"Now let us take up Beard," proceeded the detective as if narrating a commonplace happening in the routine of police duty. "He is named in Whitmore's will as one of the executors of the estate. But so is Luckstone! Surely that is no motive for murder. My men have investigated Beard's life. There's nothing in it to discredit him in the least. Moreover, we have ascertained that he was entirely devoted to Whitmore's interests. There was a great personal tie between the two men. The fact that he arranged the plot for Whitmore's escape and the substitution of prisoners, is but additional proof of his loyalty to his employer. We haven't a scintilla of evidence to connect him with his employer's murder."

Manning and Greig exchanged significant looks. Evidently the same question had flashed across their minds. Were Ward and Mrs. Collins in a conspiracy to kill Whitmore?

As if divining what was in their minds, Britz proceeded to answer their unspoken query.

"To attribute the crime to Mrs. Collins or Ward, or to both of them," the detective said, "it is first of all necessary to find a motive. Only one suggests itself. It is that they killed Whitmore to get possession of his estate.

"We must remember that had Whitmore died intestate, neither of them would have obtained a penny of his fortune. So that, in order to establish our motive, it is necessary to prove that they had knowledge of the contents of the will. All the evidence I have gathered tends to contradict that assumption. Not only have we the statement of the lawyer who drew the will, but the actions of Ward and Mrs. Collins subsequent to the murder belie the theory that they had previous knowledge of the disposition which Whitmore made of his estate.

"I know of Ward's frantic efforts to get sufficient money to keep his banking house afloat. And Mrs. Collins's actions after I informed her that she was the chief legatee proved conclusively that she was as amazed as the rest of us to find that Whitmore had enriched her. All the circumstances combine to force us to discard the theory that Ward and Mrs. Collins expected to profit by Whitmore's death.

"With this theory shattered no plausible motive for their participation in the murder remains. If they didn't know the contents of Whitmore's will, then they had every reason in the world for preventing the merchant's death. Ward was praying for his return, so he might plead with him to help him out of his financial scrape. Mrs. Collins's love for Whitmore was intensely genuine, and moreover, it was pure."

Britz paused, noting the bewildered expression on the faces of Manning and Greig. In their eyes the case had taken on a hopeless, desperate aspect. By faultless reasoning Britz had established the presumptive innocence of the very ones among whom he had confidently expected to find the guilty one.

The chief grew visibly disturbed. So this was the end of Britz's maneuvering! Failure appeared to be written in large capitals across the investigation.

"You don't mean to imply that an outsider committed the murder?" Manning blurted.

"Not for an instant," answered Britz. "I have simply been analyzing the evidence as it concerns the four suspects individually. Were there nothing else, I confess we should be compelled to look elsewhere for the assassin. But all the evidence, taken as a whole, leads irresistibly to the conclusion that one of them shot Whitmore. There is not the slightest trace of any outside agency having been employed."

"But if they're individually innocent, how can they be collectively guilty?" demanded the chief.

"You've misconceived my meaning," said Britz. "You know, in a general way, what has been accomplished in the case. So you must be aware of the peculiar actions of all four of the suspects. The fact that they engaged Luckstone to look after their interests argues a guilty knowledge of Whitmore's death. Then, their silence, their fear of saying something that might incriminate one or all of them—it is impossible to reconcile their conduct with innocence! No. When you survey the entire case, you cannot escape the conviction that Whitmore met his death at the hands of one of them."

"But man alive," broke in the chief, "what evidence have you? Why, you're further away from the solution of the crime than when you started."

"Not at all!" Britz assured him. "We're going to solve the case to-morrow morning, in this very room."

Manning and Greig looked at each other in blank bewilderment. In the light of Britz's explanation of the case, his confident assertion could only be regarded as a vain boast. Or was it the expression of a last, flickering hope, to which he clung desperately, like a man staking his last dollar on a thousand-to-one chance?

"What I want you to see clearly," the detective continued, "is the utter futility of trying to discover the murderer through an investigation from the outside. Almost from the outset I realized the utter impossibility of endeavoring to single out the assassin through following the ordinary clues. That's the reason I directed the entire investigation along a single line—the only line that could possibly lead to success."

The faces of Manning and Greig grew more clouded. They could comprehend the reasoning which cleared the suspects, but they were unable to understand by what contradiction of logic Britz meant to upset his own conclusion.

"Let me make myself clear to you," Britz proceeded. "Such evidence as we have, or such as we might be permitted to present to a jury, all tends to establish the innocence of Mrs. Collins, Ward and Beard. On the other hand, it gives a guilty aspect to Collins's conduct. Yet I am convinced that Collins did NOT do the shooting, while one of the others did.

"There is only one way in which we can single out the murderer. I have found that way."

To the two listeners Britz's statement sounded almost like a confession of failure. It was an indirect admission that he had not learned the identity of the murderer—that he had nothing on which to base a direct accusation.

