suspect a woman, he had dreaded all along lest Carleton should be looked upon as a criminal merely because there was no one else to be considered. And Mr. Fairbanks's quick mind realized that if there were two suspects, there yet might be three, or more, and Schuyler Carleton would at least have a fair chance.
All things concerned seemed to have taken on a new interest, and Mr. Fairbanks proposed to begin investigations at once.
"But I don't see," he complained, "why Mr. Carleton so foolishly concealed that reliquary business. Why didn't he explain that at once?"
"Carleton is a peculiar nature," said Rob. "He is shrinkingly sensitive about his private affairs, and, being innocent, he had no fear at first that even suspicion would rest upon him, so he saw no reason to tell about what would have been looked upon as a silly superstition. Had he been brought to trial, he would doubtless have made a clean breast of the matter. He is a strange man, any way; very self-contained, abnormally sensitive, and not naturally frank. But if freed from suspicion he will be more approachable, and may yet be of help to us in our search."
"Of course, though," said Mr. Fairbanks thoughtfully, "you must realize that to a disinterested observer this affair of Mr. Carleton and Miss Burt does not help to turn suspicion away from him."
"I do realize that," said Rob; "but to an interested observer it looks different. Why, if Mr. Carleton were the guilty man, he surely would not tell me so frankly the story of his interest in Miss Burt."
This was certainly true, and Mr. Fairbanks agreed to it.
Rob had been obliged to tell the detective the facts of the case, though dilating as little as possible on Carleton's private affairs.
"At any rate," said Mr. Fairbanks, "we will not consider Mr. Carleton for the present, but turn toward the new trail, and it may lead us, at least, in the right direction. If Miss Dupuy is innocent, our investigations can do her no harm, and if she knows more than she has told, we may be able to learn something of importance. But she is of such a hysterical nature, it is difficult to hold a satisfactory conversation with her."
"Perhaps it would be advisable for me to talk to her first," said Rob. "I might put her more at her ease than a formidable detective could, and then I could report to you what I learn."
"Yes," agreed the other; "you could choose an expedient time, and, being in the same house, Miss French might help you."
"She could secure an interview for me quite casually, I am sure. And then, if I don't succeed, you can insist upon an official session, and question her definitely."
"There are indications," mused Mr. Fairbanks, "that accidental leaving of such a paper on the table is a little unlikely. If it were done purposely, it would be far easier to understand."
"Yes, and, granting there is any ground for suspicion, all Miss Dupuy's hysterics and disinclination to answer questions would be explained."
"Well, I hate to suspect a woman,—but we won't call it suspicion; we'll call it simply inquiry. You do what you can to get a friendly interview, and, if necessary, I'll insist on an official one later." Rob Fessenden went straight over to the Van Norman house, eager to tell Kitty French the developments of the afternoon.
She was more than willing to revise her opinions, and was honestly glad that Mr. Carleton was practically exonerated.
"Of course there's nothing official," said Rob, after he had told his whole story, "but the burden of suspicion has been lifted from Carleton, wherever it may next be placed."
At first Kitty was disinclined to think Cicely could be implicated.
"She's such a slip of a girl!" she said. "I don't believe that little blue-eyed, yellow-haired thing could stab anybody."
"But you mustn't reason that way," argued Rob. "Opinions don't count at all. We must try to get at the facts. Now let us go at once and interview Miss Dupuy. Can't we see her in that sitting-room, as we did before? And she mustn't be allowed to faint this time."
"We can't help her fainting," declared Kitty, a little indignantly. "You're just as selfish as all other men. Everything must bow to your will."
"I never pretended to any unmanly degree of unselfishness," said Rob blandly. "But we must have this interview at once. Will you go ahead and prepare the way?"
For answer Kitty ran upstairs and knocked at the door of what had been Madeleine's sitting-room, where Miss Dupuy was usually to be found at this hour of the day.
The door was opened by Marie, who replied to Kitty's question with a frightened air.
"Miss Dupuy? She is gone away. On the train, with luggage."
"Gone! Why, when did she go?"
"But a half-hour since. She went most suddenly."
"She did indeed! Does Miss Morton know of this?"
"That I do not know, but I think so."
Kitty turned to find Fessenden behind her, and as he had overheard the latter part of the conversation he came into the room and closed the door.
"Marie," he said to the maid, "tell us your idea of why Miss Dupuy went away."
"She was in fear," said Marie deliberately.
"In fear of what?"
"In fear of the detectives, and the questions they ask, and the dreadful coroner man. Miss Dupuy is not herself any more; she is so in fear she cannot sleep at night. Always she cries out in her dream." Fessenden glanced at Kitty. "What does she say, Marie?" he asked.
"Nothing that I can understand, m'sieu; but always low cries of fear, and sometimes she murmurs, 'I must go away! I cannot again answer those dreadful questions. I shall betray my secret.' Over and over she mutters that."
Fessenden began to grow excited. Surely this was evidence, and Cicely's departure seemed to emphasize it. Without another word he went in search of Miss Morton.
"Did you know Miss Dupuy was going away?" he said abruptly to her.
"Yes," she replied. "The poor girl is completely worn out. For the last few days she has been looking over Madeleine's letters and papers and accounts, and she is really overworked, besides the fearful nervous strain we are all under."
"Where has she gone?"
"I don't know. I meant to ask her to leave an address, but she said she would write to me as soon as she reached her destination, and I thought no more about it."
"Miss Morton, she has run away. Some evidence has come to light that makes it seem possible she may be implicated in Madeleine's death, and her sudden departure points toward her guilt."
"Guilt! Miss Dupuy? Oh, impossible! She is a strange and emotional little creature, but she couldn't kill anybody. She isn't that sort."
"I'm getting a little tired of hearing that this one or that one 'isn't that sort.' Do you suppose anybody in decent society would ever be designated as one who is that sort? Unless the murderer was some outside tramp or burglar, it must have been some one probably not 'of that sort.' But, Miss Morton, we must find Miss Dupuy, and quickly. When did she go?"
"I don't know; some time ago, I think. I ordered the carriage to take her to the station. Perhaps she hasn't gone yet—from the station, I mean."
Rob looked at his watch. "Do you know anything about train times?" he asked.
"No except that there are not very many trains in the afternoon. I don't even know which way she is going."
Rob thought quickly. It seemed foolish to try to overtake the girl at the railway station, but it was the only chance. He dashed downstairs, and, catching up a cap as he rushed through the hall, he was out on the road in a few seconds, and running at a steady, practised gait toward the railroad. After he had gone a few blocks he saw a motor-car standing in front of a house. He jumped in and said to the astonished chauffeur, "Whiz me down to the railroad station, and I'll make it all right with your master, and with you, too."
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