found Hunt making a tabulated statement of certain facts.
"You see, Mr. King," he said, with a very grave face, "while these things are not positively incriminating, they are serious questions which need clearing up.
"Granting that the bronze horse was thrown at the intruder and replaced on the desk before you entered the room that night, we must allow that it was picked up and replaced by somebody. Miss Leslie was incapable of this act, the murderer was not likely to do it.
"Gilbert Crane was the first to find out that the tragedy had occurred. There is no witness to say what he might or might not have done in this room. It is possible therefore that he restored the horse to its place."
"And the inkstand?"
"You remember that Gilbert Crane insisted on spending the night in this house. Is it not, therefore, conceivable that he should have waited until every one else had gone home, or retired to their rooms, and that he should then have come to the library, found the empty stand, refilled it, and replaced it?"
"But," said I, in utter amazement, "if he did not commit the crime why should he be so careful about these details?"
"I am not sure," said Mr. Hunt in a low voice, "that he did not commit the crime."
Chapter XX.
Irene Tells the Truth
Although horrified and even indignant at Mr. Hunt's assertion, I could not fail to be impressed by his arguments. I was still bewildered at the possibilities he suggested, when a tap was heard at the library door. Mr. Hunt rose quietly and admitted Miss Gardiner.
The girl looked haggard and worn. Her brilliant coloring seemed faded, and her whole attitude betrayed deep distress not unmixed with fear.
But all of this she tried to hide beneath a mask of impassivity. I think she impressed Hunt with her appearance of calmness, though I felt sure that her turbulent spirit was far from placid.
"Sit down, Miss Gardiner," said Hunt kindly. "I wish to ask you a few questions."
Irene sat down, and with an air both haughty and dignified awaited the detective's next words. Had it not been for her restless, troubled eyes, she would have deceived me into thinking her assumed indifference real.
"In your testimony, Miss Gardiner," began Mr. Hunt, "you declared that you did not leave the spot where you were sitting, on the east end of the balcony, the night of the murder, until you came into the house at about half past ten. Are you still prepared to swear to this statement?"
"Why should I not be, Mr. Hunt?" said Irene, but her lips grew white, and her voice trembled.
"You might have since recollected that you did go around to the west side, if only for a moment."
"I have no recollections that cause me to change my sworn statement in any way," declared Irene.
Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper and her eyes refused to meet mine.
Mr. Hunt continued:
"Were you around on the west side, near the library window, at any time during the evening—earlier, perhaps, than the time you spent sitting alone on the east side?"
"No," said Irene, and this time her voice was stronger and her whole air more decided, as she looked the detective straight in the eye. "I was not on the west balcony earlier in the evening. I was not there at all!"
The last sentence came with a desperate burst of emphasis, that somehow did not carry conviction. For some reason the girl was under a severe tension, and I couldn't help thinking there was danger of her physical collapse.
"Then," said Mr. Hunt, suddenly producing the black spangles—"then may I ask, Miss Gardiner, how these chanced to be found in the library, and on the library window-shutter?"
Irene Gardiner gave a low cry, and hiding her face in her hands, seemed in immediate danger of the collapse I had feared.
"Miss Gardiner," I said, for though her actions were inexplicable, I was still deeply under the spell of her fascination, and greatly desired to help her—"Miss Gardiner, let me advise you, as a friend, to tell your story frankly and truthfully. I am sure it will be better for all concerned."
Raising her head, Irene Gardiner flashed a look at me so full of faith and gratitude, that, assured of her complete innocence, I determined to become her strong ally.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I would be so glad to tell the truth! I swore to a falsehood from a sense of duty to another."
"It is always a mistaken sense of duty that leads to false swearing," said Mr. Hunt.
"I believe that is so," said Irene earnestly, "but I had no one to advise me and I thought I was doing right. The truth is, then, that I did go around to the west end of the balcony, and that I did look in at the library window."
"At what time was this?" asked Mr. Hunt.
"I don't know," said Irene, "but it was just before Mr. Judson came, and about ten minutes later Mr. King came to me on the front balcony, and told me what had happened."
"What did you see in the library?" asked Mr. Hunt.
"Must I tell that?"
"You must."
"Then I saw Philip lying on the floor, and Mildred fallen to the floor also. But she was partly hidden by the desk."
"Is that all you saw?" asked Mr. Hunt, looking at her intently. "Was there no one else in the room?"
"Must I tell that?" asked Irene again, with an appealing glance at me.
"Yes," said Mr. Hunt sternly, "much may depend on your telling the absolute truth."
"Then," said Irene, "I saw Mr. Crane placing a pistol in Mildred's hand."
"Wait," said I, "was this occurring just as you arrived at the window?"
"Yes."
"Then," I went on, "you cannot swear that he was placing the pistol in her hand. He might have been taking it away from her, or attempting to do so."
"I never thought of that," said Irene, an expression of relief lighting up her face.
"Even so," said Mr. Hunt, "he should have told of the incident in his own testimony. What did you do next, Miss Gardiner?"
"I went away at once. I went to the east side of the veranda. I was so mystified and horrified by what I had just seen that I flung myself into a chair and cried. I was still crying when, soon after, Mr. Judson came in search of me. And I was still crying when Mr. King came later to tell me what had happened."
"She was," I said, "and crying so violently that I was alarmed. But as Miss Maxwell appeared almost immediately, I left the two ladies to look after each other."
"And had it not been for the incriminating spangles, did you not intend to correct your misstatement?" said Mr. Hunt, looking at her severely.
"No," said Irene, and her manner now was frank and self-assured, "for I felt sure Mr. Crane had done nothing wrong, and I did not wish to attract any unfounded suspicions toward him."
"A suspicion that is really unfounded can do no one any harm," said Mr. Hunt, who seemed to be in a mood for oracular utterances.
"I am glad," said Irene simply, "for I would not wish any harm to come to Mr. Crane through my testimony."
"That is as it may be," said Mr. Hunt, and the interview was at an end.
Although Irene's evidence had placed Gilbert in a doubtful position, I was not yet willing to believe the man guilty, or even that he was implicated in the crime.
Indeed, I was for going straight to him, and asking him for the explanation which I felt sure he could give.
But