"We've got to break their silence!" Britz exclaimed impressively. "As long as they remain mute, they are safe. But I've found the way to make them talk—I know where their interests conflict and to-morrow I shall bring them in violent conflict with each other. The result is inevitable."

It was plain from their expressions that Manning and Greig did not share Britz's confidence. They could foresee only disaster. And in the state of nervous depression in which they found themselves they were unable to offer a word of encouragement to the detective. But Britz did not require their encouragement, his own self-confidence being sufficient to sustain him.

"Keep alert to every advantage to-morrow," he enjoined them. "You'll catch what I'm doing and I want you to add emphasis to everything I do and say."

As Manning and Greig were about to depart, Britz made a final effort to dispel the gloomy forebodings that possessed them.

"Don't look so glum!" he said, laying a reassuring hand on their shoulders. "We can't lose. Not only are there grave conflicting interests among them, but I shall invoke against their silence an all-conquering force—the most potent force in all human conduct."

"What is it?" asked Manning and Greig eagerly.

"Love."



CHAPTER XXI

Both Britz and Manning were skilled in the art of concealing their emotions. Their brains might be working furiously, their hearts throbbing with excitement, they might be laboring under the greatest stress of mind, yet they were able to command a placid exterior, unruffled as polished ivory.

Their conduct as they entered the Police Headquarters the following morning gave no suggestion of the strain which they were undergoing. Their faces reflected none of the anxious expectancy with which they looked forward to the enactment of the great climax in the Whitmore case.

But the trained newspaper man, as well as the skilled police officer, is endowed with a peculiar instinct by which he seems to detect, without apparent reason, the presence of impending excitement. He seems to smell it in the air. So that even before Britz began issuing instructions to his men and sending them scurrying out of the building, the reporters at Police Headquarters appeared to know that something of the utmost importance was about to transpire.

That it concerned the Whitmore case became evident when Mrs. Collins was escorted to the building and ushered into Britz's office. She was followed in a few minutes by Collins, Ward and Beard, all of whom had been summoned by Britz.

Next, Luckstone was seen to jump out of an automobile and tear up the steps as if afraid that his ultimate fate depended on the moments required to reach his clients. Finally Coroner Hart entered the building, and was immediately accosted by the reporters.

"What's coming off?" they inquired.

"I don't know myself," he said truthfully. "Britz seems to think something's going to happen."

It was ten o'clock precisely when Britz, Manning, Greig and the coroner passed from the chief's office into the room in which the suspects in the Whitmore mystery were gathered. They found Luckstone in command of the situation.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, advancing toward Britz's desk.

"It means that the coroner is about to resume his preliminary inquiry into the death of Herbert Whitmore," the detective informed him.

"And have I been summoned here as a witness or as counsel to the accused?"

"As counsel, of course," said Britz.

"Then as the attorney for Mrs. Collins and as the legal adviser of the other witnesses I wish to inform you that this proposed examination is utterly useless. I have instructed my clients not to answer any questions."

Britz's eyes swept the faces of the witnesses in a look of sharp scrutiny. He found Mrs. Collins outwardly composed. The dark rings about her eyes betrayed a night of sleeplessness, but otherwise she looked as fresh as if she had just stepped out of her private boudoir, instead of a narrow, stuffy cell in the woman's wing of the Tombs. Evidently she had prepared herself for a great test and had summoned all the stubborn courage of one resigned to suffering, yet who meant to hide her agony from the eyes of the world.

Of the others, Collins appeared to be the most uneasy. He looked almost frightened. From time to time his gaze fixed itself on the face of his wife, but she kept her eyes averted. Only a slight constraint of manner exposed Ward and Beard's diminishing self-control.

"Since the witnesses have been cautioned to remain silent," said Britz, addressing the coroner, "and as they appear resolved to stay mute, we cannot escape the conviction that they have knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the murder of Mr. Whitmore. At present Mrs. Collins is the only prisoner. She is accused as an accessory to the crime. We have ample evidence to establish our case against her. We know of her relations with the deceased. We know, furthermore, that the failure of her brother's bank spelled financial ruin for her, for Collins and for Ward. All three must have been aware that the failure was imminent—that it was inevitable. So Collins, pretending that the sanctity of his home had been violated, went around threatening to kill Whitmore. Of course, it was a shallow pretense, designed to conceal the conspiracy between him, his wife and Ward to obtain possession of Whitmore's estate. We have the weapon with which Whitmore was killed. We have fastened its ownership on Collins. The evidence against him is sufficient to send him to the electric chair. We also have ample evidence with which to convict Mrs. Collins and Ward as accessories after the fact—the law is very plain concerning the concealment of evidence. But I am about to lay a graver charge against them. I have a letter written by Ward in which he implores Whitmore to extend financial assistance to him. Mrs. Collins joined in writing that letter, and, moreover, after the murder, I found her in Beard's home endeavoring to obtain possession of the note. With that letter and other evidence which I have gathered, I am prepared to accuse Mrs. Collins and Ward as accessories before the fact. Against Collins I am ready to present a charge of murder in the first degree."

