Stone looked at the empty plate, and wondered. Had the poison been placed

in the sandwiches? By Estelle? By anybody else? Who had had opportunity?

Estelle had brought the sandwiches and milk to the bedroom, according to

her usual custom, when she prepared the bed for the night. A tiny

serviette had been over the sandwiches, and was still there beside the

plate. Stone looked at it. A mere wisp of fine linen, with a monogrammed

corner. The few wrinkles in it showed clearly to Stone's sharp eyes the

dainty touch of fingers that had held the caviare sandwich. It

undoubtedly denoted that Miss Carrington had eaten the sandwich. Had any

one merely removed it, the napkin would have been uncreased. He had been

told that she rarely ate this night luncheon, though it was always placed

for her. Why had she partaken of it on that particular night? Had some

one advised her to? Or urged it? Had the Count really visited her in the

boudoir, and having previously arranged the poisoned sandwich, made sure

that it would perform its deadly mission? Could he have entered the room

unknown to the rest of the household?

Stone went to the window. Yes, that matter was easy enough. A balcony

outside the long French window was connected with the lower verandah by a

spiral staircase. Any one could run up the steps and be admitted to the

boudoir in perfect secrecy. Stone wondered for a moment why Bates hadn't

entered that way, and quickly realized that for a marauder to appear at

the window would have frightened Miss Carrington and caused an outcry.

The entrance of the Count, however, whether expected or not, would be

easily effected.

If the Count were really guilty, the circumstances were all explicable.

Suppose Miss Carrington had made the appointment. Would she not, in her

vanity, have donned the beautiful boudoir gown and the jewels to appear

attractive in his eyes? And, supposing she had playfully caught his glove

as he removed it, and had half-unconsciously continued to hold it. Then

the conversation alleged to have been overheard by Miss Frayne would have

been addressed to him, and the remarks would be, at least, intelligible.

The snake? Ah, yes, the snake. As to that there was no hint, no clue of

any sort. But then, the thing was so inexplicable, that the explanation

_must_ be easy. A clue so strange, so bizarre, must lead somewhere. That

could be left to the future. Now, he must decide on his first steps.

The decision took him to call on Doctor Stanton, and the physician

welcomed him warmly.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Stone," he said; "sit down, sir, sit down. I've

been wanting a talk with you ever since I heard of your arrival. So

you've ferreted out the burglar already! Great work, great work indeed!

And now for the real murderer. You see, sir, I'm up to the minute in my

information regarding this case."

"Glad to know it," returned Stone. "Now, Doctor Stanton, I hope you can

help me. I don't mind admitting the thing has its baffling aspects. The

burglar was easily traced, and easily disposed of. The real work, as you

say, is just beginning. Will you, sir, tell me all you know of the poison

that killed Miss Carrington?"

"Surely, Mr. Stone. The autopsy showed a fatal dose of aconitine.

Aconite, as you of course know, is the herb, wolfsbane, of the Hellebore

tribe, all the species of which are poisonous. Aconitine is an intensely

poisonous alkaloid obtained from aconite. Taken in a moderate quantity,

it acts as a powerful sedative, but the dose absorbed by Miss Carrington

was undoubtedly fatal within half or three-quarters of an hour."

"And she died at what time?"

"About two o'clock."

"Proving she took the poison at about quarter or half after one."

"Yes; thereabouts. It is not possible to fix these hours precisely, but

the poison was administered positively between one and two."

"Administered? You do not think then, that she took it herself?"

"Most certainly not! Miss Carrington has been in my care, professionally,

for many years. I knew her very well, and I know nobody more opposed to

medicine in any form or drugs of any sort. It was a most difficult task

to persuade her to take even the simplest remedy, and then she had to be

assured over and over again that it was harmless. No, Mr. Stone, nothing

could have made her take that dose of her own accord, nor could any one

have persuaded her to take it, consciously. It was, without doubt, given

to her secretly, by the clever ruse of the murderer. Of course it could

not have been an accident. The marvelous part is, to my mind, how any one

secured the poison. It is not an easy matter to buy aconitine."

"Then that ought to make it easier to trace. If the public could easily

procure it at will, there would be greater difficulty in running down the

purchaser."

"That is so; and yet, I think your search will be a hard one. How shall

you go about it?"

"By canvassing the drug shops of the city, and of the small towns as

well."

"It may be you can trace the sale. But if it was bought under promise of

secrecy, and if that secrecy were well paid for----?"

"True, there is the difficulty. But what's a detective for if not to find

out secrets?"

"Quite right. May your quest succeed."

"And now, a little more about the action of this poison. What are the

immediate effects of a fatal dose?"

"In a few moments there occurs a tingling numbness of lip and tongue and

pharynx. The numbness increases and affects all the muscles and death

ensues inside of an hour. This paralyzing effect renders it impossible

for the victim to cry out, and there are no convulsions. The body remains

calm and undisturbed, and the eyes open. A dilatation of the pupil takes

place, but the expression on the face remains as in life. This is why

Miss Carrington continued to look happy and smiling----"

"And proves that when she took the poison she was happy and smiling, and

therefore in no way terrorized or frightened into it."

"Exactly so. And that indicates that she didn't know she was taking

it,----"

"Or, that it was administered by some one she knew and loved and had all

confidence in."

"It would seem so," and Doctor Stanton's fine old face showed a sad

apprehension.

"How was it taken,--in what medium?"

"That we can't tell to a certainty. There were traces of the sandwiches

discovered at the autopsy, but, though the poison could have been given

her, concealed in a sandwich filling, it is improbable."

"Why?"

"Because the white granules or powder, which are soluble in water, would

be more easily discerned in solid food."

"But, on the other hand, it could be unostentatiously placed in a

sandwich, with little fear of detection; but to prevail on her to swallow

a solution,--it is bitter, is it not?"

"Yes, slightly so. I admit, I cannot imagine any one inducing Miss

Carrington to swallow such a draught. Therefore, it may well be, it was

placed in a sandwich. The filling, they tell me, was caviare, which would

disguise the bitterness."

"And does not all this, if true, point to some one exceedingly familiar

with all the details of Miss Carrington's affairs? Some one who knew of

her nightly sandwich? And, also, does it not imply the presence of some

one who could and did insure her consumption of that sandwich?"

"It would indeed seem so, Mr. Stone; but when it comes to discussing such

a question as that, I must ask to be allowed to retire from the field. It

is my duty to tell all I know, from my medical experience, but further

than that I am not obliged to express any opinions or voice any

suspicions."

"You know, however, that Count Charlier is held pending investigation?"

"Yes, I know it. I have no opinion to express."

Fleming Stone rather admired this gentleman of the old school, whose

courtesy was evident, but equally so his determination to say only what

justice demanded of his profession.

And then, like a flash, the reason came to him. Doctor Stanton suspected,

or at least feared to suspect some member of the Carrington household.

Of course, this was not a new idea to Fleming Stone. He had mentally gone

over the possibility of every one in the family and all of the servants

at Garden Steps, but so far he had held his mind open for impressions

rather than to formulate theories himself.

"Then, to sum up, doctor," he said, as he rose to go, "you assure me that

you consider it out of the question that Miss Carrington took the

aconitine herself, say, as a headache cure, or something, intending only

a small curative dose?"

"Absolutely impossible, sir," exclaimed the old gentleman, almost

angrily; "to begin with, Miss Carrington never had headaches, and if she

had she would have borne any amount of suffering from them before she

would have touched a drug or a medicinal remedy of any sort. And, aside

from all that, how could she get aconitine? It is not to be bought for

the asking at any druggist's! No, sir, my conscience makes me insist on

that point, Miss Carrington never took that poison knowingly,--either by

accident or design. It was given to her, without her knowledge, by a

very, very clever villain."

