: "A short time
before his mysterious disappearance my father fell from the rigging of
the ship to the deck with such force that he was picked up unconscious.
It is supposed that the fall may have affected his brain, and so
accounted for his subsequent disappearance."

"That is very likely," commented Lane. "I saw a similar case in the
Philippines, but pardon me, Miss Eleanor, I did not mean to interrupt."

"Several days after my father's disappearance a nude body was washed
ashore miles below Norfolk. The condition of the body prevented
positive identification, but many persons, among them Uncle Dana,
believed it to be my father. My mother, however, refused to accept that
theory. She was convinced that he was still alive and suffering from
mental aberration. She returned to the stage, first placing me with my
uncle, John Fitzgerald, who brought me up. She visited many cities and
many countries, but could find no trace of my father. Shortly before
her death she sent for me and charged me solemnly to continue her
search, which I have done to the best of my ability."

"My poor girl," said Douglas softly.

"My idea has been that if my father was still alive he would pursue his
profession, so I searched the records of other navies, thinking that
perhaps he might be serving under another flag. The day that you saw
me at the Navy Department, Douglas, I had been going over old records,
hoping to find some clew to his present whereabouts."

Douglas colored hotly as he remembered the construction which he had
put on her presence in the department. "What did you mean," he asked,
"by saying this afternoon that Senator Carew told you he could help you
to bring your quest to a successful conclusion?"

"Senator Carew said that while in Panama he had seen a man who closely
resembled my father. The stranger apparently did not recognize him,
but so certain was Senator Carew of his identity that he gave him his
visiting card, and insisted that he should call at the Navy Department
in Washington. Douglas, do you recollect asking me about a man who
you thought you saw with me in the elevator at the Navy Department on
Wednesday?"

"I do."

"I was terribly excited by your apparently simple question, for in
stating that the man had black hair and blue eyes you exactly described
my father."

"Great heavens!" Douglas sprang to his feet. "It is most astounding,
but such a man as you describe really did call at the Department that
morning and insisted on seeing the Secretary, saying that he had an
appointment to meet Senator Carew."

"What became of him?" Eleanor's lovely eyes were aglow with excitement.

"I don't know. The Secretary and I both thought he had stolen the plans
of the battleships." Eleanor's shocked expression stopped him. "Of
course, now we know it was Colonel Thornton who called there later with
you and Mrs. Wyndham, although how on earth he managed to steal the
plans under the very nose of the Secretary is beyond me."

"Let me think." Eleanor pressed her hands to her throbbing temples.
"I remember now; it must have been when Uncle Dana was using the desk
telephone. He was leaning forward across the desk, and I recall that
I noticed he had his right hand in a drawer; I couldn't see very
distinctly, as his body was between us and the drawer and his overcoat
was also thrown on the desk. Mrs. Wyndham was looking at a book, and
the Secretary was coughing his head off by the further window, with his
back toward us."

Brett struck the table a resounding blow with his clenched fist.

"By George, but he was slick! The smartest criminal I've run across in
years."

A discreet tap sounded on the library door, and a muffled voice asked:
"'Scuse me, but am Miss Eleanor in dar?"

"Come in, Nicodemus," called Eleanor. The old darky entered and,
circling the table, handed her a note on the silver salver. She hastily
tore it open and read its contents. "I must consult Cousin Kate," she
announced, rising hastily, "before I can answer this."

"We must all be going," said Brett, following her into the hall, while
Nicodemus paused to put out the lights. "One moment, Miss Thornton,
will you please give me the ruby necklace."

"Why, I handed it to you," ejaculated Eleanor, in surprise, turning
back from the staircase.

"I beg your pardon," said Brett, with positiveness. "I saw Mr. Hunter
drop it on the table in front of you." Douglas and the young officer
joined them.

"So he did," declared Lane, and with the others followed Eleanor as she
hastily reëntered the library.

"Why, it's not anywhere on the table." Eleanor felt among the table
ornaments. "Douglas, do light the gas," in growing alarm.

"Where in thunder are the matches?" growled Douglas, overturning a
vase on the secretary in his endeavors to find a matchbox. "Got any,
Nicodemus?" as a figure brushed by him in the darkness and approached
the chimney. The other men were busy searching vainly in their pockets
for a match.

"Good for you, Nicodemus," called Douglas, as a tiny flame appeared
in the direction of the chimney. "Bring it over here and light this
chandelier." His order was not obeyed.