The accused persons looked gravely at their lawyer. But he remained entirely unperturbed, not even vouchsafing a mild protest against the detective's direct accusations.

It was the coroner who broke the silence.

"Then as I understand it," he said, "you wish me to commit Collins on a charge of first degree murder, and Mrs. Collins and Ward as accessories before the fact?"

"Precisely," answered the detective.

"Of course, I don't want to take so drastic a step unless I am compelled." The coroner shook his head dubiously. He had been primed by Britz and was following the part which he had been directed to play. "As the evidence stands, I can see no other course to pursue. But I'm not going to commit anyone on such a terrible charge simply because the police request it. Nor shall I ask Mrs. Collins, Collins or Ward a single question, for anything they say may be used against them. But if Mr. Luckstone cares to present any facts tending to establish the innocence of the accused, I am ready to listen and to give due consideration to anything that he might offer."

The judicial attitude adopted by the coroner surprised and gratified the lawyer. Evidently here was a conscientious official who was not to be precipitated into hasty action at the behest of the police.

"Coroner," said the lawyer, moving his chair forward, "this police officer has been endeavoring to create an atmosphere of guilt about my clients. But in this age prosecutors are compelled to offer something more substantial than atmosphere on which to base their accusations. I realize fully the gravity of the situation as regards my clients. They are absolutely innocent and there will be no difficulty in establishing their innocence before a jury. But we are not anxious to proceed to a public trial, with all the useless suffering which it must entail. In my experience before the bar I have found coroners and committing magistrates invariably predisposed toward the police. They will commit on the flimsiest kind of evidence, content to leave the judicial determination of the case to the higher courts. But the law invests you with a wide discretion in homicide cases. And if you are prepared to scrutinize the evidence carefully before accepting the accusations made by Lieutenant Britz, then I believe I can convince you in short order how absolutely baseless his charges are."

"I have no desire to commit an innocent man or woman to prison," answered the coroner. "I am not an agent of the police. I am a judicial officer and as such I am prepared to protect the innocent to the limit of my powers."

Britz had so arranged the chairs in his office as to compel those in the room to resolve themselves into two separate groups, like opposing sides in a judicial proceeding. Behind the detective's flat-top desk sat the coroner, while about him were ranged Britz, Manning and Greig. Facing the desk, at a distance of a dozen feet, sat Mrs. Collins, Ward, Beard and Collins, with Luckstone occupying a chair in the middle.

The sincerity of tone in which the coroner expressed his willingness to consider the evidence of both sides, encouraged the lawyer to proceed.

"Mr. Whitmore was found dead in his office at the hour when his clerks prepared to go to lunch," he began, in the tone of an advocate addressing a high tribunal on a question of law, rather than of fact. "It has been established beyond question that he arrived at his office between nine and ten o'clock, and that he did not leave his office all morning. It is also a matter of common knowledge that he had no visitors that morning, and the twenty or thirty clerks in the outer office have all sworn that they heard no shot fired and saw no one enter or leave Mr. Whitmore's private room. Now I do not pretend to offer any explanation as to how Mr. Whitmore was killed. But I do maintain that the accusing police officer should be asked to tell how the alleged murderer got to his victim."

"I am not prepared to go into that as yet," Britz interrupted.

"But you mean to imply that you have a satisfactory explanation to offer?" questioned the lawyer.

"That phase of the case gives me no concern," Britz replied curtly. "It is a minor feature of this investigation."

A shade of anxiety passed over the lawyer's face as he noted the coolness with which the detective dismissed what was generally regarded as the most puzzling feature of the entire case. It occurred to him, however, that the detective might be indulging in the favorite police game of bluff—that his easy dismissal of one of the most important features of the mystery was but a sham, a pretense designed to cover his ignorance.

"If you regard the matter so lightly, why don't you disclose your knowledge to the coroner?" he taunted the detective.

"Perhaps he has already done so," the coroner interjected. "At any rate it is self-evident that somebody did get to Whitmore and that Whitmore was killed by a bullet wound."

"Very well," said the lawyer, accepting the suggestion. "It is none of my affair, nor does it concern my clients, how the assassin managed to enter and leave Mr. Whitmore's office without being seen by the clerks. The point is, that Collins wasn't within fifteen miles of Mr. Whitmore's office on the day Mr. Whitmore was found dead. And the same circumstance of remoteness from the scene of the crime, absolves Mrs. Collins, Mr. Ward and Beard from participation in the crime."

The lawyer shot an exultant glance at Britz, a glance that adequately conveyed the conviction that he had shattered the entire case against his clients.

Coroner Hart glanced inquiringly from Britz to Chief Manning, as if waiting for some cue.

"Does Mr. Luckstone mean he's got an alibi for all his clients?" Manning said experimentally.

"You caught my meaning precisely." The lawyer smiled confidently at the officials. "Moreover, Mr. Coroner, I shall not hesitate to disclose the nature of our alibis. The police may investigate them and we shall lend all the assistance in our power."

