r. But outside of proving that the Doctor wasn't the guilty one the crime was no nearer a solution than it had been the day it happened. Though there was still a good de

ts came oftener than the others and stayed later, and he and I had several more walks. We were getting to be like partners in some kind of secret busi

c notion mighty quick. Our flirtation was all about evidence, and leads, and clues-not so much as a compliment or a baby stare from start to finish. I don't believe if you'd asked Babbitts

ll round as if it was something we had hold of in our hands. I guess it was the mysteriousness of it that

of course, for even then I'd found out he was the kind that wouldn't hurt a fly. We were talk

but I keep thinking of that yarn of J

ke he'd stuck

about that?" I ask

suppose because it was so plausible. And I've been

world, God knows, to think of anything. I make no doubt there's people who'

ooked at m

ment suggesting that Reddy really had any hand in it. Why, h

was awful sweet t

ing suspicions on an innocent

. Look at me!" I looked into his eyes, clear as a baby's in the starlight. "If you believe I'm

tucked his hand inside my arm and we walked on, very friendly. Being ignor

said this to a soul but you, but ever since the inquest there's been

ined that

But seven hours in a high-powered racing car! He could h

all about it,

nthau-between ourselves not to go an inch farther-Reddy's story i

nd being afraid I was going to tre

it, but it seemed to me as if he was making an effort to give an impression of frankness. The rest of his testimony had the hesitating, natural tone of a man who is nervou

those were exactly the words I would have

, that you ought to be writing

fellow gets observant. It's queer-the whole thing. If that French woman's evidence is to

lights of Longwood through the trees. Babbitts, with hi

He said Reddy'd come down to the meeting place, found Miss Hesketh with the o

anted to give a reason I hadn't one to give. Don't you believe for a minute I was really worried-it was j

rst shadow that was going to darken and

ort, way up in the hills beyond Hochalaga Lake. The voice, with a brogue on it as rich as butter, was Pat Donahue's, Jim's eldest son, a sort

cause I wasn't taking any chances. I guess Pat Donahue was the last person anyone would expect to

ht my ear and I grew still as a statue, my eyes staring strai

the voice answerin

Lake yesterday forenoon, fishin' thr

ll to tell me you're that idle

in the papers that Miss Hesketh that was murdered had one glov

dn't I? Didn't I see

ng me instead of tel

e, light gray with three pearl buttons and

n thousand dollars reward offered, I thought I'd be a blowin' in the price of a call to tell you, though it's so ungrateful ye are fo

onahue had found Sylvia Hesketh's missing glove on the wharf just in front of the Reddy bungalo

face gets stiff like it was made of leather and couldn't limber up for a smile. Each morning I'd get up scared sick of

et-well, I'll tell you and

and made a thorough examination o

comfortable with green madras curtains at the windows, a green art rug on the floor, and wicker chairs with green denim cushions. At one side was a big brick fireplace with a copper kettle

d that several cigarette ends were scattered on the hearth. On the center table was a shaded lamp and near it a match box with burnt matches strewn round on the floor. The desk drawer was open and the papers inside all tossed and littered about as if someone had gone through them in a hurr

ains of a tea set. It was not till the search was nearly ended that one of the men, studying the g

s, got out and walked through it to the bungalow. Clear as if they had been cast in plaster his footprints went from where the ruts ended to the edge of the wharf. There, just at the corner of the planks, three small, pointed footprints met them-a woman's. Either the man had carried the woman or sh

the large prints and Sylvi

er's Secret"-and "Jack Frost versus Jack Reddy." There were imaginary accounts of how Mr. Reddy could have done it, and Jasper, in his paper, had a long article worked out like the story he'd told us that night in the Gilt Edge, but with all the holes fille

the papers. I can't put it all down-it's not necessary-but it was bad. After I rea

alow that night he said he had, he had gone th

ay this at the in

he stopped as if he wasn't sure and after a moment or two said: "I

eal the fact that y

he answe

to give my movements in detail,

d you g

ed and it was a place

't sure-it might have been an hour or two. He had lit the

nt in the desk

sort of shrug as

ing for a bill I th

with him-he answered almost violently that she had not, t

footprints in the

id n

wharf or in the house of anyon

low was locked a

and asked him if he had filled the tank there a

when you le

bright mo

emembe

e ride back would be easier t

est that you filled the tank

ed state I was in small things made no impression

actory and made much of his manner, which, under an e

ill and taken to Bloomington jail to

sted at Firehill and ta

ovely silence that comes over the village at midnight. And in it I could hear my heart beating, and as I lay wit