"Again, then, could it have been given her innocently, by mistake? I

mean, if some one, her maid, or any friend, had wanted to give her a

sedative, and meant only a light dose, but by error in quantity----"

"No, sir! Not a chance! The amount given was too great to be an error.

And every one in that house knows better than ever to have attempted to

give medicine in any form or degree or for any purpose to Miss Lucy

Carrington."

"It was crime, then," said Fleming Stone, "black crime. And as such, it

must be discovered and punished."

"Yes," agreed Doctor Stanton, but he spoke with deep sadness and as one

who feared where or toward whom such discoveries might lead.

From the doctor's house Stone went to see the Count.

That elegant gentleman was highly irate at being detained against his

will in such plain quarters as The Tombs furnished, but he was not as

belligerent or vindictive as Stone expected to find him.

Hasty work on the part of the detectives from the District Attorney's

office had resulted in his imprisonment, but the later development of

Bates' share in the matter made it extremely probable that the Count

might soon be released from custody.

Pleasantly enough the two men conversed, and Count Charlier gave the

impression of one glad of help from an outside source.

"It is such absurdity," he declared, "to think I would in any way wish

harm to the lady. Why, I admired her above all, and it was my hope that

she would do me the honor to accept my hand."

"Honestly, Count Charlier?" and Stone looked at him with a man-to-man

glance that caused the Count to hesitate in his protestations.

"Well, I was considering the matter in my own mind. You know, Mr. Stone,

it is a great responsibility, this seeking a wife. And Miss Carrington

was not--not in her first youth. Of a fact, her years outnumbered my own.

So, I asked myself was it wise, was it altogether just to the lady

to----"

"Never mind all that, Count," said Stone, a little impatiently, "just

give me a few details of that evening, so far as your actions were

concerned. You were at the house till midnight?"

"Yes, Mr. Illsley and I left together. We had spent the evening there at

cards and music."

"You had had any private conversation with Miss Carrington during the

evening?"

"Yes, we walked alone in the conservatory for a time,----"

"You proposed marriage?"

"Not exactly that,--but I may have hinted at such an event."

"And the lady seemed agreeable?"

"Entirely so. If I may say it, she met my advances half-way, and I could

not misunderstand her feeling toward my unworthy self."

"She spoke to you of money matters? Of her will?"

"Yes, to my surprise, she told me she had bequeathed to me ten thousand

dollars."

"Was not this a strange bequest to a casual acquaintance?"

"Oh, we were more than casual acquaintances. I have known Miss Carrington

for two or three months."

"Which? two or three?"

"Perhaps nearer two," and the Count showed a slight embarrassment.

"Do your friends often leave you large sums of money on such short

acquaintance?"

"It has never happened before," and now the Count's dignity was touched

and he spoke shortly and coolly.

"Then, of course, it struck you as peculiar," and Stone's smile assumed

an acquiescence.

But the Count returned: "Not at all. Miss Carrington was an unusual

woman, and I never expected her behavior to be entirely conventional.

When she told me of this I was simply and honestly grateful, as I should

have been to any one who showed me such a kindness."

"You were glad to get the money, then?"

"Yes, indeed!" the Count exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, then realizing

his slip, he hastily added: "that is, I was glad of the knowledge that it

would come to me some day. Surely I did not want the lady to die, that I

might receive it, but I was pleased to know she thought enough of me to

make the direction."

"What did she mean by saying 'To-morrow all will be different'?"

"That I do not know. Could she have meant----"

"She did say it, then? You admit she said it to you?"

Breathlessly, Fleming Stone waited the answer. Miss Carrington had said

this to the person who was with her behind her closed door at one

o'clock! Could the Count be going to incriminate himself?

"Not to me only. She said it to all who were present. It was while we

were playing bridge."

"She said it again to the man who killed her!"

"Of that I know nothing," said Count Charlier, politely.

"Bother!" said Fleming Stone, inaudibly.

XV

PAULINE'S PURCHASE

Alone, Fleming Stone wrestled with the problem of the giving of that

poison.

The library at Garden Steps had been turned over to him for a study and

no one entered the room unless summoned. Stone sat at the mahogany

table-desk, but his eyes rested unseeingly on the beautiful fittings of

polished silver and glass. On a memorandum block he wrote down the names

of possible and probable suspects. To be sure, he thought, every one in

the house might be deemed possible, as well as some who were not in the

house. But each one must be taken into consideration.

To begin with the most important, Miss Stuart. It was possible that she

poisoned her aunt, but so improbable as to make it exceedingly unlikely.

True, she was heir to half the fortune, but well-bred, well-nurtured

young women do not commit crime to inherit their money sooner. Except for

that conversation reported by Anita Frayne, there was not a shred of

evidence against Miss Stuart. And Stone did not place implicit confidence

in that story of the talk behind closed doors. He had discovered that the

two girls were not friendly and he knew Anita capable of making up or

coloring a tale to suit herself. Pauline had told him that she was in the

hall-window-seat at one o'clock that night and had seen Anita coming from

Miss Carrington's room. Or, to put it more carefully, she had seen her

with her hand on the door-knob, in the act of closing the door after her.

This Pauline had told to Stone, with an air of such verity and

truthfulness that he was fain to believe her. However, in all honesty, he

had to admit to himself, that Miss Stuart _could_ have given the poison

in some secret way, had she so desired. The same was true, though, of

Miss Frayne, of Haviland and of the various house-servants. But where

could any of them get it?

Again there were the Count and Mrs. Frothingham to be considered. In

fact, there were too many suspects to decide among, without further

evidence.

"Any luck?" Stone asked of Hardy, who came in to report.

"No, Mr. Stone. I've raked the drug shops thoroughly, and there's no

trace of a sale of aconitine. It's practically impossible to buy such a

substance. I mean, for the ordinary customer."

"Yet somebody did."

"I suppose so. But doesn't it limit the field of search to realize that

it couldn't have been a servant or either of the young ladies?"

"Why neither of the young ladies?"

"But how could they get it?"

"Why not as well as any one else? And somebody did."

"Then somebody stole it. Nobody bought it. I'm positive of that, now I've

learned how impossible it is to make such a purchase. And how could those

girls steal it?"

"I don't know, Hardy, but my point is, why couldn't they steal it if

anybody could? You're denying their ability to steal the poison, because

you don't want to suspect them. And neither do I, but we must look this

thing squarely in the face. Somebody managed to get that aconitine and

administer it to Miss Carrington secretly, and it is for us to find out

who did it,--who _could_ do it, in the face of almost insuperable

obstacles. But it is futile to say this one or that one could or couldn't

do it. Now, since you've found no trace of the poison sale, let's start

from some other point. Surely, this case, with its unique circumstances,

offers many ways to look for evidence. What strikes me most forcibly is

the costume of the lady. Not so much the gown,--I believe she was fond of

elaborate boudoir robes,--but the array of jewelry, the glittering scarf

and the snake. Most of all, the snake. That, of itself, ought to point

directly to the true solution, and I believe it does, only we're too

blind to see it. I'm going to work on that snake clue, and to help, I

wish you'd go at once to all the possible shops where it might have been

bought. It may not be traceable and then, again, it may. And, the strange

fact of her sitting idly before the mirror when she died! Whoever gave

her the poison was there on the spot, must have been,--for it's sure

enough that she didn't take it herself, according to the doctor's

statements. Well, if the murderer was right there with her, and she not

only made no outcry but continued to look smiling and happy, it was

surely some one she knew and in whom she had all confidence. Perhaps this

person urged her to eat the sandwich,--oh, pshaw, that's all plausible

enough,--but, the snake! That's the bizarre clue that must lead

somewhere. And it shall! I'll ferret out the mystery of that paper snake

or my name's not Stone! Go to it, Hardy! Rake the Japanese shops and

department stores, but find out who bought it. It isn't old. I observed

it was fresh and new. Those flimsy paper things show handling mighty

quickly. Find out who bought the thing, and we've a start in the right

direction."