"Of course, there can be no better defense than an alibi," commented the coroner.

"Here are the facts," Luckstone proceeded eagerly. "On the day of the crime, Mr. Collins did not leave his home. Neither did Mrs. Collins. All the servants will bear us out in that. But we have other disinterested witnesses who called at Mrs. Collins's house at various times during the morning and who saw both Mr. and Mrs. Collins in the house. There is the employe of the lighting company who came to read the electric meter, two employes of a vacuum cleaning company whose names you may have, and the canvasser for a magazine who came to solicit a subscription. I have no hesitancy in giving you their names, so you may question them privately.

"As for Mr. Ward and Mr. Beard, their alibis are equally strong. Mr. Ward took the eight-twenty train at Delmore Park, as was his daily custom. He was seen by the station agent and the conductor. Moreover, seven other residents of Delmore Park were in the same coach, and all of them are prepared to testify in Mr. Ward's behalf. His movements after arriving at Grand Central Station fortunately came under the observation of disinterested witnesses. He rode downtown with two of his Delmore Park friends, and one of them accompanied him to the door of the bank. All the employes of the institution are prepared to testify that Mr. Ward did not leave his office until two o'clock."

The lawyer paused to note the impression of his words on the coroner. That official was listening intently, fully cognizant of the weighty import of the attorney's statement.

"Is it necessary to supply an alibi for Mr. Beard?" Luckstone inquired, as if under the impression that the secretary had been eliminated from the case.

"If he has one you may as well outline it," the coroner replied.

The lawyer complied without further urging.

"Mr. Beard spent the entire morning in the vaults of a safety deposit company whose name Lieutenant Britz already has. He was at all times under the observation of the company's watchman."

With the air of one who has succeeded in establishing his case beyond possibility of doubt, the lawyer sat down. The faces of the coroner, the chief and Greig were cast in an expression of grave apprehension. The frankness with which Luckstone had revealed the evidence on which he based his alibis could leave no doubt that the witnesses would confirm all he had said. And against such a downpour of disinterested evidence the police could not hope to sustain their case.

Britz had listened to Luckstone's recital with impassive countenance. Now, however, it was to be observed that the lines about his mouth tightened, that his forehead contracted, while his eyes darted points of fire.

"Do you want to investigate their alibis?" asked the coroner.

"No," snapped Britz.

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't necessary."

"Then you accept them?"

"Yes—without question."

"But if none of the accused was within miles of Whitmore's office on the morning in question, how do you connect any of them with the actual commission of the crime?"

Britz rose and took up a position at the side of the desk, where he could see every fleeting emotion that might cross the faces of all the others in the room. His form stiffened to military erectness, his face took on the purposeful aspect of a man about to carry to fruition plans which he had long nourished in secret. And as the others gazed on him, the conviction forced itself on them that here was a man who would pursue whatever course he had in mind, pitilessly, relentlessly, through whatever wilderness of lies and deceit it might lead. A cold silence fell on them, as if they had been suddenly chilled by the frigid attitude of the detective.

"Coroner, the alibis which Mr. Luckstone presented are worthless," the detective said in a subdued voice that nevertheless penetrated his hearers like an icy wind.

"You mean they are manufactured?" blurted the coroner.

"No—they are true. But they have no bearing on the murder."

"What!" The coroner shot a searching glance at Britz. "If none of the suspects was at Whitmore's office, how could any of them have killed Whitmore?"

"Mr. Whitmore was not killed in his office," said Britz firmly. "He was shot the night before."



CHAPTER XXII

The words came like a stunning blow where a verbal counter-argument was expected. Luckstone and his clients sat like beings who felt the ground slipping from under them, yet were helpless in the paralyzing fear that had seized them. The coroner's eyes traveled from Britz to Manning and Greig, as if seeking confirmation of the detective's statement. But he found only amazement written in their features.

Coroner Hart was the first to recover from the surprise occasioned by Britz's revelation. He became aware of a growing skepticism that refused to accept so obvious an explanation of the puzzling circumstances surrounding the merchant's death. Surely the same solution would have suggested itself to him ere this were it possible for twenty hours to have elapsed between the time of the shooting and the discovery that Whitmore was dead!

"If Whitmore was shot the night before, then he must have deliberately chosen his office in which to die!" the coroner said in disparagement of Britz's contention. "Why, it's impossible! I should have detected it the moment I saw the wound."

Britz now produced the enlarged photograph of the wound as well as the needle that he had found on the floor of Whitmore's office.

"It is all very simple—so simple that I eliminated the theory that Whitmore was killed in his office at the very outset of the investigation. The very preparations that were made to delude us contained the evidence of their own clumsy manufacture. Look at the photograph of this wound!" Britz held the photograph edgewise on his desk. "Do you observe the perforations about the edge of the wound? They tell the whole story. That wound had been sewed up and was opened again with this needle." He held up the slim, steel darning needle to the light.

