eyes lighted up as if with a realization of her own self-importance.
And then in a manner which amazed me, she gave a clear and definite account of the motor car, and the strange man she had seen the night before.
“And I am not sure it was a man,” she said, as she came to that part of her story. “I saw only a medium-sized person with a long coat on, and as the figure crawled stealthily along in the shadow of the house, I could not discern if it might be a man or a woman.”
“This is indeed most important, Miss Fordyce,” said the coroner, evidently pleased to find something to work on. “It is extremely probable that the figure you saw, was that of the criminal we are seeking.”
“But what good does that do,” inquired Miss Fordyce, earnestly, “Since you have no idea who the person could have been?”
“But we may be able to find out. At least we have a tangible clue to work upon.”
The clue seemed to me a most intangible one, and I couldn’t help thinking that any story of Beth Fordyce’s would have to be corroborated by some one else, before it could have much weight with me. I glanced at Markham and saw that he was intently studying the face of the witness as he made a few notes on a bit of paper. Without a doubt he meant to interview her alone later. Of course the appearance of a strange motor at midnight was exceedingly important, if true. But who could say it was not one of the hallucinations or visions to which Miss Fordyce was unfortunately subject?
I looked at the others. Barbara and Morland looked frankly incredulous. They knew the girl, and I know they thought her story might be true and might not. Anne looked eager, as if hoping that here was at least a beginning of the solution of the mystery. Archer looked uninterested, and kept his eyes on Anne, as if trying to read her thoughts.
Mrs. Carstairs and her son were greatly agitated. Mrs. Carstairs controlled it and the valet did not. But as they had been agitated during most of the inquest, I could not tell whether Miss Fordyce’s story had made any special impression on them or not. And then, again, I remembered their search in the road. Could there be any connection between their mysterious searching and the mysterious motor car?
But Miss Fordyce was still on the witness stand. The coroner evidently thought that she was an important witness after all and questioned her on many subjects. In response to one of his inquiries, she repeated a remark which Morland had made to his father at dinner the night before. This speech was to the effect that Mr. Van Wyck would be sorry if he carried out his plan. I couldn’t believe that Beth intended even to cast a shadow of suspicion in Morland’s direction, but, to the eager crowd waiting for a straw to show which way the wind blew, this speech was indicative. And yet, quite unconscious, apparently, of having said anything by way of suggestion, Beth took her seat, placid and unruffled.
But to Morland, evidently the shaft had struck home. He remembered he had said that to his father, he realized that it might react against him. I thought of this, too, and then I remembered that Lasseter had sworn that he had left Morland alone with his father, and Morland had given him the lie!
But already Archer was testifying. The gist of his evidence was practically the same as the others, but he related it in a concise, straightforward way that held the attention of his hearers. He said that he had said good-night to the ladies at about half-past ten the night before, and that then, in company with me, he had gone to the smoking-room, where we stayed for perhaps half an hour, both going to our rooms at about eleven o’clock. He then told of our meeting again at the breakfast-table, and of Anne’s coming to the dining-room to tell us of Mr. Van Wyck’s non-appearance. Of course the rest of his story was practically a repetition of the others.
“Have you any theory regarding the crime?” asked Mr. Mellen, and the oft-repeated question took on a new interest as Archer said thoughtfully:
“It’s hardly a theory, but I should like to suggest an idea that may or may not be plausible.”
“What is it?” asked the coroner, with interest.
“I’m afraid it will sound absurd,” said Archer slowly and seriously; “but it is the only explanation I can think of, which would be even a possible solution of the mystery. Though I’m not a detective, nor can I deduce facts from circumstantial evidence or clues, yet this possibility I speak of is merely an adaptation of a story I once read. In this story, a well-known work of fiction, a young woman was found murdered; and the weapon could not be discovered, although it had left a small, round hole.”
Intense interest was manifest all over the room. Necks were craned to get a better view of the speaker. The listeners fairly hung on his words, and many felt that the mystery was about to be solved.
“In a word,” went on Archer, “the weapon used was a sharp, slender icicle. As you may readily understand, it performed its fatal deed and then melted, leaving no trace. As you can see, this is not only possible, but both credible and plausible. At this season there are no icicles, but I offer, merely as a suggestion, that if Mr. Van Wyck’s death is a suicide, may it not be that the weapon was an icicle, shaped, let us say, by his own hand, from a piece of ice taken from the water pitcher.”
“By Jove!” The whispered exclamation came from Lasseter, the secretary. He was staring at Archer, and muttering beneath his breath. “He’s struck it!” he declared. “That’s the only solution, and it must be the right one! Clever fellow!”
“He didn’t deduce it,” I whispered back to the secretary, for, to tell the truth, I was a little jealous that I hadn’t thought of it myself; for I, too, had read the book in question. “He merely remembered having read of such a thing.”
“All the same, he’s right,” returned Lasseter; “and I wish I’d thought of it!”
The coroner was greatly impressed with this new idea. He turned to Doctor Mason and asked his opinion.
The old doctor looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say it was impossible; but you must remember, gentlemen, the hole left by the weapon in this case is small and perfectly round. Would it not be difficult to make, artificially, a smooth, round icicle, strong enough to pierce clothing and flesh, and strike the heart with a fatal blow?”
“It would be difficult,” said the coroner, “but I must admit it seems to me the only solution. By the process of elimination, we must conclude that this is the truth.”
“Rubbish!” exclaimed the detective, Markham, who had scant patience with the coroner’s pompous manner. “Consider the facts. Let us suppose a pitcher of ice water had been brought into the room. Was it?” he looked round inquiringly.
“Yes,” said Morland; “Father rang for it, and the butler brought it in.”
“At what time?”
“About ten o’clock, I should say.”
“Well,” triumphantly went on the detective, “then I hold that after twelve o’clock there would not be sufficient ice left in the pitcher from which to make this deadly icicle!”
Doctor Mason nodded his head, and, indeed, we all felt that the icicle theory was rather untenable.
“Well,” said Archer, “it is merely a suggestion toward the explanation of the mystery. It may or may not be the correct solution. But what seems to me more important is to learn who was the last person to see Mr. Van Wyck alive. The absence of that deed of gift seems to me a very peculiar feature. A burglar would take pearls or money, but he would have no reason for taking that deed.”
The coroner looked thoughtful. “If Mr. Van Wyck was murdered,” he said, “there must have been a motive for the deed. It is true that a burglar would desire only money or valuables. We must conceive, then, the deed being done, that the murderer—if it is a murder—must have been some one interested in keeping Mr. Van Wyck’s fortune away from the library.”
The coroner had only put into words what everybody present had been uneasily thinking. The missing deed seemed to prove that the murderer was one of the household. For who, except the members of the family,