he said John Strong."
"But we know he didn't mean it," said Lawrence; "and also, Mr. Landon, although I do not know his real name, I'm positive that J. S. is the man who was my uncle's business partner many years ago. In fact my uncle has said to me that this partner thought that half of Uncle Robert's fortune should be given to him, or bequeathed to him by will. My uncle said he had no intention of doing this, but I gathered from his remarks on the subject, that his partner was continually making fresh efforts to obtain some of my uncle's money."
"Then, in view of all this," I said, "is there not at least reason to look up this J. S. who sent the telegram, and see if he might not be the man whom your uncle called John Strong?"
I looked directly at Janet as I said this, and though she returned my gaze at first, her eyes fell before my questioning glance, and her voice trembled ever so little as she said; "yes, let us do that."
"It is a very good idea," broke in sister Laura, who was quick of decision and who rarely hesitated to express her opinions. "This John Strong may have been delayed, and reached the apartment very late at night. Then there may have been a stormy interview, and, unable to get what he wanted from Mr. Pembroke, John Strong may have killed the old gentleman, taken the money that is missing from the desk and gone away."
"Sister dear," I said, "your theory is fairly plausible. If you don't mind I'll ask you to elucidate it a little further. Just how did John Strong get into Mr. Pembroke's apartment?"
"Why," returned Laura, "Mr. Pembroke was expecting him, and as it was late, and the others were in bed, he got up and let the man in himself."
"Yes; I understand," I went on; "and now, then, after this wicked Mr. Strong had committed his dreadful deed, who let him out, and put the chain on the door?"
There was a dead silence. I had chosen my words most unfortunately. I had spoken rather quizzically, only with the intention of showing Laura how absurd her idea was; but my final question, instead of merely confuting her theory, had also suggested a dreadful possibility! For if anybody had put the chain on after the departure of the mythical Mr. Strong, it must necessarily have been one of the two living occupants of the apartment!
Janet turned white to her very lips, and as a consequence, even more dreadful thoughts flashed into my mind. She had read a letter that day from the man who had sent the telegram. There was practically no doubt of that. When I had asked her concerning this man just now, though she had not denied, yet she had not admitted the knowledge which she must have possessed. And now when the faintest hint was breathed of a possible complicity of some one in the apartment with this mysterious J. S., Janet was so agitated as to turn pale and almost quiver with apprehension!
I was strongly tempted to tell of the letter the Inspector had shown me, but I could not bring myself to do so, for far deeper than my interest in the case was my interest in this girl; and if that letter must be brought forward against her, it would have to be done by some one else and not by me. My evidence about the chain on the door had already wrought irremediable damage, and hereafter my efforts should be devoted to showing evidence that should prove Janet Pembroke innocent, and not of a sort which should make her seem to be guilty!
"How would you advise trying to find this man?" asked George Lawrence, after a somewhat awkward pause; "the address on the telegram was East Lynnwood, but it would be difficult, even with a directory or census report to find a name of which we know only the initials."
"Yes," agreed Laura, "there are doubtless men in East Lynnwood whose initials are J. S. Indeed, I should say those are perhaps the most common initials of all. You see, so many men's names begin with J."
"And it may not be a man at all," suggested Lawrence. "Women's names often begin with J,—like Janet for instance."
"But my initials are not J. S.," returned his cousin, "and besides, I didn't telegraph to uncle Robert."
Again the girl surprised me, for she spoke in a light tone, as if almost amused at the idea.
"But it might have been a woman," she went on, "which would explain the hat-pin."
I was thoroughly perplexed at Miss Pembroke's words. She knew the J. S. of the telegram was the Jonathan Scudder of the letter. She knew therefore that J. S. was not a woman. Why was she so disingenuous? Was she shielding J. S., and did she know far more about the tragedy than I had supposed? At any rate, I could see she was determined not to tell of the letter she had read, and I was determined that if I should ask her concerning it, it would be when alone with her, for I would not subject her to possible humiliation before others.
"We certainly can do nothing in the matter without knowing more of J. S. than we do now," I said, with an air of dropping the subject; "and I doubt, even if we should find him, that it would help us to discover the mystery."
"I don't believe it will ever be discovered," said Laura. "It looks to me like one of those mysteries that are never solved. For whoever it was that was clever enough to get into that house, when there wasn't any way to get in, would also be clever enough to evade detection."
George and Janet both looked at Laura as if startled by her remark. The fact that they were startled startled me. If they had known the clever individual whom Laura merely imagined, they couldn't have acted differently. But all this muddle of impressions on my mind really led to nothing. "If I'm going to do any detecting," I said to myself severely, "it's time I set about it, and not depend on guessing what people may mean by the expressions on their faces—especially faces capable of such ambiguous expressions as the two before me."
Determined, therefore, to lead the conversation into channels that would at least put me in the way of learning some facts about the previous life of the Pembrokes and of George Lawrence, I spoke generally of ways and means of living in New York. I learned that Janet had the tastes and inclinations of a society girl, but that, owing to her uncle's restrictions, she had been able only slightly to gratify these inclinations. She was fond of concerts and theatres, of going shopping and calling, and yet had never been allowed the money or the freedom to pursue these pleasures. My heart sank as I realized how everything the girl said would tell against her should she ever be called to the witness box.
Young Lawrence, it seemed, had similar social tastes, but even when he lived with the Pembrokes had been more free to go and come than his cousin. And, of course, since he had lived alone he was entirely his own master. He was a member of various clubs, and seemed to be fond of card-playing and billiards, in moderation. I also learned, though, I think, through an inadvertence, that he dabbled a little in Wall Street. It seemed surprising that a young artist could support himself in comfortable bachelor quarters and still have money left with which to speculate. This would not be in his favor, had there been a shadow of suspicion against him; but there could be no such suspicion, for even with his latch-key he could not get in at the door. He could hardly be taken for a professional housebreaker; and, besides, he was prepared to prove an alibi. I had little faith in this mythical personage we had built up with a motive and an opportunity, and as I reasoned round and round in a circle I was always confronted by the terrifying fact that a disinterested judge would suspect Janet and that, were I disinterested, I should suspect her myself. And so the reasoning went on in my excited brain, till I felt that I must go for a long walk in the cool night air as the only means of regaining my own clearness of vision.
Soon after dinner, then, I announced my intention of going out.
Lawrence said that he would spend some hours looking over his late uncle's papers, and Laura declared that she would tuck Miss Pembroke in bed early for a good night's rest.
I started out by myself, and, swinging into Broadway, I turned and walked rapidly downtown. This was my custom when I had serious matters to think of. The crowded brightness of the street always seemed to stimulate my brain, while it quieted my nerves. I hadn't gone a dozen blocks before I had come to two or three different conclusions, right or wrong though they may have been.
The first of these was a conviction that Janet felt more than a cousinly interest in George Lawrence. But this I also concluded might be caused by one of two things; it might be either a romantic attachment or Janet might