"But why—why should he do this?" broke in the coroner. "It must have been torture!"

"It was," Britz agreed.

"But the loaded pistol on his desk—how do you explain that?"

"I repeat, Whitmore was shot the night before," replied Britz. "It was a mortal wound. The spleen had been penetrated and he was beyond the aid of medical science.

"The doctor that was summoned undoubtedly told him he was doomed. There was no way to stop the internal bleeding, but the patient might live anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours. We are all familiar with the uncertainties of gunshot wounds—the medical records overflow with cases of wonderful endurance shown by persons suffering from pistol wounds.

"Now what did Whitmore do? Why, he decided to conceal the evidence of his own murder. He instigated the conspiracy to shield his murderer. Moreover he determined to make it appear that he had committed suicide. So he went to his office in the morning armed with the pistol and the needle. It was unquestionably his intention to fire a second shot into the wound but first it was necessary to open it and he did so at great pain. He died, whether from shock or weakness, before his hand was able to reach the pistol on his desk. Had he been able to accomplish what was in his mind, his clerks would have heard the shot, the authorities would have found the pistol and the conclusion of suicide would have been accepted without question."

"Did you see the physician who attended him?" interjected the coroner.

"Yes," replied Britz, "but I couldn't get a word out of him, and under the law I could not force him to tell."

"But the clothing—his underwear would have shown where the blood had dried," the coroner declared.

"Whitmore attended to that," replied Britz. "The moment he opened the wound he permitted the fresh blood to stain the underwear. You see, with the exception of his overcoat he wore the same clothing he had on when he was shot."

Having established the time when the assassin fired the bullet into Whitmore's body, Britz laid aside the picture and the needle and turned savagely on Luckstone.

"Now, sir!" he exclaimed, bringing his fist down on the table. "That disposes of your alibis! You had arranged them very craftily after the shooting—all four of your clients spent the morning where disinterested witnesses could see them. The very fact of their being compelled to supply themselves with alibis proves their guilty knowledge of the crime."

Luckstone was too experienced an attorney not to be prepared to meet any new turn which the case might take. Besides, the coroner's attitude seemed to be antagonistic to the police, and the lawyer resolved not to abandon hope of having the entire matter disposed of at the present hearing.

"It doesn't matter a particle to my clients when Mr. Whitmore was shot," he said, adopting an attitude of indifference. "Since I have entered on a defense, I might as well proceed with it and end the terrible uncertainty and annoyance which they have suffered."

The lawyer left his seat and stood facing Britz, ready to meet any new evidence which the detective had to offer.

"This is what occurred on the night before Mr. Whitmore's death," he proceeded. "Mr. Whitmore arrived home after a long business trip. He communicated with Mrs. Collins and was informed that she, her husband, Ward and Miss Burden had engaged a box at the opera. They went to the opera that night. Miss Burden will bear us out in that. During the first act Mr. Beard joined the party and toward the end of the performance, Mr. Whitmore arrived.

"On leaving the opera house, Mr. Whitmore separated from the others. Collins, Mrs. Collins, Ward and Miss Burden returned to Delmore Park in the Collins machine. Beard accompanied them and spent the night with Mr. Ward. Mr. Whitmore slept in Mr. Beard's home that night. Now what becomes of your theory that Mr. Whitmore was shot by one of my clients? Miss Burden was with them before, during, and after the performance."

Here was another alibi, more potent than the others. For it was evident that if Whitmore was shot after the performance at the opera house, none of the four suspects could be adjudged guilty of the crime. And it was unlikely that Luckstone would have revealed as much as he did unless he were absolutely sure of his ground. Miss Burden and the chauffeur were witnesses whose testimony it would be impossible to shake.

To the coroner it looked as if all four of those before him had absolved themselves from participation in the crime. In fact it would require only the formal testimony of the witnesses named by Luckstone to insure their acquittal.

"You say that Mr. Whitmore returned from a business trip?" asked Britz.

"Yes," answered Luckstone.

"That is untrue." The detective's jaw snapped viciously.

"What do you mean?" An angry flush suffused the lawyer's cheeks.

"I know precisely where Mr. Whitmore spent his time."

As if to avoid further controversy, Britz nodded to Greig and the latter left the room. He returned after a moment accompanied by a man who, for some reason, was trying desperately to hide behind the detective's broad back. Evidently he had no relish for the role which he was to play in this tense drama.

"Travis, step forward!" commanded Britz.

The newcomer stepped into the center of the room, a timorous, shrinking figure, pale and haggard. At sight of him Luckstone gave a half-startled gasp. A violent tremor traveled down Beard's frame. The agitation of the lawyer and the secretary extended in milder form to the others in the room.

"Travis, look around this room and see if you can identify the man that hired you to impersonate Herbert Whitmore!" said Britz.

Travis's gaze wandered from face to face, finally fixing itself on Beard's drawn features.