The flickering light grew stronger, and then Douglas realized that it
was burning some distance from the servant. The flame became stronger,
and by its rays a face grew out of the surrounding darkness. A strong,
handsome face, whose pallor was enhanced by the heavy black beard and
dark shaggy eyebrows. The eyes were fixed on Nicodemus, who stood in
the shadow with his back to the rest, and the two stared unblinkingly
at each other. The silence was intolerable. Eleanor and the three
men stood transfixed, too astounded to move. Suddenly a choking sob
burst from Nicodemus. He threw out his arms as if to ward off some
overmastering horror, swayed forward, and fell heavily to the floor.

The candle flickered suddenly as it was raised and applied to a wall
gas jet. The sudden light caused the spellbound spectators of the
scene to blink violently; then, as their eyes grew accustomed to the
illumination, they made out the figure of a tall man in nondescript
clothes standing near the chimney.

"Who--who are you, and where in hell did you come from?" gasped Brett.

"I am Barry Thornton, formerly of the United States Navy." The newcomer
caught sight of Eleanor, and stretched out his arms pleadingly. "My
dear, dear daughter."

Eleanor, grown deadly white, clutched the table for support. "I don't
understand," she stammered.

"I forgot." The newcomer's arms dropped to his side. "You were too
young to remember me when I last saw you. Fortunately," meeting Brett's
incredulous stare, "Nicodemus knows me."

"Your spectacular appearance seems to have knocked him silly,"
exclaimed Captain Lane, regaining his voice. "I reckon we'll have to
bring him around before he can identify you properly."

"Nicodemus, tell these gentlemen who I am," commanded the newcomer.

"Yo' is my marse, Cap'n Barry Thornton, suh." The voice came from
behind Douglas, and all in the room wheeled in that direction. There
stood Nicodemus, his eyes starting from his head, his face gray with
fright. He had entered unnoticed a second before.

Eleanor's senses were reeling. With desperate effort she controlled
herself. "Then who is that?" she cried, frantically, pointing to the
motionless figure which was partly hidden from their view by the divan.

For answer the newcomer stepped forward and thrust the sofa to one
side, then stooped and rolled the figure over, disclosing the white
hair and well-known features of Colonel Dana Thornton.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE FINAL EXPLANATION


Douglas caught Eleanor as she fell and carried her to the lounge.

"Get some water and wine, Lane," he directed, and the young officer
sped out of the room, to return quickly with Nicodemus bearing the
necessary articles. Douglas forced some of the stimulant between
Eleanor's clenched teeth, and bathed her temples and hands with the
iced water, and, to his infinite relief, he had the satisfaction of
seeing her open her eyes.

"Father," she murmured, "Father!"

"I am here." The tall, sad-faced man stooped over her, and she
placed her trembling hand against his cheek. "Don't look so wild, my
darling,"--as recollection returned fully to her. "Think no more of
it," and he laid his hand softly over her eyes. She smiled like a tired
child, and, reaching over, laid her hand in Douglas', then, reassured,
lay still. Seen together, the likeness between father and daughter
was obvious. Eleanor had inherited his handsome deep blue eyes, long
eyelashes, and brilliant coloring.

Brett rose from beside the still figure. "He's dead--this time," he
said tersely. "Apoplexy. It beats me how he got out of that burning
automobile."

"He wasn't in it," said Barry Thornton calmly.

"He wasn't?" Brett's excitement overcame him. "Why, I saw him with my
own eyes."

"You saw him leave here, yes; but you probably did not notice that
the Japanese chauffeur was crouching at his feet in the car. When the
machine turned into Wisconsin Avenue, out of your sight, my brother
slowed down and sprang out, giving his hat to the Japanese, who took
his place at the wheel and raced the machine up Wisconsin Avenue."

"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Brett. "So it was poor Fugi who was
burned up. But, good Lord! when Colonel Thornton had made so successful
a getaway what induced him to put his head in the lion's mouth by
returning here, and what was he doing in this room?"

"If you search his pockets you may find out," was the cryptic reply as
Barry Thornton drew up a chair by Eleanor's couch and seated himself.

Brett thrust his hand first in one pocket of the dead man's clothing
and then in another. In the last one he jerked it out again as if
his fingers had been bitten. In his hand dangled the priceless ruby
necklace and a wallet filled with bank notes! Brett sat down on the
floor, for once speechless.

"How did you know it?" he asked finally.

