talent.
But Leroy or not, at any rate it turned the tide of suspicion away from Janet. This was joy enough, of itself, to compensate for any horrible revelation that might come in the future concerning Leroy or anyone else.
Somewhere in the back of my brain two dreadful words that the Coroner had used were hammering for admittance. These were connivance and complicity; if Leroy entered the apartment on Wednesday night at any hour he was let in by either Janet or Charlotte.
At that moment I realized the truth of the line, "that way madness lies."
I pushed the thought from my mind with all my will power, and hastening my steps, for I had walked from Fifty-eighth Street, I went rapidly homeward.
I reached home about six o'clock, and found that George Lawrence was there, and that Laura had invited him to stay to dinner. I was pleased at this, for I hoped that by the casual conversation at table I could learn something of Mr. Pembroke's past life and acquaintances.
I concluded to say nothing about my discoveries of the afternoon, but to advise them of my decision to continue my search for a real criminal; a housebreaker or burglar, who could have committed the crime for the money, which he stole, and who must have contrived some way to get in through a window.
During dinner, although Laura endeavored to keep away from the all-engrossing subject, which she disapproved of as table conversation, I gave a slight outline of the effort I intended to make.
George Lawrence seemed greatly pleased with my ideas. He agreed that there must be some one, somewhere, besides himself and Janet who could be shown to have a motive, and he offered to assist me in looking over his uncle's private papers for some letter or other evidence which might indicate this.
"Simply to make a statement of the case, but for no other reason," said George, "I will agree with you that the facts, as known, seem to implicate Janet. But as she is utterly incapable of such a thing, and as the idea of Charlotte being involved in the matter is absurd, the criminal must be somebody else, and we must find him or her. I say 'him or her' because the inspector declares that the hat-pin indicates a woman's deed, and, as we are utterly at sea regarding the individuality of the criminal, we are, I think, justified in assuming either sex. It is, of course, not beyond the bounds of possibility that Uncle Robert had a feminine enemy."
"Once we can establish a motive," I said, "we shall have something to work upon in our hunt for evidence."
"And yet motive isn't everything," said Lawrence, with a grim smile; "for if Janet had a motive, as you say, an equal one must be attributed to me, as I am an equal inheritor of Uncle Robert's fortune."
I looked wonderingly at the young man. "The motive attributed to Miss Pembroke," I said "would probably not be her desire for inheritance, so much as the desperate difficulties attending her life with her uncle."
This seemed to surprise Lawrence, but he only said carelessly: "It doesn't matter what motive they assign to Janet, for she didn't have any motive, and she didn't do the deed. But, for the moment, I'm speaking not of facts or even possibilities, but of contingencies which might arise. It might be claimed that I had a motive, from the mere fact that I am one of my uncle's heirs."
"But you couldn't get in, George," said Janet quickly. "Your latch-key was of no use when the chain was on."
"That's true enough, Janet, and we all know it; but, as I say, we're speaking of a hypothetical case. And you know, if we're going to hunt for some other person with a motive, we're bound to admit that he got into the apartment somehow. Therefore, to eliminate the possibility of being myself a suspect, I'll merely state, as a matter of fact, that my alibi is perfect. I can prove, should it be necessary, that I was far away from Sixty-second Street at the time of Uncle Robert's death, and can account for my time all through the night."
I liked Lawrence's way of putting these things, and began to think his clear-headed views on the matter would be of assistance to me, even though he had no taste or talent for detective work.
"Just what is an alibi?" asked Janet, with a perplexed air.
"It means," I answered, "proof by witnesses of a person's whereabouts at a given time."
"Oh!" said Janet. "And where were you last night, George?"
Lawrence smiled as he answered: "I'm not in the witness box now, Janet, but I don't mind telling you that I dined and spent the evening at the Warings'."
"Oh, did you?" cried Janet. "And you took Milly to a matinée in the afternoon. I know, because she told me about it before. You're getting awfully fond of her, aren't you, George?"
"Yes, I like Miss Waring extremely," said Lawrence, and though he spoke as if he meant it, a certain sadness came into his eyes, and I suspected that Miss Waring did not reciprocate his regard.
But though the young man seemed suddenly distrait, and did not attempt to continue our previous conversation, Janet, on the contrary had brightened up wonderfully. Being in a mood for making inferences, I deduced that George Lawrence was more interested in Miss Waring than Janet desired him to be, and that she was pleased rather than otherwise at George's lack of enthusiasm about the lady. Thereupon the sudden fear that Janet was in love with her cousin assailed me. This aroused what was of course an unreasonable jealousy on my part, for I had not the slightest actual foundation on which to rest the hopes I was rapidly building. I eagerly watched the two cousins after that, to discover if there was anything more than cousinly affection on either side.
Chapter XV.
Who Is J. S.?
Whatever the cause, Janet's spirits were undeniably lightened.
"I wish I could help," she said. "Here is our problem: to find somebody who wanted to kill Uncle Robert, and who was able to get into the apartment and do so."
"That's the case in a nutshell," declared George; "but I confess I don't know which way to start."
Although I had made up my mind not to refer to the letter from Jonathan Scudder, which Crawford had shown me, yet I thought I would introduce the subject of J. S. and see if Janet would volunteer any information regarding the letter.
So, since both cousins had declared their willingness to consider the problem, I said: "As you say you don't know which way to start, Mr. Lawrence, suppose we take up the clue of the torn telegram. Do you think that J. S. who sent that message might have kept his appointment, and come last night, although no one knew it?"
"How could he get in?" asked Lawrence.
"That remains to be explained; but just granting for a moment that he did get in, why not turn our attention to discovering who he is and what his errand was?"
"All right," agreed Lawrence, "but how shall we set about it? We know nothing of the man, not even his real name."
"What do you think, Miss Pembroke?" I asked, turning to Janet; "do you think it would be possible for us to learn the real name of J. S.?"
The girl looked at me with troubled eyes, but the expression of her mouth denoted determination. Even before she spoke, I knew that she was not going to tell of the letter she had read that morning. The letter was addressed to her uncle, but it had been opened. The reasonable explanation of this was that it had come in that morning's mail, as indeed its postmark proved, and that Janet had opened and read it; this latter supposition being probable, because the letter had been found in her room. To be sure after the death of her uncle, she was next in charge of the household affairs, but it would have been more commendable of her to have given her uncle's unopened mail to his lawyer or to some one in charge of his estate.
When she spoke, as I had fully expected, she made no reference to the letter.
"As I have told you," she said slowly, "my uncle often used to speak of J. S., and when we asked him who