"That is the man!" he said, pointing a trembling forefinger at the secretary.

"That is all!" Britz dismissed him.

This dramatic interruption of the hearing served to increase the strained expectancy with which those in the room had followed the proceedings. A dozen times Manning and Greig had experienced a darting sense of alarm as Britz's case threatened to collapse. Momentarily they expected to hear him acknowledge that he had erred in his accusations and to see him abandon his efforts to fix the crime on Mrs. Collins, Collins, Ward and Beard.

But with each new setback Britz became all the more determined. And now he favored Luckstone with an exultant gleam that carried no hope of compromise.

"You realize the significance of the identification, don't you?" Britz inquired with exasperating coolness.

"I don't see what it has to do with the murder," Luckstone retorted. "My clients never saw Mr. Whitmore after they left him at the opera house."

"Then you mean to intimate that if he was shot that night, the shooting was done by an outsider?"

"That is the only reasonable inference."

"It is a most unreasonable inference," said Britz.

"Why?"

"Because it does not explain why Mr. Whitmore should have tried to give his death the aspect of suicide. Moreover, had he been shot by an outsider, the police would have been notified at once. As a final reason for discarding any theory that he was shot by someone outside of the four persons whom you represent, I mention the silence which they have so consistently maintained."

"They have done so by my advice," said the lawyer.

"And do you still advise them to remain silent?"

"I do, except as to proving an alibi."

"You deem that sufficient?"

"I do. It is all that would be required before a jury."

"I suppose that you have effectually silenced the physician who attended Mr. Whitmore," said Britz, "and I know that the servant in Mr. Beard's house was permitted to spend the night in question with his parents in Newark. So there is nothing left but to ask Mr. Beard to tell us who killed Mr. Whitmore."



CHAPTER XXIII

Thus far Britz, Luckstone and Coroner Hart had occupied the center of the stage. To them had fallen all the speaking parts. The others had played silent roles, but now one of them was suddenly called to participate actively in the drama. He failed to respond.

Beard, far from embracing the opportunity to enlighten the coroner, clung all the more desperately to silence. And in this attitude he was encouraged by a nod from Luckstone.

"Beard, you have nothing to hide," urged Britz. "Why don't you talk? Are you going to aid the murderer of your employer to escape punishment?"

But Beard was not to be enticed into speech. Britz might as well have appealed to a lay figure for all the response he received.

The detective whispered to Greig, who hastened out of the room. Not a word was uttered while he was gone. But a sharp exclamation of protest escaped from Beard's lips when Greig opened the door and deferentially showed a young woman into the room.

"Miss Burden—who brought you here?" demanded Luckstone, bolting out of his chair.

"A detective came for me," she answered in a low voice.

Evidently the summons to appear at Police Headquarters had puzzled her, for she looked in a bewildered way from one to the other of the groups in the room. With a woman's sure instinct, however, she read that something was transpiring which threatened ill to the man who had won her affections, and she walked over to him with hand extended.

"Here is a chair for you," said Britz, halting her. At the same time he placed a seat for her next to Mrs. Collins. An expression of pity overspread the girl's face as she beheld the lines of suffering in the other woman's countenance, and, as she dropped into a chair provided for her, her hand stole into Mrs. Collins's palm.

"Why—what does this mean?" she asked timorously, lifting her eyes to meet Britz's glance.

"Simply that you have been invited here as a witness," the detective replied. "Mr. Beard is going to clear the mystery surrounding Mr. Whitmore's death. He's going to tell us who killed his employer."

"Not a word!" cautioned Luckstone.

"Beard, I'll make your position clear to you!" said Britz dryly. "I'll let you know precisely where you stand. You're keeping silent in a mistaken effort to shield Mrs. Collins from scandal. You're mute for the same reason that Mr. Whitmore tried to hide the fact that he was murdered! He thought he could keep Mrs. Collins's name out of the newspapers. He wanted to save her from scandalous references involving her character! But you see how futile all his efforts were! You see how useless his self-inflicted torture was! Beard, look at this girl!" Britz pointed dramatically toward Miss Burden. "You're engaged to her. You've got a great deal to look forward to! But unless you get up now and tell the truth, the whole truth, concerning Mr. Whitmore's death, I promise you that the next ten years of your life shall be spent in the Federal prison at Atlanta."

Beard shot a look of appeal at Luckstone, but the lawyer remained unmoved.

"You're making a rash promise, officer!" Luckstone scoffed.

"Beard!" Again Britz addressed himself to the frightened secretary. "You've committed a grave crime. You brought about the escape of a Federal prisoner—a man convicted of a serious offense. You've been identified in this very room as the person who engineered the substitution of prisoners. The man Travis will testify against you. But I also have corroborative evidence of his story. There was a trust fund of a hundred thousand dollars established for him. You arranged for that—I have it from the officers of the trust company to whom you went. Moreover, Mr. Luckstone drew up the deed of trust. He may not have committed a criminal offense, but certainly the Bar Association will be interested sufficiently to inquire into his conduct. Now Beard, I'm not working for the Federal government! But I have aided the Washington authorities in many cases and they'll grant any reasonable request which I may make. I feel safe in promising you immunity for arranging the escape of Mr. Whitmore—but you've got to stand up now and tell the truth."