Barry Thornton raised his disengaged hand and pointed to the portrait
of his ancestor and namesake. "I was watching this scene through
those peepholes,"--an exclamation escaped Douglas,--"you almost
caught me this morning, Mr. Hunter. This old house is honeycombed
with secret passages. My brother kept a large sum of money in a
secret drawer in that desk. He probably needed funds to assist him in
escaping from this country, so came back here and entered the house
by means of one of the secret passages. He has been concealed behind
that sliding panel,"--pointing to an aperture in the wall near the
chimney,--"waiting to slip into this room. He seized the opportunity
when Nicodemus put out the lights, and left by the billiard room door,
to steal the necklace as well as get his money. Your reëntering the
room flustered him, and he was making in haste for the secret passage
when I stepped out of it and faced him. Thinking me dead years
ago--his escape barred--the shock proved too much...." Thornton did not
complete his sentence. There was a moment's silence.

"I think it would be as well, Mr. Thornton, that we remove your
brother's body to his room," suggested Douglas, recovering somewhat
from his astonishment.

"Well, I don't know about that; the coroner----" objected Brett
dubiously.

"We can all testify to the details of Colonel Thornton's death," put in
Lane. "But we cannot leave him lying here on his own floor. His death
was natural, brought on by shock."

"Very well, sir." Brett rose and walked to the door. He returned in
a moment with a plain-clothes policeman, and, with the assistance of
Douglas and Lane, all that was mortal of Dana Thornton was carried to
his room. Barry Thornton had requested them to return, and Douglas,
Lane, and Brett trooped back to the library.

"Eleanor has told me of her long search," began Thornton. "My
disappearance came from lapse of memory, and the latter was brought on
by a fall on shipboard. That fall,"--deliberately,--"was caused by my
brother, Dana."

"Oh, Father!" Eleanor sat bolt upright.

"Yes, I had found out some of his deviltries and taxed him with them.
I told him I would expose him if he did not mend his ways, and he
promised to do so. He visited me on board ship, and while he was there
I had occasion to mount the rigging. He followed me up, and managed to
push me as I was swinging from one of the ropes. I lost my balance and
fell, with what result you already know."

"The fiend!" cried Eleanor, bitterly. "And I trusted him so."

"His ability to inspire confidence has been his greatest asset," said
her father dryly. "After leaving the gig that day at Old Point Comfort,
everything is a blank to me."

"What brought back your memory?" asked Douglas.

"A chance remark overheard in a drinking hell of Colon, Panama. Two
days before that a man whose face was dimly familiar met me in the
streets of Cristobal and gave me his card, telling me I must ask for
him at the Navy Department at Washington, and that the Secretary was
keeping a place open for me. At the time, while his words impressed me
deeply, they conveyed no very clear idea, nor did Senator Carew's name
enlighten me; but they caused me to renew my efforts to remember the
past, which I felt convinced was very different from my surroundings
then.

"As I have said, two days after I overheard two men plotting against
the United States. Toward the end of their conversation the younger
man, whom I took to be an American, mentioned the name which woke the
sleeping chords of memory--the name of my dearly loved wife, Nora
Fitzgerald,"--his voice broke with a sob. Eleanor raised his hand
to her lips and kissed it tenderly. Her father's grasp tightened
involuntarily and he continued:

"I hastened back to Washington as soon as I could get here, working
my passage, and on my arrival went to see Secretary Wyndham. The news
of Senator Carew's death was a great shock, for I had depended on him
to assist me to find my wife and child. I believe I had some sort of
attack at the Department, but all I recollect is finding myself again
in the street."

"What did you do then?" questioned Douglas, as the older man paused.

"I came on here, thinking I might find Dana. He was out, but old
Nicodemus opened the door for me. He recognized me almost instantly;
hurried me out into the kitchen, and there poured out such an
extraordinary tale of Dana's behavior that I sat dumfounded."

"Do tell us what he said," urged Brett, hitching his chair forward.

"In justice to myself I must," was the grave reply. "Dana was a moral
degenerate; brave to a fault, and very clever, he did not know the
difference between right and wrong. If he had been content to keep
straight he might have risen to high places; instead he practiced
deceit and dishonor." Thornton's sad face hardened. "He was always a
first class actor, and that talent helped him in the double life he
was leading. Nicodemus told me that he was in the habit of disguising
himself whenever he was up to deviltry."