Hardy went off on his errand and Stone went over to have a talk with Mrs.

Frothingham.

The widow was amiable but non-committal. She was highly incensed at the

arrest of the Count, but felt confident he would be liberated in a few

days. She replied warily to Stone's questions, but admitted her presence

in the house on the fatal evening.

"You see," she said, in a confidential way, "I was lonely. The Count had

gone so often of late to Garden Steps, and I was never invited, that I

think I was a little jealous."

"Of Miss Carrington?" asked Stone, quickly.

"Yes," said Mrs. Frothingham, frankly; "and of Miss Stuart, and of the

Count's intimacy over there. I had never even been in the house. So I

went over there and looked in the windows. I saw them playing cards and

later strolling about the rooms. The great door stood a little ajar and I

cautiously stepped inside. It was vulgarly curious, but it was no crime.

As I stood in the hall I saw some one approaching, and stepped up a few

steps of the staircase. It was all so beautiful that I looked at the

tapestries and decorations. I remember thinking that if any one

challenged me, I should tell the truth, and say that I came in to look,

as a neighbor ought to have a right to do."

"Never mind the ethics of the case, Mrs. Frothingham, stick to facts. Did

you go upstairs?"

"No, indeed, only up four or five steps, just to the turn of the

staircase."

"But Mr. Illsley saw you coming down."

"Only those few steps. He couldn't have seen me coming from the top of

the stair, for I didn't go up so far."

"You spoke of being jealous of Miss Stuart. Why?"

"Because Count Charlier is in love with her."

"With Miss Stuart?"

"Yes; he was making up to Miss Carrington for her money, but he is really

in love with Miss Stuart."

Mrs. Frothingham shook her head doggedly, as if determined to tell this,

even though it should redound to the Count's discredit. And it did.

"Then," said Fleming Stone, "that adds motive to the theory of the

Count's guilt. If he is in love with Miss Stuart, might he not have been

tempted to put Miss Carrington out of the way, that Miss Stuart should

inherit the fortune, and be the bride of his choice?"

"Indeed, yes, that is a possibility," and Fleming Stone saw at last, that

this woman either suspected the Count's guilt or wished to make it appear

so.

Again, the sudden thought struck him, suppose she was so jealous of the

Count's attentions to Miss Carrington, that she went to Garden Steps with

the intent of killing the lady. Suppose she did go upstairs, although she

denied it, and put the poison in the sandwich. Surely, she had

opportunity. Surely, she would now deny it.

Fleming Stone sighed. He hated a case where the principal witnesses were

women. One never could tell when they were lying. A man, now, was much

more transparent and his evidence more easily weighed.

However, if this woman desired to turn suspicion toward Count Charlier,

it was either because she suspected him, or was implicated herself. In

either case, her word was not worth much, and Stone soon took his leave

to hunt a more promising field.

Returning to Garden Steps, he found that Pauline had received a letter

from her cousin in Egypt.

"I am afraid," she said, as she handed Stone the letter to read, "that my

cousin Carr will think we are not accomplishing much. Read the letter,

Mr. Stone, and if you say so, I will ask Mr. Loria to come home."

Glad to read the letter from this half heir to the Carrington fortune,

Stone took the sheet. It ran:

Dear Polly:

The awful shock of Aunt Lucy's death leaves me without words to tell

you what I feel for you in your dark hours. What _can_ I say in the

face of such a horror? I wish I were there with you to help you bear it

all. For on you comes the brunt of the publicity and all the harrowing

details that must be attended to. If you say so, I will return to

America at once. But unless I can be of definite assistance or real

comfort to you, personally, I would rather not go over just now. I'm

just starting on a wonderful piece of work here. No less than

excavating--but I won't take time to tell of it now. I'll write you

about it later, if I don't go to you. This is a short note to catch the

mail, and reach you as soon as possible. Remember, as I write, I have

only your first two cables, and know nothing of details. I eagerly

await your letters. Why don't you follow out your plan of coming over

here in February? Leave all business matters in Haviland's hands, and

get away from the scene of the tragedy. Of course, as I cabled Gray,

get the best possible detective experts on the case. Spare no expense,

and charge all to me. Surely, we want to find and punish the slayer of

Aunt Lucy, and I repeat, if you, for any reason, want me to, I will

come over at once. Cable, and I will take the next steamer. If you

don't do this, do write me long letters and tell me everything that is

happening. Poor Aunt Lucy. I know your life with her wasn't all a bed

of roses, but I know how saddened you are now, and my heart goes out to

you. Dear Polly, command me in any way. I am entirely at your service

here or there. If you come over here, I advise Haviland to stay there

and look after things. I know the bulk of Aunt Lucy's fortune is

divided between you and me, and I want Gray to see to all matters

connected with my share. When he gets around to it, he can send me some

money to further this work I am engaged on here. But let me know if you

want me to come to you. With all loving sympathy and affection,

Carr.

Fleming Stone pondered over this letter. He had felt a certain curiosity

concerning this absent cousin, who was heir to half the great fortune,

and so would have had a possible motive for a crime that would secure his

inheritance to him at once. But there was no possible way of connecting a

man in Egypt with a deed committed in the victim's boudoir. Vague

thoughts of Loria's employing somebody to do the deed for him formed

themselves in Stone's mind, but were soon dismissed as untenable. The man

Bates could not be a tool of anybody, and beside, he didn't kill the

lady. The poison did that. The Count couldn't be a tool of any one. He

was too evidently his own master, and whether guilty or not, was entirely

on his own initiative. Oh, the whole idea was absurd. The letter itself

was sufficient exoneration for Loria. He was absorbed in his research

work and though thoughtful enough of Pauline's wishes, he was apparently

not anxious to have his plans over there interrupted. He wrote like a

good all round chap, and Fleming Stone could find no peg on which to hang

a suspicion in his case.

"A good letter," he commented, returning it to Pauline; "what's your

cousin like?"

"In looks? A little like me, but bigger and darker. He's a fine-looking

man, and a kind-hearted one. I shall advise him not to come home, for I

know how interested he is in his work, and he can do no good here. Can

he, Mr. Stone?"

"Frankly, Miss Stuart, I don't see how he can. I may as well admit to

you, the case seems to me a most baffling one. The assault with the

black-jack is, of course, accounted for, but we have made no progress in

the matter of discovering the poisoner. I feel that the solution of the

mystery is closely connected with that paper snake. Can you give me any

idea where the thing could have come from? Do you think Miss Carrington

bought it herself?"

"I am sure she did not," returned Pauline, but her voice and intonation

were such that Stone turned quickly to look at her. She had gone pale,

and her eyes looked frightened. "Oh, no," she went on, hurriedly, "Aunt

Lucy would never buy such a thing. She hated snakes."

"I know that, but she must have gotten it somewhere. It is easier to

think she put it round her throat herself than to think she let some one

else do it."

