an automobolist spattered with red ink, I will arrest him at once."
I found the others ready and waiting for me. It seemed pathetic to ride away in Philip's big automobile, but, as Tom Whiting had said, the ladies really needed some fresh air, and he thought the trip would do us all good.
Mr. Maxwell and Miss Miranda insisted on our going, and so we started off. Mr. and Mrs. Whiting sat in front, for Tom was quite as good a chauffeur as Philip had been; and Miss Gardiner and I sat behind.
As there was ample room for another, Irene proposed that we stop for Gilbert Crane. This we did, and he seemed glad to accept the invitation.
It scarcely seemed like the same party who a few days before, accompanied by Philip, had traveled so merrily over these same roads.
On our return, Mrs. Whiting asked Mr. Crane to come in to luncheon with us, and he accepted.
He alighted before I did, and as he stood waiting to help Miss Gardiner out, the midday sunlight shone full upon him.
I looked at him curiously, thinking what a large, fine-looking fellow he was physically, and how becoming his fashionable automobile coat was to him. Its color was a light brownish gray, and as my eye rested idly upon it, I suddenly noticed something that made my heart stand still.
On the front of this same coat, on the lower edge, were several small spots, visible only in the brightest sunlight, which, whatever they might be, had every appearance of being red ink.
To say I was stunned would pretty well express my feelings, but I was learning not to show surprise at unexpected developments.
I went into the house with the rest, and finding that Mr. Hunt had gone, I sent a note to him, by one of the servants, asking him to return at two o'clock.
He came just as we finished luncheon, and bidding him go in the library and await me there, I went into Mr. Maxwell's study. Finding my host there as I had hoped, and not wishing to elevate my voice, I scribbled on a bit of paper a request that Mr. Maxwell would ask Mr. Crane to come into his study, and would keep him there, securely, for twenty minutes at least.
Mr. Maxwell read the paper quietly, handed it back to me, gave me a quick nod of comprehension, and immediately went in search of Gilbert Crane.
A moment later, I saw him return with Gilbert Crane. They entered the study and closed the door, so I knew that the coast was clear, and that for twenty minutes I need fear no interruption from them.
Eagerly seizing his coat from the hat-stand where he had flung it, I hastened to the library.
I found Hunt there, and after closing the door I held up the coat for his inspection.
"You don't mean to say you have found the man!" he cried.
"I don't know about that," I said, very soberly, "but I have certainly found a coat that ought to be looked after. What do you make of this?"
I held the front of the coat toward the window to catch the bright sunlight, and drew Hunt's attention to the almost invisible spots on it.
He looked at them in silence a moment, and then said abruptly: "Get some more blotters."
We dampened the blotters and applied them very carefully, for the spots were faint, and the surface of the cloth dusty.
But the results showed strong evidence that the stains were similar to those on the carpet.
"Whose coat is it?" said Hunt, though I think he knew.
"Gilbert Crane's," I answered, looking straight at the detective.
"But that does not prove that Gilbert Crane committed the murder," he responded, looking at me with equal directness.
"It does not," I said, emphatically,' "but it is certainly a clue that must lead somewhere."
"And we must follow it wherever it leads."
"Yes," I assented, "now that we have something to work on, let us get to work. Shall I call Crane up here, and ask him if he can explain these spots on his coat? Somehow, I can't help thinking that he could do so."
"Not yet," said Mr. Hunt. "I think it wiser to straighten out a few points before we speak to Mr. Crane on the subject. He is a peculiar man, and I don't want to antagonize him.
"I would much rather, if you please, that you would replace the coat where you found it, let Mr. Maxwell know that he need not detain Mr. Crane any longer, and then bring Miss Gardiner back here with you for a short consultation."
I followed Mr. Hunt's suggestions to the letter, but it was with a rapidly sinking heart. Not for a moment did I think Gilbert Crane a villain, and yet there were many circumstances that looked dark against him.
I was also disturbed at Mr. Hunt's request for Irene. A strange foreboding made me fear that some dreadful revelation was about to take place.
The jury had rendered its verdict of "wilful murder by a person unknown," and I fervently hoped the criminal might remain forever unknown rather than that the shadow of guilt might fall on any one who had been hospitably received at Maxwell Chimneys.
Still, in the cause of justice, every possibility must be considered, and I knew that Mr. Hunt would shirk no duty, but would doggedly follow any clue that presented itself.
I looked in at the study door, and the merest lifting of my eye-brows was sufficient to inform Mr. Maxwell that a detention of Gilbert was no longer necessary. I looked at young Crane's inscrutable face, and was obliged to admit to myself that it was not a frank countenance in its general effect. But I resolved that this fact should not be allowed to prejudice me against him.
Finding Mrs. Whiting in the hall, and learning from her that Miss Gardiner had gone to her own room, I asked her to say to Miss Gardiner that Mr. Hunt desired to see her in the library. Mrs. Whiting promised to send Irene there at once, and, greatly dreading the interview, I returned to the library myself.
I 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