"Ah, that explains why Annette did not know that Dana Thornton was 'the
mutual friend' to whom she delivered and from whom she received secret
despatches," put in Brett, who had followed Captain Thornton's words
with breathless interest.

"After what Nicodemus told me I decided not to let my brother know of
my presence here," continued Captain Thornton, "and so occupied an
unused room in the garret, where Nicodemus took care of me."

"Oh, why didn't you come to me?" asked Eleanor passionately.

"I did, dear; yesterday morning, but you were out." An exclamation
broke from Eleanor. "I did not leave any message or name, so you were
not told of my visit. Nicodemus told me of my wife's death, and of your
presence in Washington, Eleanor.

"How I kept my hands off Dana I don't know!" Thornton's eyes blazed
with righteous indignation. "He was the cause of all my misfortunes.
When possible I spied upon him; not an honorable occupation, but I felt
I must fight the devil with fire. When I entered this room just now I
intended to slay him, but Providence intervened and gave him a more
merciful death than I would have meted out to him."

"I don't know about that," said Brett; "in the hour of his triumph
you snatched his victory from him. God only knows what thoughts were
concentrated in his active brain when physical endurance succumbed to
the shock of seeing you."

"Perhaps you are right," agreed Thornton wearily. "I think that is all
I have to tell you, gentlemen."

"There is one question I feel I must ask," Brett rose to his feet as
he spoke. "Did Annette commit suicide, or was she killed by human or
supernatural agency?"

"I think my brother planned her murder; one crime more or less did not
trouble his elastic conscience."

"By Heaven! she brought it on herself by offering to confess to Colonel
Thornton what she knew of Senator Carew's murder. But how the devil
did he accomplish it?" questioned Brett. "The only door was locked on
the inside, and no one could have entered by the windows. I examined
all the wall space, thinking there might be a concealed entrance, but
couldn't find a sign of one."

"But you did not examine the floor of the closet," replied Thornton.
"It has a trapdoor cleverly concealed. The passage leads to a secret
door which opens on the landing of the circular staircase leading from
this floor to the next. My idea is that Dana stole into the room, found
the maid asleep, and blew out the gas, leaving her to be asphyxiated,
and then returned to his room."

"Did you see him do this?"--sternly.

"Most certainly not. If I had had the faintest idea that he intended to
murder the maid, I would have prevented the crime. I stayed downstairs
last night, going over some papers in Dana's desk until nearly three
this morning. I was stealing up to my room when I saw Miss Carew coming
down the hall, and, when she screamed and roused the household, I
bolted into the secret passage opening from the stair landing."

"I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir, for straightening out these
mysteries," said Brett, stepping to the door. "How much do you wish
made public?"

"Only that which is absolutely necessary to clear the innocent from
suspicion," returned Thornton gravely. "I leave the matter to your
judgment."

"Very good, sir; I'll hush it up as much as possible. Good
evening,"--and Brett departed.

Eleanor slipped from the lounge where she had been lying. "Wait for me
here, Father," she requested, as she left the room.

"Will you excuse me, Mr. Thornton," said Fred Lane, rising. "I would
like to join Mrs. Truxton and Cynthia for half an hour."

"Certainly, Captain, and I will be exceedingly grateful if you will
explain to Mrs. Truxton what has taken place here to-night. Tell her as
much or as little as you think necessary."

"I will indeed, sir; good night," and Lane, his step elastic as he
thought of joining Cynthia, hastened to Mrs. Truxton's room.

Eleanor was not long absent. Walking over to the lounge, she laid a
number of leather-bound journals on her father's knee.

"Mother kept a diary for you, Father; she charged me never to part with
it until we should meet, when I was to give it to you."

Thornton kissed her in silence. As Eleanor stood hesitating, Douglas'
arm stole round her waist. "Come with me, dear heart," he murmured.
The lovelight transfigured his strong face and was reflected in her
beautiful eyes. Together they strolled to the door, but before passing
out of the room Eleanor paused and glanced back at her father.

Thornton's iron composure had given way, and his head was bowed over
the familiar handwriting as he read through tear-dimmed eyes the
messages of love and faith penned by his girl wife in the years that
were no more.

THE END




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:


A change to the List of Illustrations has been made to correct the
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page 18.

Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetters' errors
and regularize hyphenation. Variant spellings have been retained.

Words and phrases that were typeset in the original book have been
noted by an underscore (_) on each side of the word or phrase.





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