"Why do you say that?" and now Pauline looked angry. "It is incredible

that she should have put that thing round her own neck! What could have

induced her to do it?"

"There seems to be no theory to fit the facts," said Stone, wearily, "so

we must try to get some facts that may suggest a theory. You think, Miss

Stuart, that you saw Miss Frayne leaving Miss Carrington's room late that

night?"

"I know I saw her with her hand on the door-knob," returned Pauline

steadily, and just then Anita herself burst into the room. "That is a

falsehood!" she cried, and her big blue eyes flashed angrily; "how could

you see me, when you were yourself in Miss Carrington's room?"

This was what Stone had wanted, to get these two girls at variance; and

he helped along by saying, "Were you, Miss Stuart?"

"Certainly not!" cried Pauline.

"You were!" Anita flung back. "Miss Carrington was talking to you! She

said she wished her face was as beautiful as yours! To whom else could

she have said that? Surely not to the Count! One doesn't call a man

beautiful. And we all know that Miss Carrington admired your looks and

lamented her own lack of beauty."

"All that applies equally well to yourself," and Pauline gazed steadily

at the blonde beauty of Anita. "Why wasn't all that speech addressed to

your own attractive face, and you repeat it to incriminate me?"

Here was an idea. Stone wondered if it could be that Anita was in the

boudoir and to turn suspicion from herself tried to pretend she had heard

Pauline in there.

"And she said you were fond of pearls!" went on Pauline. "Your admiration

for my aunt's pearls is an open secret!"

It was. Often had Anita said how much she preferred the soft lustre of

pearls to the dazzling sparkle of other gems.

"And she left you ten thousand dollars in her will," continued Pauline,

more as if thinking these things over aloud than as if accusing Anita of

crime.

"Wait, Miss Stuart," cried Stone; "what are you doing? Implying that Miss

Frayne had anything to do with the tragedy?"

"I am implying nothing. I am trying to see how far the accusations she

makes against me will fit her own case. You remember she said my aunt

proposed to leave my share of the fortune to some one else, but Carr's

share must remain untouched. Well, to whom else could she think of giving

my share, but to this scheming girl who tried her best to get my portion,

but did not succeed?"

Anita struggled to reply, but words would not come. So furious that she

could not articulate, she gurgled hysterically, when into the room came

Haviland and Hardy. Both looked exceedingly grave, and Gray went at once

to Pauline and put his hand kindly on her shoulder. Then he suddenly

caught sight of Anita and her evident distress, and leaving Pauline he

went over to the other and put his arms gently round her.

"What is it, Anita?" he said. "What has upset you so?"

"Pauline!" was all Anita could say, when she was interrupted by Hardy.

"Let me speak first," he said, for he saw there was dissension between

the two girls. "I have made a discovery. At Mr. Stone's directions I have

been investigating shops where the paper snake might have been bought,

and I have learned that one was bought at Vantine's recently by Miss

Stuart."

"Ah," said Fleming Stone gravely, "did you buy one, Miss Stuart?"

Pauline hesitated. She was white as chalk, and her lips quivered.

"Of course she did!" screamed Anita, greatly excited; "she did, and she

was in there talking to Miss Carrington, just as I said! And she put that

thing round her neck to frighten her! And then she gave her the poison,

and then she came away and left her to die! All alone by herself! The

fiend!"

"There, there, Anita, hush," and Haviland tried to soothe the frantic

exclamation of the girl.

Pauline stood waiting, in silence. At last she said, "When you remove

that ranting woman, I will answer your question, Mr. Stone."

"You'll answer it now!" cried Anita. "In my presence, and at once."

"I think you must answer, Miss Stuart," said Stone, gently. "Did you buy

a paper snake?"

"I did," said Pauline, and added in a low tone, "A long time ago,--this

can't be the same one."

"The date of the sale is about a week before the death of Miss

Carrington," went on Hardy, merciless in his statements.

"For what purpose did you purchase it?" asked Stone, a little sternly.

Pauline now drew herself up, proudly. "I bought it," she said, in clear,

distinct tones, "because my aunt instructed me to get it for her."

There was a silence; and then, "Oh, come now, Pauline, you can't expect

us to swallow that!" Gray Haviland said, with a tolerant smile at her.

"Try again."

"That's the truth," said Pauline, but her voice trembled, and with a

half-stifled exclamation of despair, she ran out of the room.

"Stop, Pauline, where are you going?" cried Haviland as he ran after her.

"Don't touch me!" she cried. "I'm going to cable Carr to come home! He's

the only one who can help me! You're so wrapped up in Anita that you

can't tell truth from falsehood. Carr will know what to do,--and I shall

send for him."

"Wait, Miss Stuart," said Fleming Stone, gravely; "you may cable Mr.

Loria, if you choose, but for a few moments I must claim your attention.

It is, to my mind, of the greatest importance to learn the details of the

purchase of that paper snake, and I must ask you to tell us the

circumstances of your aunt's request for it."

"There is little to tell," said Pauline, in a hesitant way. "It was one

day when I was going over to New York that Aunt Lucy just said, casually,

to get her one of those Japanese paper snakes from Vantine's, and I did."

"That's enough!" cried Anita. "Miss Carrington _never_ sent for a snake!

_never_ in the world! You'll be saying next she told you to get her some

aconite to poison herself with!"

XVI

THE TWO GIRLS

"Miss Stuart," and Fleming Stone's voice, though gentle, had a ring of

decision, "if I am to go on with this case, I must insist on your entire

confidence, and absolute,----" he hesitated over the word,

"truthfulness."

The two were alone. After the altercation between Pauline and Anita,

Stone had requested the others to leave them, and he determined to get at

the truth of this marvelous statement about the purchase of the snake.

"I understand, and you are quite right," murmured Pauline, her manner

quiet, her tone even, but in the dark eyes raised to his Fleming Stone

saw fear,--definite, unmistakable fear.

"Then explain, for I am sure you can, why you suppressed the fact of your

own purchase of that paper snake until forced to admit it."

"I was afraid." The beautiful face was of a creamy pallor and the scarlet

lips quivered. But this evident agitation on Miss Stuart's part did not

deter Stone from his probing queries.

"Why were you afraid? Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that if you knew I bought the snake you would think I was in some

way connected with--with the crime----"

"But don't you see that to attempt to conceal the fact of your purchase

makes any such suspicion more imminent?"

"You _don't_ think I would--would----"

"I don't want to _think_ anything about it, Miss Stuart. I want to

_know_, and I want you to tell me all about your aunt's strange request

for you to buy a thing she so feared and abhorred."

"I don't understand it myself. But Aunt Lucy was full of vagaries and

would often ask me to buy strange or outlandish things for her."

"But not of a _reptilian_ nature?"

"No, she had never done such a thing before."

"Did she give no reason for the request? Make no apology or explanation?"

"No. I was just leaving her, when she called me back, and said, 'Won't

you stop in at some Japanese shop, and get me a paper snake?' and I

exclaimed in surprise at the request. Then she lost her temper and said

she supposed she knew what she wanted and for me to get it without

further to-do. So I did."

"And when you brought it to her?"

"She merely took it and laid it in a desk drawer, without even unwrapping

the parcel. I never saw it again till I saw it round her neck."

"And you do not think she placed it there herself?"

