suspect her cousin to be guilty of her uncle's death. If the first were true, Janet might have been in league with George and might have opened the door for him the night before. I was facing the thing squarely now, and laying aside any of my own prejudices or beliefs, while I considered mere possibilities.
If, on the other hand, Janet suspected George, without real knowledge, this fact of course left Janet herself free of all suspicion. While I couldn't believe that the two had connived at their uncle's death, still less could I believe that Janet had done the deed herself. Therefore, I must face all the possibilities, and even endeavor to imagine more than I had yet thought of.
But the more I considered imaginary conditions, the more they seemed to me ridiculous and untenable. George was not in the apartment; Janet was. George was not at the mercy of his uncle's brutal temper; Janet was. George did not want money and freedom to pursue his chosen ways of life; Janet did.
Much as I liked George, I would gladly have cast the weight of suspicion on him instead of on Janet, had I but been able to do so.
I had never before felt so utterly at the end of my resources. There was no one to suspect, other than those already mentioned, and no place to look for new evidence. Either the talent I had always thought I possessed for detective work was non-existent, or else there was not enough for me to work upon.
But I had traced two clues. The telegram, though it had not implicated J. S. had pointed, indirectly, in Janet's direction. The key, though still mysterious, at least gave a hint of Leroy, and perhaps, in complicity, Janet.
I made these statements frankly to myself, because since I was going to fight her battle, I wanted to know at the outset what I had to fight against.
Having started on my investigation, I was eager to continue the quest I felt, if damaging evidence must be found, I would rather find it myself, than be told of it by some conceited, unsympathetic detective.
But there was little I could do by way of investigation in the evening. However, as I passed through the theatre district, I bethought me of the ticket stubs. Though well aware it was but a wild goose chase, I turned my steps toward the National Theatre. As the program was fairly well along, there was not a crowd at the box office, and I had no difficulty in engaging the blithe young man at the window in conversation. I had not the ticket stubs with me, but I had a memorandum of their dates, and though it sounded absurd even to myself, I made inquiry concerning them.
"House sold out, I suppose?" I said, carelessly, to the face at the window.
"Just about. Want a poor seat?"
"No; I'll wait till some other night. Is it sold out every night?"
"Just about."
"Was it sold out the night of October sixteenth?"
"Sure! that was in one of our big weeks! Great program on then. Why?"
"I don't suppose you could tell me who bought seats one and three in row G, that night?"
"I should say not! do you s'pose I'm a human chart? What's the game?"
"Detective work," I said, casually, thinking he would be less impressed if I did not seem too much interested. "I suppose you can't think of any way that I could find out who bought those seats for that night?"
"Well, no, I can't; unless you might advertise."
"Advertise! how?"
"Why put in a personal, asking for the fellows that had those seats."
"But they wouldn't reply; they don't want to be caught."
"Sure, that's so! well, I'll tell you. Put your personal in and ask the fellows who sat behind those seats to communicate with you. Then you can find out something about your party, may be."
"Young man," I said, heartily, "that's a really brilliant idea! I shall act upon it, and I'm much obliged to you."
I offered him a material proof of my gratitude for his suggestion, which he accepted with pleasure, and I went straight away to a newspaper office. This scheme might amount to nothing at all, but on the other hand, it certainly could do no harm.
I inserted a personal notice in the paper, asking that the holders of the seats near one and three G on the night of October sixteenth should communicate with me. I mentioned the numbers of the seats not only behind the mysterious numbers, but in front of them as well, and also at the side. I had little hope that this venture would bring any worth-while result, but there was a chance that it might, and action of any sort was better than doing nothing.
After leaving the newspaper office, I continued my walk, hoping, by deep thought to arrive at some conclusion, or at least to think of some new direction in which to look. But the farther I walked, and the more I thought, the more desperate the situation became. Clear thought and logical inference led only in one direction; and that was toward Janet Pembroke. To lead suspicion away from her, could only be done by dwelling on the thought of my love for her. In spite of her mysterious ways, perhaps because of them, my love for her was fast developing into a mad infatuation, beyond logic and beyond reason. But it was a power, and a power, I vowed, that should yet conquer logic and reason,—aye, even evidence and proof of any wrong-doing on the part of my goddess!
Notwithstanding appearances, notwithstanding Janet's own inexplicable words and deeds, I believed her entirely innocent, and I would prove it to the world.
Yet I knew that I based my belief in her innocence on that one fleeting moment, when she had looked at me with tenderness in her brown eyes, and with truth stamped indelibly upon her beautiful face.
Was that too brief a moment, too uncertain a bond to be depended upon?
Chapter XVI.
Leroy Arrives on the Scene
When I reached home Lawrence had left, Miss Pembroke had retired, and Laura was in the library, waiting for me.
"It doesn't seem possible," she said, as I flung off my coat and threw myself into an easy chair, "that so much could have happened in one day. Only think, Otis, when we arose this morning we didn't know Miss Pembroke to speak to, and now she is asleep in our guest room!"
"Where is Charlotte?" I said.
"She wanted to go to spend the night with some friends, so I let her go. We are responsible, you know, for her appearance if called for, and I know the girl well enough to know she'll never get very far away from her beloved Miss Janet."
"Have you questioned Charlotte at all?"
"Yes; and what do you think Otis? She believes that Miss Pembroke killed her uncle!"
"Did she say so?"
"Not in so many words; indeed, she scarcely owned up to it. But you know colored people are as transparent as children, and by talking in a roundabout way I discovered that she suspects Janet, only because she can't see any other solution of the mystery. She doesn't seem to blame her at all, and even seems to think Janet justified in putting the old man out of the way."
"Of course she has no intelligence in the matter," I said; "but don't you see, Laura, that if she suspects Janet, but really knows nothing about it, that proves Charlotte herself absolutely innocent even of complicity?"
"So it does, Otis. How clever you are to see that!"
"Clever!" I said, somewhat bitterly. "I'm not clever at all. I may be a lawyer, but I'm no detective."
"Why don't you employ a detective, then?"
"It isn't my place to do so. But I feel sure that a professional detective, from the clues we have, could find the murderer at once."
"Well, it wouldn't be Janet Pembroke," said Laura, with conviction. "I've been alone with that girl most of the evening, and she's no more guilty than