"I can't!" Beard moaned. "I'm pledged!"

"Ten years in prison!" Britz baited him. "Think of Miss Burden! Instead of a happy marriage—the prison stripes! And I promise that you'll get the limit!"

Miss Burden was on her feet, one hand extended imploringly toward Britz.

"You don't mean he'll have to go to prison?" she faltered.

"For ten years!" Britz impressed it on her mercilessly. "Unless they'll"—his hand swept the semi-circle in which the others were seated—"release him from his pledge."

Miss Burden's distress had made a profound impression on everyone in the room.

"Won't you save him?" she pleaded.

A moment's silence was broken by Mrs. Collins. She lifted herself slowly out of her seat, and, bracing herself with one hand against the top of the chair, stood for a tense second facing Luckstone.

"Let Mr. Beard tell!" she said.

The words had an electrical effect. Manning, Greig, Coroner Hart leaned excitedly over the desk. Beard was already on his feet, eager to end the distressing situation. Collins and Ward also left their chairs and advanced toward Britz.

"I'll tell the story!" volunteered Ward.

"No you won't!" interposed Collins. "I'll give my version of it."

"Officer, I have nothing to hide! I'll tell the circumstances precisely as they occurred," Ward repeated.

"No he won't!" protested Collins. "Let me speak! I'm willing to swear to everything I say."

It was almost ludicrous to behold the utter demoralization into which Luckstone's clients were thrown. Britz had brought them out of their coverts and forced them into the open—and instantly they started fighting among themselves.

Luckstone made one ineffectual effort to re-unite them in solid rank against the attacking police enemy, then he also surrendered.

"Let Beard talk!" he exclaimed. "He may be able to save himself from an awful predicament."

"Sit down, gentlemen!" Britz said, as he motioned them to their seats. "I'll hear what Mr. Beard has to say."



CHAPTER XXIV

Beard began to speak, but the tremor of overmastering excitement in his voice, made his words indistinct, incomprehensible. Not until he had proceeded for several minutes did he regain control of his voice, and then he had to repeat what in his agitation he had but half-uttered.

"I met Mr. Whitmore when he left the train at Philadelphia after the substitution of prisoners had been achieved," Beard said. "We proceeded to New York, arriving here about three in the afternoon. I knew that Ward and Mrs. Collins were extremely anxious to see Mr. Whitmore, and he likewise was aware of it. So I telephoned Mrs. Collins and her brother to come to my home.

"As a precautionary measure, Mr. Whitmore had decided to stay at my house until the mustache which he had shaved off was restored to his lip. He thought it best not to appear in the streets as there was grave danger of meeting one of the officials with whom he had come in contact after his arrest.

"Evidently Collins was at home when Mrs. Collins received my message asking her to come to my house. She and Ward arrived there about five o'clock. It was already dark and I switched on the electric lights.

"They met Mr. Whitmore in the library. The greetings were most cordial. Then Ward began to recite his business troubles. He had proceeded only a few minutes when the door-bell rang. I responded and Collins forced his way into the house. Hearing voices in the library upstairs, he darted up the steps and burst in on Mr. Whitmore. Collins had been drinking—just enough to make him ugly. As I entered the room I heard him up-braiding Mr. Whitmore and with each word he grew more excited. Finally he called Mr. Whitmore a vile name. Then Mr. Whitmore opened up on Collins.

"'You cur!' Mr. Whitmore shouted. 'You've been unfaithful to your wife—you betrayed the other woman! You lied to both of them! You made the other woman believe you intended to marry her, and made her your mistress! She's been your mistress over three years now, pleading and imploring that you keep your promise. You've wrecked two lives and now you have the hardihood to come here and accuse your wife—why, you're so low and vile and worthless—'

"'Cut that out!' Collins broke in. 'I want an explanation of this letter!'

"Collins waved the letter which he had intercepted, but Mr. Whitmore tried to dismiss him with a shrug of disgust. Finally Collins repeated the vile epithet which he had called my employer. Then he hurled another epithet at his wife. That enraged Mr. Whitmore and he leaped for Collins. Collins jumped back and whipped out a pistol. At the same instant Ward hurled himself at Collins. In order to prevent a tragedy I switched out the light. There was a short scuffle in the darkness, then a shot rang out. I heard Mr. Whitmore groan.

"Instantly I switched on the light. Mr. Whitmore was leaning against a table, one hand pressed against his abdomen. Collins was cowering against the opposite wall.

"The pistol was in Ward's hand."

Beard paused, overcome by the crushing pain of the memories that crowded on his brain. The fact that all but one of the participants in the tragedy were present now, made the anguish all the more acute.