"I am sure she did not. The only reason I can ascribe for her wanting it,

is that she might have thought her dread of them a foolish whim and

determined to accustom herself to the sight of them by means of the

harmless toy. That's all I know about that snake, Mr. Stone. But the

truth, as I have told it to you, is so strange, so almost unbelievable,

that I knew it would only serve to attract suspicion to me, so I denied

it. You know Miss Frayne is only waiting to pounce on it as complete

evidence of my guilt."

"You and she are not good friends?"

"We have never been really friendly, though always polite on the surface

of things. But she is jealous of me, and tried in every possible way to

undermine my aunt's faith and trust in me, and even plotted to have me

disinherited and my fortune bequeathed to herself."

"An ambitious plan!"

"She is ambitious. She intends to marry Mr. Haviland, and she intended to

have my half of the Carrington money."

"You don't suspect her of the crime!" and Fleming Stone looked up

quickly.

"Suspect is too strong a word. But to me there seems room for grave

inquiries. I was in the hall at the time she declares I was in my aunt's

room,----"

"Wait a moment, Miss Stuart, isn't this a sort of deadlock? You say you

were in the hall, Miss Frayne says you were in the boudoir. Why should I

believe one in preference to the other?"

There was infinite sadness in Pauline's eyes as she looked at her

questioner. "That is so," she said, slowly; "why should you? I have only

my unsupported word. Nor has Anita any witness. But, Mr. Stone, I thought

a Detective always looked first of all for the motive. What reason could

I have for--for killing my aunt?"

"You put it plainly, Miss Stuart, and I will reply in an equally

straightforward vein. The first thing we detectives think of is, who will

benefit by the crime? Naturally, money benefit is first thought of. The

greatest money benefit comes to you and your cousin in Egypt. The nature

of the crime makes it impossible that he could have committed it. There

is, however, a possibility of your own connection with it, so we must

question you. But there are others who benefit in a pecuniary way by the

death of Miss Carrington, so they too must be questioned. You surely see

the justice and the necessity of all this investigation?"

"Oh, yes, and it seems to me also justice that you investigate the story

of Miss Frayne. She, too, has only her own unsupported word as to that

conversation she relates. May she not have made it all up?"

"She has a witness, Miss Stuart, a credible witness. Mr. Haviland has

told me that he saw Miss Frayne at the door of the boudoir at about

quarter past one."

"Gray saw her! He didn't tell me this. Mr. Stone, I hate to speak ill of

another woman, but Miss Frayne can really wind Gray Haviland round her

finger, and I have no doubt she has persuaded him to give this evidence,

whether----"

"Whether it is true or not?"

"Yes, that is what I meant, though I hated to say it."

"Miss Stuart, it is often hard to tell when a man speaks the truth, but I

have no reason to disbelieve Mr. Haviland's statement. He told quite

circumstantially of being up and down all night. He was restless and

wandered about in several rooms during the small hours. You know he told

of seeing the maid on the stairs. And he gives me the impression of a

truthful witness who would not lie outright, even at the behest of a

woman in whom he is interested."

"Then they are going to suspect me?" Pauline's voice was so full of

despair that Fleming Stone caught his breath as he looked at her. Her

great eyes were wide with fear, her hands were clenched and her whole

body tense with horrified suspense.

"Give me some good reasons why you can not be suspected," he cried,

eagerly leaning forward in his chair. "Give me some proof that you were

in the hall at that moment, or that you were in your own room, or----"

"That proves, Mr. Stone, that you _do_ suspect me! Your assumption that I

could have been in my own room shows that you do not believe I was in the

hall,--as I was."

"Then why didn't Miss Frayne see you there?"

"How do you know she didn't? Why do you accept her words as truth, yet

disbelieve mine?" Pauline had risen now and stood before him. Her tall

slimness, her wonderful grace and her beautiful, angry countenance made

an alluring picture. "I was not in favor of your taking this case, Mr.

Stone, and I am even less so, now, that you refuse to believe what I say!

I shall cable at once for my cousin to return. I do not wish Gray

Haviland and Anita Frayne to arrange all this to suit themselves. I am

mistress here, in Mr. Loria's absence, and if my authority is doubted I

want him here to stand up for me!"

"Just a moment, Miss Stuart. You are not entirely just to me. It is

necessary for me to question you, but you must see that your

innocence--of which I have no doubt--will be more easily established by a

policy of frankness on your part, than by futile anger toward Miss Frayne

or Mr. Haviland. The incident of the paper snake, as explained by you, is

not necessarily incriminating, and if you will wait a few days before

calling your cousin home, I think very likely you will prefer not to do

so. I understand that you do not wish him to come home, unless he can be

of assistance to you?"

"Yes, that is his desire, to stay over there unless I want him. But, Mr.

Stone," and now the lovely face was almost smiling, "if you mean what you

said, that _you_ do not doubt my innocence, then I will not send for Mr.

Loria. I am content to let it all rest in your hands."

The girl's beauty now was dazzling. Color showed in her cheeks, her eyes

shone, and the curve of her exquisite red lips was almost a smile. Stone

looked at her in amazement. He had spoken truly, he had not doubted her

innocence, but this sudden elation on her part puzzled him. What did it

mean? Only, as she meant it to seem, that if he believed in her innocence

it could be easily proved? Well, he would accept that diagnosis of her

attitude, but he would move warily. This case was unlike any other he had

ever engaged in, so he must attack it in a different way. And first of

all, he must decide which of these two women was speaking the truth. Yet,

how could he decide? If Pauline had been in that room when Anita listened

at the door, she would, of course, try to prove that she was elsewhere.

But, in such a case, why not say she was in her own room? It wasn't

plausible that she should confess to being in the hall, if she were

really in the boudoir. That, then, was in Pauline's favor. But the

conversation detailed by Anita? That must be further analyzed.

These thoughts flew through Stone's quick-moving brain as he stood

looking at his beautiful hostess.

"Puzzling it out, Mr. Stone?" and Pauline's smile was a full-fledged one

now; "perhaps I can help you. If you'll accept my assistance without

doubting my word, I'm sure we can do wonders in a detective way."

This was not in Pauline's favor. It was too much like bargaining with him

to believe her innocent. Then, too, though all unconscious of it, Stone

was influenced by the wonderful charm of the girl. Though her lips were

smiling a little, her great dark eyes still held that look of fear, that

hunger for protection, that desire for some one on whom to lean.

"And I won't send for my cousin just yet," she went on. "It's too bad to

call him home when he's so busy over there. You know, Mr. Stone, that Mr.

Loria is a wonderful man. His achievements in excavation have brought him

fame and glory. And you mustn't think he's heartless because he doesn't

return at once. You know it was all arranged for us to go over there next

month and he had made all sorts of plans for us and for himself. He can't

leave his work at a moment's notice, unless, as he says, I have need of

him."

"Was he fond of his aunt?" inquired Stone, casually.

"He was her idol. To Aunt Lucy the sun rose and set in Carr. She was

perfectly crazy to go on this trip to Egypt, in order to be with him. He

was fond of her, yes. More so than I was, because she was always kind and

good-natured to him, while she was always unpleasant to me."

"Why was she?"

"I don't know. Well, I suppose I may as well tell you, one reason was

because she was always envious of any one whom she considered

better-looking than she was herself. This may sound strange to you, Mr.

Stone, but it was the key-note of my aunt's existence. She adored beauty

in every way,--pictures, clothes, everything,--but she was so sensitive

about her own plainness, that a younger or prettier face made her, at

times, irritable and even cruel. She would never engage a servant with

any pretensions to good looks. Therefore, as she chose to consider Miss

Frayne and myself of comely personal appearance, she was unkind to us

both."

"And Mr. Loria? Is he not handsome?"

