down here. He was making a motor trip with Mr. Mordaunt, and on their way to Atlantic City, they stopped here at Mr. Judson's request. He wrote me that he wanted to see me once more before he went West, but he did not care to meet Philip. So I wrote him that I would be on the upper veranda Monday night at ten o'clock, and that he might come up by the little outside staircase, and thus he need not see Philip at all. He did this, and it was Mr. Mordaunt's car that the Earl saw that night."
"Then Judson did come up on the upper veranda, Monday night at ten o'clock," Said Tom Whiting; "and yet you say he had nothing to do with the shooting!"
"Absolutely nothing," said Irene. "We were on the other side of the house from the library, and he remained with me not more than two minutes."
"Why such a short stay?" asked Tom.
"Because,—because I was crying when he came, and I didn't want to see him anyway, and I begged him to go away at once."
"At what time was this?"
"I don't know exactly, but it was quite some time after ten. In fact, Mr. King came and told me about Philip and Mildred, very soon after Mr. Judson went away. But I can swear, if necessary, that he only came up to see me, stayed but a few moments and went away again. He did not go round to the library side of the house at all."
"What were you crying about?" asked Whiting, gently.
"I was upset and nervous, and I couldn't control myself."
"You have heard from Mr. Judson since?" asked Mr. Maxwell, who was paying close attention to Irene's story.
"Yes,—and of course he has heard of the murder, but he has no idea he was suspected of it. But I wanted him to get away, for to detain him and make inquiries, would only mean trouble for an innocent man. So I wrote him at Millville that you were going over there, and begged him to get away before you came. I think he must have been mystified at my urging him to a speedy departure, but I'm glad to know that he did as I advised him."
"It is a strange story, Miss Gardiner," said Mr. Maxwell, thoughtfully, "but of course I do not doubt your word."
"You need not," said Irene, haughtily. "I have told only the exact truth. If I have concealed this episode, it is only because I didn't wish Mr. Judson's name brought into question at all."
We talked for some time after this, and we all agreed that as Judson was now entirely out of it, we must look in some other direction.
"I don't think Mr. Hunt is doing much," said Whiting, "and I think, Mr. Maxwell, it would be wise to put the whole affair in the hands of the police."
"If you think best," said the old gentleman, hopelessly. "I think myself, that Mr. Hunt is not discovering anything, but that may not be his fault. As I told you, Tom, whatever you and Peter agree upon, I will agree to. But I cannot seem to take any initiative. I am too old, and my deafness stands in my way, when I would question anybody."
"Certainly, Mr. Maxwell," said I, "you could not be expected to take up this matter personally. I'll see Hunt again, and if he agrees, I think we will give it over to the police."
But before I saw Hunt, I determined to do a little more investigating by myself. I went up to the library, hoping that from the scene of the crime I could get some hint of which direction to turn.
Of course, too much time had elapsed to look for further clues, but as I sat there, something brought back to my mind the black spangles I had found that next morning. The maid who had found the Earl's seal must have overlooked the tiny spangles as I found them later. But she might have found others of the same sort when she dusted the room, and I determined to ask her.
I went in search of her, and showing her the spangles I had, I inquired if she had seen any like them in the library the morning she had found the seal. At first she couldn't remember, and then she recollected having picked up two or three near the window.
"Have you any idea," I said, "where they could have come from? Did any of the ladies wear a spangled dress that night?"
"Oh, I know where they have come from," she said, quickly; "they are from the fan of Miss Gardiner."
"How do you know?"
"Because Miss Gardiner carried the black fan that evening. She left it on a seat on the veranda, and I found it and put it again in her room."
"You are certain, Emily, that Miss Gardiner carried the fan that evening?"
"I am sure, Mr. King."
"That is all, Emily, you may go."
Here was something definite. For I remembered distinctly that Miss Gardiner went to her room to get that fan just before she and I walked together on the upper veranda. Then I left her, and she remained up there, and Judson found her there, crying. Meantime, some spangles from that fan had been dropped by the library window! It seemed to me positive proof that Irene had been around there between half past nine and half past ten that night. The more I thought it over the more I was convinced that it must be so. And yet, I did not like to face her with these facts and ask an explanation. But it seemed to me that I must do this, before going any further.
So I went on my very distasteful errand, and found Miss Gardiner in the music-room with Miss Maxwell.
"You know," I said, speaking to the girl, "it is our duty to investigate every possible clue."
"Of course," said Irene, but she trembled nervously and seemed to apprehend some new disclosure.
"Then I will show you these spangles," I said, taking them from my pocketbook, "and ask you if they could have dropped from a fan of yours." Irene looked at them, and said, quietly, "I have a black spangled fan; they may very likely have dropped from it."
"Did you carry it the Monday night that Philip died?"
"I may have done so; I don't remember exactly. Why?"
"Because these spangles were found in the library, the morning after the shooting."
"And you think that turns suspicion toward me?" Irene rose, and stood with flashing eyes, the embodiment of indignation and anger. "You are entirely mistaken, Mr. King, as to your suspicions! They may be spangles from my fan, they may have been dropped in the library; but I was in and out of that room during the early evening, long before the time of the tragedy."
"But you didn't have the fan with you, then," I persisted; "because I remember you went to your room for it, when you and I were together after our dance."
Miss Gardiner turned perfectly white, and swayed as if about to faint. Miss Maxwell sprang to her aid, and putting an arm about her led her from the room.
"I can't have this poor girl tortured, Peter," said the gentle old lady, and they went away leaving me to face a new suspicion that was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.
Chapter XIX.
Red Ink Spots
I resolved to say nothing more about the fan or the spangles to any member of the household, but to lay the case before Hunt, when he came over to the house the next morning.
To my surprise he did not seem at all impressed with the idea of Miss Gardiner being implicated.
"You let your idea of clues run away with you, Mr. King," he said. "To be sure the spangles may point in Miss Gardiner's direction, but she certainly cannot be the intruder who came in the motor coat and cap. Now, it seems to me if we're going to look for our man through any clues, we'd better consider that red ink. When Miss Leslie threw that inkstand, and so much ink was spilled on the rug, it is extremely probable that some also spattered on the coat of the assailant."
"Well, it seems to me," I said, "that that's about the most elusive clue you could think of! We can't possibly, after all these days, trace a motor coat with red ink spots on it."
"He might