I diplomatically managed to keep peace between them, and at last we reached Millville. Our destination was the Prospect House, and we went directly there and interviewed the proprietor, Mr. Halkett, with whom we had talked over the telephone.
He greeted us cordially, and took us at once to his private parlor. I told him frankly that we wanted to know the names of those men who were with Mr. Mordaunt, but I did not tell him why we were inquiring.
He told us that only the one name was registered, but that during their stay he had learned the others. There were two men named Greene, and one, the big Western man, was Judson; and the chauffeur was Hopkins.
"That Judson's the man," I declared, "whose name we want. What's his first name?"
"John," said Mr. Halkett; "John Judson. But his comrades called him Jack or Juggins. They were a hearty lot of fellows, and all in gay spirits except big Judson."
"Wasn't he?" asked Whiting, eagerly.
"No," returned Mr. Halkett, "he was moody and silent; and when the other men tried to cheer him up, he would say, 'Let me alone, boys, I'm feeling down.' "
"How long were they here?" I inquired.
"Just over the one night. They arrived before midnight, last Monday night, and went away the next morning, about ten or eleven."
"Where did they go?"
"Well, I don't know exactly; but they seemed to be making a tour along the Southern New Jersey coast. I know they were going to Atlantic City and later to Cape May. They did say they'd stop here on their way back, but I never place much dependence on those promises. Young fellows often think they'll come back the same way and then they switch off to another road."
"Where were they from?" asked Whiting.
"Mordaunt registered from Philadelphia; and that big Judson was from out West. I don't know about the others."
We asked further questions, but none brought any more definite information. We didn't want to let Mr. Halkett know that we had any sinister reason for wanting to find these men, and he probably thought they had been speeding, or some such light offence as that.
As we took our leave, I fell back a little, and whispered to Mr. Halkett that if the party should return, he was to telephone me at once and privately. This he agreed to do, and then we went back to Maxwell Chimneys.
Our conference at home after this trip was more amiable than the one the night before.
Miss Gardiner seemed relieved that we had not traced the men; though I by no means felt inclined to drop our search for them, and I had my own notions of what I should do next.
Miss Lathrop made no unkind remarks, but I couldn't help observing that she watched Irene stealthily, and with much the same assured expression that a cat watches a mouse.
Mr. Maxwell merely observed that he couldn't believe Mr. Mordaunt was implicated in our tragedy, as he had never heard that name before. But when I went on to tell of big Jack Judson known by his friends as Juggins, both Mr. Maxwell and his sister exclaimed in surprise.
"That's the man!" declared Miss Maxwell; "Juggins is the man who shot our Philip! oh, how dreadful! and that's why he said, 'to think he should shoot me!' Mr. King, you have indeed found the criminal!" and Miss Miranda burst into such hysterical sobbing, that Miss Lathrop at once went over and took her in her arms.
"There, there, Miranda," said her brother, "don't jump at conclusions. It couldn't have been he! Why, there wasn't time for such a thing!" Then he turned to us, and explained, "This Judson, or Juggins, as his classmates called him, was in Philip's class at college, but they never were friends. I don't know the reason, but there was a never healed feud between them. Philip stayed away from class re-union because he didn't wish to meet Judson. I never forced my boy's confidence, and he never told me what it was all about, but I know they were enemies. My sister knows it, too, and that is why she now suspects this man of the crime. But I cannot think it. I can't believe that Judson came here secretly, and shot my boy down in cold blood! No, Mr. King, I cannot think we have the criminal yet."
This speech amazed me. If Judson were Phil's enemy, if he came to Hamilton that night and asked where the Maxwells lived, if his car, or the car he was in, was seen to enter and leave Maxwell Chimneys at the time of the murder,—what more evidence, save the man's own confession, could be required? And the hotel man in Millville had told us that Judson was sad and gloomy, though his companions were merry. Surely then, the others didn't know it, but Judson had stopped at Maxwell Chimneys just long enough to commit his dreadful deed and had then gone on with them.
I repeated all this to Mr. Maxwell, but he only shook his head. "Not likely," he said, "not likely. It was too sudden, too quickly done, to be even a possibility. And, too, though they were not friends, there could not have been such bitter hatred as to culminate in murder. And they hadn't met for years."
"You don't know that, Mr. Maxwell," I argued; "they may have met elsewhere than here, or they may have corresponded. At any rate the circumstances are too suspicious to be ignored. Judson must be found and questioned, if only to give him the chance of clearing himself."
"I suppose that is so," agreed Mr. Maxwell; beginning to take a more rational view of the case; "Go ahead then, Mr. King, in your own way. I will not interfere. But don't accuse Judson without giving him a chance to explain himself."
I promised this, and then I went away to confer with Hunt as to this new development. It was about seven o'clock that same evening, when, as I chanced to be alone in the music-room, Miss Lathrop came to me, and as she approached put her finger to her lip in a warning manner.
"I must speak to you alone, Mr. King," she whispered.
"We are alone," I answered, a little coldly, for her manner irritated me.
"Yes," she said, "if we're not interrupted. Now listen, while I tell you something."
"I am listening," I said, really annoyed by her important and mysterious manner.
"Don't be so rude! you'll change your tune when you hear what I have to tell you."
"What have you to tell me?" I asked, more gently, for I suddenly realized that if I antagonized her, I might miss some real information.
"Only this. Miss Gardiner has just mailed a letter addressed to Mr. John Judson."
"What?"
"Don't speak so loud! It is just as I tell you. So you see they are colleagues!"
"They are what?"
"Do stop asking absurd questions,—you heard me! I tell you because I think you ought to know, that Miss Gardiner is in correspondence with that man."
"She isn't in correspondence with him!"
"Well, she has just written him, at any rate; and she must be in correspondence with him or how could she know his address?"
"What is his address?"
"The letter is directed to him at Cape May."
I had recovered from my first dazed bewilderment, and though still angry, I knew it was better not to show this. Moreover, if what the nurse told me was true, as of course it must be, I must find out all I could from her.
"How do you know this? You've been prying into Miss Gardiner's private affairs!"
"Is not that allowable if one is tracking a murderer?"
I could not restrain my anger entirely. "I didn't know you were officially employed in this matter," I flung at her.
"Nor am I," she said, proudly; "if my voluntary assistance is scorned, I will discontinue it."
She turned away, and I saw I was defeating my own ends. "Wait a moment, Miss Lathrop," I begged; "I ask your pardon if I have offended you, but I'm nearly at my wits' end in this matter, and your revelation is indeed a surprise to me. How did you discover this letter?"
"I happened to take a letter myself to the mailbox