"Oh, yes, very. But Aunt Lucy liked handsome men. Carr Loria is like a

picture. His father was of Italian descent, and Carr has the clear olive

skin and dark beauty of that race. Gray Haviland is good-looking, too,

but it was only feminine prettiness that stirred up Aunt Lucy's ire."

"Why did she ever engage such an angel-face as Miss Frayne?"

Fleming Stone watched closely for a sign of irritation at this speech,

and saw it. Pauline's smile faded, and she said, abruptly:

"Do you think her so beautiful?"

"She has the perfect blonde fairness usually typified by the celestial

white-robed creatures on the old canvases."

"Yes, Anita _is_ a perfect example of a blonde. Why, she is the daughter

of an old school-mate of my aunt's, and so that's why Aunt Lucy took her,

and then she proved such an efficient secretary and such a patient, meek

thing to scold, that she kept her position."

"Miss Frayne doesn't seem so extraordinarily meek to me."

"No, indeed! She's not meek at all. But she always was to Miss

Carrington. That, of course, to keep the position, which was both easy

and lucrative. Easy, that is, except for my aunt's temper. That was

vented on poor Anita, morning, noon and night."

"That, then, might give us a motive for Miss Frayne's desire to be rid of

her cruel mistress and to get the inheritance that she knew would come to

her at Miss Carrington's death."

Pauline shuddered. "I can't think of such a thing, Mr. Stone, but, if

anybody in this house is to be suspected of the awful thing, it can be no

one but Anita. She tried, I know, to supplant me in my aunt's affection,

and to have my inheritance, or part of it, transferred to herself."

"You know this?"

"Yes. For some time she has been making insinuations and telling my aunt

tales about me,--untrue ones,--that would make Aunt Lucy angry at me. I

tell you this, Mr. Stone, because I want you to know Anita Frayne as she

really is."

There was the ring of sincerity in the tone, there was a look of truth in

the big, dark eyes, and there was a most appealing expression on the

lovely face that gazed into his own, but Fleming Stone turned from the

speaker with a polite but decided gesture of dismissal, saying, "Please

ask Miss Frayne to come here a few moments."

XVII

THE OVERHEARD CONVERSATION

Awaiting the arrival of Anita Frayne, Stone thought rapidly. Forming his

judgments, as always, more by impressions than by words, he found himself

believing in Pauline Stuart. She had bought the paper snake, she had lied

about it, but many women would have done the same. Knowing that the

purchase of the toy meant definite suspicion, wouldn't any innocent girl

have feared and dreaded that exposure? If she had been guilty, she would

scarcely have dared deny the facts of buying it, lest it be proved

against her, and make matters worse. Again, it was impossible to connect

that magnificent woman with crime! If she were connected with it, it

could only be as the criminal herself. There was no theory that admitted

of her being an accomplice, or a tool. Stay, there was that Loria man.

Stone couldn't rid himself of a vague idea of implicating the distant

nephew by means of an accomplice on the spot. But the notion was not

logical. If Pauline had killed her aunt under her cousin's instructions,

she was just as much a murderer as if she had done it entirely of her own

initiative. And if the two cousins had conspired or worked in collusion,

it was Stone's duty to fasten the deed on Pauline, as the available one

of the pair. Stone ran over in his mind the letter from Loria. It gave no

hint of greed or cupidity in his nature. He was engrossed in the pursuit

of his hobby, archæology, and was only willing to leave his work if that

would definitely please his cousin, on whom, he fully appreciated, the

responsibilities of the occasion would fall. He fully trusted Gray

Haviland to look after all business affairs, so he was not a suspicious

or over-careful nature. He asked no immediate money and only desired

some, in the course of time, to further his work. Whatever might be the

truth, there was no reason to cast a glance of suspicion toward

Carrington Loria. His opinion of Pauline's possible guilt Stone held in

abeyance, and Miss Frayne entering, he greeted her with punctilious

politeness and a confidential air, tending to put her at ease.

"Miss Frayne," he began, "the situation is a grave one. I am forced to

the conclusion, tentatively at least, that Miss Carrington was

deliberately poisoned by some one in her own household. It may have been

a servant, but it is difficult to imagine how or why a servant could

accomplish the deed. At any rate, I must first consider the members of

the family, and in so doing, I must request absolute truth and sincerity

from all."

"I'm sure I've no reason to equivocate, Mr. Stone," and Anita's voice was

almost flippant. "All I've told about what I heard at Miss Carrington's

door is absolutely true, and I can repeat it word for word."

"It seems strange you have it so accurately at your tongue's end."

"Not at all. I went to my room and wrote it down as soon as I heard it. I

often make such memoranda. They are frequently useful later."

Fleming Stone mused. This seemed a strange thing to do, at least in view

of the later events, but then, if Miss Frayne had been the guilty one,

and had made up all this story of overheard conversation, surely she

would not have done anything so peculiar as to make that detailed

memorandum; or if she did, would not have told of it.

"I have, of course, a copy of that memorandum," continued Stone; "what I

want is for you to tell me again why you think it could not have been

entirely a soliloquy on the part of Miss Carrington."

"For two reasons. First, I have lived with the lady for four years, and

never have I known her to talk to herself or soliloquize aloud. Of

course, this does not prove that she never did so, but I know it was not

her habit. Second, nobody in soliloquy ever would use that definite

intonation which is always used in speaking _to_ a person. You know

yourself, Mr. Stone, that a soliloquy is voiced slowly, mumblingly, and

usually in disjointed or partially incoherent sentences. The talk I heard

was in clear concise speeches unmistakably addressed to somebody present.

She could not in a soliloquy use that direct form of address, even if

talking to some one in her imagination. She would not keep it up, but

would go off in a reverie or drop into impersonal thought. I wish I could

make this more clear to you."

"You do make it clear, Miss Frayne. I know just what you mean. I quite

agree that one could easily tell the difference between a spoken

soliloquy and remarks addressed to a hearer. But you heard no replies?"

"None at all. But I hold that is not peculiar, for while Miss

Carrington's voice was especially high and carrying, an ordinarily low

voice would not be audible through that closed door. You can prove that

by simple experiment."

"I have," said Fleming Stone. "I have tried it, and as you say, an

ordinary voice in a low tone is not audible. But Miss Carrington's must

have been raised unnecessarily, to allow of its being heard."

Stone watched Anita's face as she listened to this. But she only replied,

with a shrug of indifference, "I can't say as to that. I heard every word

clearly, that's all I can tell."

"Suppose she had been talking to a picture of some one, say a photograph

of Miss Stuart or of Mr. Loria, or of Count Charlier, would her tone of

voice then be explicable?"

"Perhaps. But she would have had to imagine vividly the person there

before her. And, again, Miss Carrington had no such photographs in her

rooms. All her family photographs are in this library, in frames or

cases. She was methodical in such matters. She has series of pictures of

Miss Stuart and of Mr. Loria from their childhood to now, but they are

all in order in the cases over there." Anita made a slight motion of her

hand toward a mahogany cabinet. "No, Mr. Stone, whomever or whatever Miss

Carrington was talking to, it was not a photograph of any of her

relatives or friends. As you know, there was none discovered in her room,

so what could she have done with it?"

"That's true, Miss Frayne. But hasn't the theory of a living person in

there also inexplicable points? If somebody was there, it was, of course,

some one well known and whose presence in the house was unquestionably

correct. But her remarks, as I read them from your notes, imply different

auditors. Granting for a moment that Miss Stuart was there, why would

Miss Carrington say, 'Henri, Henri, you are the mark I aim at'?"

