it my business to find out."
"Let us find out now," I said eagerly. "If there is anything in this horrible theory I want to know it at once."
"Go yourself," said Hunt "Go at once, and ask Miss Maxwell as to the accuracy of her clock." I found Miss Maxwell alone, and I asked her in a casual manner how she knew it was ten o'clock when she heard, or thought she heard, the two pistol shots.
"It was ten by the little clock on my dressing-table," she replied. "I am sure of that, for it was striking at the time I heard the reports."
"And is that clock always right?" I asked.
"No," she said; "in fact, it is almost never right. For some time I have been intending to have it regulated."
"Is it slow or fast?" I asked, trying to preserve my casual manner.
"It runs slow," she said, "and that night it must have been as much as ten minutes slow, because I remember I was late for dinner, though I thought I was in ample time."
"You should have stated this discrepancy sooner, Miss Maxwell," I said, unable to keep a note of grave concern out of my voice.
"Why," she returned, in astonishment. "I had no idea that would make any difference. In fact, I didn't think anything about it. How can it make any difference?"
"Never mind, Miss Maxwell," I said soothingly, "perhaps it won't make any difference. Don't give it any further thought. You have quite enough trouble as it is."
"Oh, I have indeed!" said the dear old lady. "I don't know what I shall do, Mr. King. Philip's death has affected my brother terribly. He was always a quiet man, but now he is so crushed and heart-broken that he is more silent than ever.
"And I can't seem to comfort him. I think we will have to go away from Maxwell Chimneys. We have a sister out West, and I think we will go out there. I am sure that entire and permanent change of scene is the only thing that will help Alexander at all."
I looked admiringly at the dear lady whose unselfish spirit thought of her brother's comfort, ignoring her own sorrow, and assuring her of my sincere sympathy and my assistance in every possible way, I returned to Hunt.
"I am not surprised," he said, when I told him that Miss Maxwell's clock had undoubtedly been ten minutes slow on Monday evening. "It is alarming, the way the links fit into the chain of evidence, but it must be more than mere coincidence.
"Look at it in this way for a moment—supposing, for the sake of argument, that events proceeded like this:
"You saw Gilbert Crane in the billiard-room at ten o'clock. This you are sure of. Now according to Crane's own statement he looked into Mr. Maxwell's study some twenty minutes later. But we have no other witness for this.
"Mr. Maxwell says he neither heard nor saw him, and Crane himself admits that he did not. With the exception of Miss Gardiner on the balcony, the guests were all in the music-room, not only absorbed in their music, but making a great deal of noise.
"Miss Maxwell was in her own bedroom, and the servants were busy in the kitchens, of which the doors were closed. As nearly as I can find out, Gilbert Crane came running down-stairs for Dr. Sheldon a few moments before half past ten. If you have followed my reasoning, you will see that his whereabouts between ten o'clock and, say, ten twenty-five, are unaccounted for except by himself.
"His coat—the automobile coat on which we have discovered the red spots—hung on the hat-stand in the back part of the hall. He, therefore, had ample opportunity to leave the billiard-room, put on his coat and the cap and goggles which he always carries in that coat pocket, go up the back staircase, and through the hall window at the head of that staircase out on to the west balcony.
"The library window is directly next to the hall window. He had therefore, I say, both time and opportunity to fire the shots at about ten minutes after ten, which would accord with Miss Maxwell's inaccurate testimony. He had also time and opportunity to return down-stairs the way he came, restore his coat to its place on the hat-stand, and go back to the billiard-room.
"This yet left sufficient time for him to go up-stairs again—the front stairs this time—in full view of the people in the music-room if they chanced to look, and return to make his startling announcement to Dr. Sheldon."
I had followed Hunt's words with such intense interest that I seemed to be living through the successive scenes myself. As he paused, I remarked thoughtfully:
"And that would explain why Philip cried out, 'Oh, to think that he should shoot me!'"
"Yes," said Hunt gravely, "it explains a great many things. It explains of course the spots on his coat—"
"Wait," I cried eagerly, "when the ink spattered on his coat it must also have fallen on his shoes and the bottoms of his trousers."
"Not necessarily on his trousers," said Hunt, "for the coat is long and large, and would probably entirely protect them. As to his shoes, they have doubtless been blackened since, and so all trace would be lost."
"As a chain of circumstantial evidence it is certainly complete," I said, with a sigh. "But all my intuitions cry out against its being the truth."
"Have you any other theory to offer?"
"Not the shadow of one. I only wish I had. But stay. What do you make of Miss Gardiner's assertion that she saw Gilbert placing a pistol in Miss Leslie's hand?"
"I think she is mistaken as to what he was doing. I think Miss Leslie's story is true in every detail. Possibly Mr. Crane endeavored to take the pistol out of her hand, then, changing his mind for some reason, concluded not to do so."
I sat staring at Mr. Hunt, almost stunned by his convincing arguments.
"What will be your next move?" I asked.
"I shall submit this report to Inspector Davis, and he must do whatever he thinks best."
Chapter XXI.
Circumstantial Evidence
Further investigation only served to strengthen the case against Gilbert Crane. It was discovered that he owned a thirty-eight caliber pistol. When found, this pistol was properly cleaned and loaded. It was not rusty, and had every appearance of having been used recently, but how recently who could say?
To my mind the fact that Gilbert possessed a thirty-eight caliber pistol was not a vital bit of evidence. Anybody might possess one.
But as Hunt said, it was not contradictory evidence, and, taken in conjunction with the other clues, it was of importance.
It seemed, also, to the authorities, that the motive imputed to Gilbert Crane was a strong one, and among those which most often lead to crime.
And so, Gilbert was arrested and held for trial.
Though everybody at Maxwell Chimneys was shocked and astounded at the news of his arrest, it affected them in different ways.
Mildred Leslie was frantic with grief and indignation. She declared that although the intruder might have worn Gilbert's coat, it was positively not Gilbert Crane himself. She vowed she would know Gilbert in any circumstances and in any disguise, and she was sure the man who shot her was a man with whom she was unacquainted, though he was apparently well known to Philip Maxwell.
She grew so excited as to become hysterical, and the doctor ordered that she should again be remanded to absolute seclusion, and allowed to see no one save the nurse and her sister.
Irene Gardiner seemed uncertain as to the justice of the arrest She viewed the whole matter from a stern, judicial standpoint, and seemed unable to take a personal view of it. I felt sure that she had never liked Mr. Crane, and, feeling equally sure that Mildred was very much in love with him, I could easily understand the different attitudes of the two girls.
I was