"I helped Mr. Whitmore into a chair," Beard proceeded in a sobbing voice. "And I heard him say, 'Well, I guess I'm done for!'

"Mrs. Collins then came over and threw her arms about his neck, kissing him and imploring him not to die. Ward joined the group, and with tears running down his cheeks, said:

"'I fired the shot. But I meant to kill that dog'—pointing to Collins. 'I meant to avenge the insult to my sister. I hope the wound won't prove serious.'

"There is no doubt that Ward had wrenched the pistol out of Collins's hand and meant to kill him. But Mr. Whitmore also had tried to get the weapon. And in the darkness there was a mix-up in which Collins managed to slip away after he lost the weapon. When Ward fired, the bullet struck Whitmore. That is the truth of the matter," Beard added imploringly.

Mrs. Collins had buried her face in her handkerchief. She was sobbing convulsively. Miss Burden also was crying, but silently. The coroner and the police officials had hung breathlessly on each word uttered by Beard. Everything he said had carried conviction. His manner was straightforward and he had the bearing of a man deeply moved but striving furiously to retain his self-control.

"What occurred after that, Lieutenant Britz has guessed pretty accurately," Beard continued in a voice of diminishing strength. "I sent for Mr. Whitmore's personal physician. He dressed the wound and told Mr. Whitmore he could not live more than forty-eight hours. Mr. Whitmore had remained conscious all the time, and when he learned there was no hope for him, he showed the most remarkable self-possession I have ever seen a human being display.

"'We must hide the scandal!' he said. 'The doctor will remain with me. I want all you folks to go home and act as if nothing had occurred. To-night, I want you to go to the opera—all of you.'

"Mrs. Collins and Ward protested but Mr. Whitmore insisted that he be obeyed to the letter. And he sent me home with the Collinses and Mr. Ward to see that his orders were carried out.

"Oh, it was a delightful opera party that night!" A wan smile appeared on Beard's face at the recollection of it. "While we were gone Mr. Whitmore consulted with Mr. Luckstone. I have no personal knowledge of what transpired between them, but I presume that Mr. Luckstone outlined the plan which was subsequently followed and by which it was meant to establish an alibi for everyone present at the shooting.

"At any rate, Mr. Whitmore appeared in our box at the opera toward the end of the performance. He must have been suffering terribly, but he hid his sufferings from us. While I didn't know it then, I know now that he appeared at the opera in order to make it seem that he must have been shot sometime after he parted from us.

"I believe the doctor remained with him all night. In anticipation of Mr. Whitmore's homecoming I had sent the servant away. We had deemed it best that no one, except Mrs. Collins and Ward, should see him when he arrived. It was at Mr. Whitmore's request that I spent the night at Mr. Ward's house and the following morning Mr. Luckstone telephoned instructions to us.

"The fact that Mr. Whitmore took a pistol to the office with him leaves no doubt that he meant to make it appear he had committed suicide. He was a man of enormous vitality, but I suppose that once the spleen has been punctured it is only a question of hours when the strongest man must die! But I only surmise Mr. Whitmore's intentions from the facts of the case, for I never saw him alive after I left him in front of the opera house."

Beard sat down, wearied and worn from the strain of his recital. Miss Burden joined him and pressed a hand against his cheek. She did not repel the arm he slipped about her waist.



Now that Beard had finished, everyone experienced a welcome sense of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off their minds.

"I've come across many cases of wonderful nerve, but nothing to equal the pluck of that man Whitmore!" exclaimed Manning, unable to contain his growing admiration for the dead merchant.

"And he was one of the mildest-mannered men I ever met!" joined Beard.

The coroner, who had been making notes, now looked up at Britz. The detective's face had relaxed into an expression of mingled pity and contentment. Through the sorrow which the suffering of Mrs. Collins aroused in him, shone the satisfaction which he could not but feel at having finally squeezed all the mystery out of the Whitmore case.

"You believe Mr. Beard's statement, don't you?" the coroner inquired.

"I do."

"Then let us end this harrowing scene. I suppose my first duty is to discharge Mrs. Collins from custody?"

"There is no longer any reason for holding her," said Britz.

"As for Ward, I shall have to hold him for the formal inquest," the coroner announced.

"I don't believe he'll try to evade us," said Britz. "In view of all the circumstances I believe we're justified in permitting him to go on his own recognizance. Since Mr. Beard's story will undoubtedly be substantiated by the others, Ward's acquittal is a foregone conclusion. How soon can you hold the inquest?"

"I can impanel a coroner's jury to-morrow. But why this hurry?"

Britz shot a significant glance at Beard and Miss Burden. The secretary's arm was still about her waist.

"Beard, you'd better take out a marriage license at once," suggested Britz. "We're going to hold the inquest in this case to-morrow. You'll be called as the first witness and we'll finish with you as quickly as we can. There's a boat for Europe at two o'clock—it might be well for you and your bride to make it. You might as well be abroad while I wrestle with the Federal authorities to make them forget the substitution of prisoners."