"I admit that must have been a soliloquy, or an apostrophe to the man she

wanted to marry, though he was not present."

"You have no thought, then, that Count Charlier was present?"

"Certainly not! The idea is absurd. Miss Stuart was in there with her

aunt, and I'm sure it was some remark of Pauline's, which I, of course,

did not hear, that made Miss Carrington speak of the Count as if to him."

"How, then, do you account for the presence of Count Charlier's glove?"

"Miss Stuart put it there as a blind."

"And how did Miss Stuart get it?"

"Easily. The Count had been spending the evening here. He may have left

his glove by mistake,--or----"

"Or----?"

"Or Pauline may have abstracted it purposely from his coat-pocket during

the evening with a prearranged plan to do all just as she did do."

"Miss Frayne! you can't mean to assert your belief that Miss Stuart so

far planned the crime as to intend to cast suspicion on Count Charlier by

means of that glove!"

"Why not? If Pauline Stuart is responsible for her aunt's death, I assure

you, Mr. Stone, she is quite clever enough to prearrange all details, and

to plan so adroitly that suspicion should fall on some one else. Miss

Stuart is far more crafty and deep than you can have any idea of! I have

known her for four years, and I can tell you she is far from ingenuous!"

"Suppose we leave the question of Miss Stuart out of the discussion, and

continue our first line of thought. Had Miss Carrington ever spoken to

you of changing her will?"

As was his frequent experience, Fleming Stone's quick question caught his

witness unaware, and she stumbled a little in her speech, as she replied:

"N--no. Why should she?"

"Only because her frequent quarrels with Miss Stuart might have made her

wish to leave less of her fortune to her niece. And in the conversation

you overheard, Miss Carrington touched on this subject."

"Yes, she did. But except for that reference, spoken to her unknown

companion, I have never heard anything of such an intention on her part."

"You're fond of pearls, Miss Frayne?"

"Oh, I know what you're getting at now. That speech Miss Lucy made about

fondness for pearls. Of course, I am. Who isn't? I often told Miss

Carrington that I admired her pearls far more than all her diamonds or

other glittering stones. But I wouldn't commit a crime for all the pearls

in the world! And, if I had, why didn't I steal the pearls?"

Anita's voice rang out triumphantly as she put this question, but Fleming

Stone said quietly: "I haven't accused you of crime, Miss Frayne, but

since you ask that, let me remind you, that if the crime were done with

intent of robbery, the reason that the robbery was never accomplished is

the same that kept the man Bates from stealing. Few people can bring

themselves to take valuables from a dead body. However, I cannot think

the poisoning was done with any idea of direct robbery, but for the gain

that would come by the bequests of the will."

"Then your search is limited by the list of inheritors?"

"It is, Miss Frayne."

"Then, Mr. Stone, how can you overlook or undervalue the weight of

evidence against Pauline Stuart? Remember, she bought that snake herself.

Miss Lucy never told her to buy it, _never_ in this world! Pauline feared

her aunt would disinherit her----"

"How do you know that?" the question was shot at her, and Anita fairly

jumped as she heard it.

"Why--why, you know I heard reference made to it that night when----"

"When you overheard that conversation; yes, go on." Fleming Stone had

gained his point, which was to prove that Anita _did_ know of the

proposed change in the will before that time, and to his own belief he

had proved it.

"Yes, I cannot doubt now that Pauline knew her aunt intended to change

her will, and so she was so desperate at the idea of losing her fortune,

she--I cannot bear to put it in words----"

"She poisoned the lady," said Fleming Stone, very gravely.

"Yes." Anita's voice choked, but she enunciated the word. "Mr. Stone, you

must think me dreadful to hold these suspicions, but you asked me to be

frank----"

"And I wish you to be so. I am here, Miss Frayne, to discover the

poisoner of Miss Carrington. It is my duty to get all possible light on

the matter from any one I can. It is the duty of those whom I question to

tell all they know, truthfully and straightforwardly. If these truths

implicate or seem to implicate a member of the household, none the less

must the investigation be carried on and the case be pushed to its

inevitable conclusion. The great danger lies in mistaking opinions or

imaginations for facts. Now you are telling facts as to the words you

overheard, but you are giving only opinions as to whom those words were

addressed."

"That is so," and Anita's gaze was a wondering one. "But, Mr. Stone,

since the _fact_ of that person in the room is undiscoverable, one can't

help forming an opinion. Haven't you one?"

"I have."

"Oh, what is it?"

"I think those words were spoken to some inanimate object, not to a

person. Suppose the remark thought to be said to Count Charlier was

addressed to his glove, which she was undoubtedly holding at the time."

"I never thought of that, because I have assumed that Pauline put that

glove in her hand after--after it was all over, to implicate the Count.

And, any way, that's only that one remark,--or two. To what inanimate

object was she talking when she said 'To-morrow all these jewels may be

yours'?"

"That I cannot answer. That whole conversation is most mysterious."

"Indeed it is, Mr. Stone, under any other hypothesis than that of the

presence of Pauline Stuart in her aunt's room at the time!"

"May I come in?" and Gray Haviland's good-natured face appeared, as he

knocked and opened the door almost simultaneously.

"Yes," said Stone, "and I will ask you, Miss Frayne, to leave us. I am

getting to work in earnest now, and I want to push things a little."

Stone watched the effect of this speech on Anita and was not surprised to

see her look at him with startled eyes, as she unwillingly went through

the door he held open for her.

"What's doing?" asked Haviland, in his breezy way; and Stone replied,

frankly: "Lots. Those two girls are sworn foes, aren't they?"

"Of late they have seemed to be. The break came a month or more before

Miss Carrington died. Two beauties never can remain friends."

"They are both beautiful women," agreed Stone. "Which do you think had a

hand in the tragedy?"

"Good Lord! Neither of them! What are you talking about? That Count man

is responsible for the whole thing, Bates and all."

"I know you think so, Mr. Haviland, but I can't agree with you. Now, look

here, we've got to face things squarely. Take the story Miss Frayne

tells, about that mysterious conversation. If it were all a figment of

her brain,----"

"What! Man, you're crazy! Anita Frayne make that all up out of the solid!

Never, in a thousand years! If she said that talk was talked, it _was_

talked, and that's all there is about that! Why or by whom it was talked,

is another matter, and as I understand it, that's what you're here to

find out. And, between you and me and the arc light, I don't believe you

ever will find out."

"No?"

"No! And this is no aspersion on your powers. I believe that fool Count

was in there, and as he'll never admit it, and you'll never believe it,

how can it be proved?"

"Never mind that, now. Prepare yourself, Mr. Haviland, for some unwelcome

questions. You don't want to, but I must insist on your answering them.

Which do you consider the more truthful and honest of the two young women

I've just been talking to?"

"Nixie! You can't get an answer to that question out of me! Why, I'd be a

cad to say anything but that they are both impeccably truthful and

honest."

"So you would, in ordinary circumstances. But you must realize, Mr.

Haviland, that I'm here for the definite purpose of solving the mystery

of a terrible crime, and I can only do it by inquiry and investigation.

If you really refuse to help me I must learn what I want to know in other

ways."

"But, hang it, man," and Haviland, impressed by Stone's manner,

considered the question; "I do think they're both truthful,--that is, one

of them--Oh, I can't say it! I can't talk against a woman!"

"You'll be obliged to tell all you know, sooner or later. If you tell me

now, I truly believe it will be better all round."

"Well, then,--now wait, I've got to think this thing out; I

believe,--why, blessed if I don't believe either of them would lie if she

was in a tight place! There! you've made me say a nice, honorable thing,

haven't you?" and Haviland looked utterly disgusted with Stone and with

himself too.

XVIII

FLED!

The days went by, leaving the mystery unsolved. Count Charlier was

released from custody, there not being sufficient evidence to hold him.

Bates was in jail awaiting the action of the Grand Jury, but it was

recognized that he was not the murderer of Miss Carrington.

Search for the poisoner had so far been fruitless, and the newspapers

were clamoring for the arrest of somebody. But the Police Detectives were

at their wits' end, and even Fleming Stone was baffled.

For hours, Stone sat thinking over the many peculiar features of the

case. It was not in embarrassment that he felt himself unable as yet to

trace the criminal, it was rather with a sensation of curiosity that he

wondered what point he had overlooked. There must be some clue, some

definite indication of what way to look, but so far he had not perceived

it.

So interested was he in the search that he took no note of the passing of

time or the growing impatience of those who watched him.

"It's this way, Hardy," he would say to the younger detective, "the

mystery centres about that paper snake. When we find out the reason for

Miss Carrington's sending for that thing, we've the whole story."

"You believe, then, that she did send for it?"

"Of course; why not?"

"We've only Miss Stuart's word for that; and it doesn't seem as if Miss

Carrington would----"

"Nonsense! It doesn't seem, you mean, as if Miss Stuart would--Why, man,

what possible sense _could_ there be in Miss Stuart's buying that snake

on her own account? If she set out to poison her aunt,--which she

didn't,--she could have managed it in a dozen ways without lugging in

that paper reptile. In fact, it never would have occurred to her to do

so. _Why_ would she do it?"

"In an attempt to frighten the lady to death?"

"Rubbish! The first effect of such a fright would be a fearful outcry on

Miss Carrington's part, and immediate discovery of the plot. Moreover, if

Miss Stuart bought that snake for any such purpose, she would have bought

it secretly; at some little, obscure shop, not at a well-known emporium.

No, sir, the snake is the key to the puzzle, but how? That is the

question. You see, the doctors are pretty sure that the thing was put

round the lady's neck before she died. Therefore she was either

unconscious at the time, or,--she was willing."

"Never! Everybody says her fear of the things would never let her have it

put on her willingly."

"I know they say so, but they may be mistaken. I'm beginning to evolve a

theory that will fit the facts, queer as they are. But my theory needs a

whole lot of other facts to back it up, and those facts I can't seem to

find."

"Does your theory implicate Miss Stuart?"

"It does not."

"I thought not."

"You thought quite right. It does not implicate Miss Stuart, because she

is in no way responsible for her aunt's death. But she may have

knowledge, or she may think she has, that is leading her to shield

somebody else."

"Whom?"

"I don't know. She is rather a puzzling creature. Is she--is she in love

with that cousin of hers?"

"Haviland?"

"No, the one in Egypt."

"Oh, Loria. I don't know, I'm sure. You read his letter to her, it wasn't

in any sense a love-letter."

"No, but it was evidently a letter written with the idea of other people

reading it, because of the circumstances. Of course, he wouldn't put any

intimate talk in it. And it was typewritten, so I couldn't judge anything

of the man from his chirography."

"Does handwriting mean much to you?"

"Yes, indeed. It is a wonderful expression of character. But I don't

suppose it would declare his adoration of a lady, unless he put it in

words also."

"You don't connect Loria with the crime in any way, do you?"

"I don't see how I can, unless in collusion or through the assistance of

Miss Stuart. And I'm not ready to do that. I'm working now on that

conversation overheard by Miss Frayne."

"You accept that whole, then?"

"Yes, for the simple reason that she would not have invented all that

talk. Even if she were in the room herself, and the remarks were

addressed to her, she might be trying to lay the blame elsewhere; to

create that conversation out of her own brain is too preposterous. You

see, Hardy, these things must be weighed in the balance of probability.

If Miss Frayne had set out to invent a lot of stuff which she merely

pretended to overhear, she would have had two sides to the conversation.

It is that unusual effect of one voice only that gives her story the

stamp of truth."

"But there must have been another voice, even though inaudible to her."

"That's just the point. There may have been,--probably was. But if the

story was her own invention, she never would have thought of representing

that second voice as inaudible. Now, either she did hear Miss Carrington

say those things, or she didn't. I believe she did, because if she

hadn't, she must have invented the tale, and if she had invented it, it

would have been different. Likewise, Miss Stuart's snake story. If it

were not true that her aunt asked her to buy that snake, Miss Stuart must

have made up that yarn. And if she had made it up, it would have been

different. That's always my test for the truth of an amazing statement.

If the teller were falsifying, would he tell it that way? If so, then it

is probably a lie: if not, then probably it is a true bill. Now they say

Miss Carrington had a high, shrill voice. Did you ever hear it, Hardy?"

"No. I never knew the lady. But I've heard a record of it on the

phonograph, and it is high, and rather thin."

"On the phonograph? How does that happen?"

"Gray Haviland is a dabster at that sort of thing, and he has people sing

for him and make records frequently. And once I heard that they had a

record of the dead woman's singing, and I asked to hear it, merely out of

curiosity or a general interest. And it contained some spoken words too,

and her speaking voice is high and shrill, just such as would carry

through a closed door. You can, of course, hear the record, if you care

to."

"I do care to. I'll make a note of that. Now, here's another thing. Miss

Stuart has declared that she obliterated a footprint which was noticeable

in that powder scattered by the dressing-table."

"Yes, I know it. And Haviland states that it was he who wiped out that

print! What do you make of that?"

"That Haviland did do it, and Miss Stuart fibbed about it to shield

Haviland."

"Oh, so it's Haviland you think Miss Pauline is shielding?"

"I think it may be; at any rate, she suspects some one dear to her

and----"

"You're 'way off, Mr. Stone! If you'll excuse my saying so, Miss Stuart

has pulled the wool over your eyes until you don't know where you're at."

Fleming Stone gasped. Pulled wool over his eyes! Over the eyes, the

gimlet eyes, the all-seeing eyes of Fleming Stone! What could the man

mean? And this so-called wool pulled by a woman! What unheard-of

absurdity!

"Mr. Hardy,----" he began.

"Yes, yes, I know. Nothing of the sort, and all that. But it's true, Mr.

Stone. Miss Stuart is a siren from Sirenville. She can make any man think

black is white if she chooses. And she has been bullied and cowed by that

old aunt of hers for years, and for my part, I don't blame her for

getting to the end of her rope. If she----"

"Stop! Mr. Hardy, I know you think you're right, but you are not! Do you

hear, you are not! And I'll prove it to you, and that soon! I'll ferret

out this thing, and I'll do it on this new theory of mine whether you

believe it or not!"

Hardy looked at the man in amazement. He had expected a different mode of

procedure from this talented sleuth. He had looked for a quiet, even icy,

demeanor, and magical and instantaneous solution of all mystery. And here

was the great man, clearly baffled at the queerly tangled web of

evidence, and, moreover, caught in the toils of a woman whom Hardy fully

believed to be the criminal herself.

But he only said quietly, "What way does your theory point, Mr. Stone? I

may be able to help you."

"You can't, Hardy, because you're so determined to find Miss Stuart

guilty that you couldn't see it as I do. You consider the strange

features of this case--and Lord knows they _are_ strange!--separately,

whereas they must be looked at as a whole. The gown, the quantity of

jewelry, the smiling face, the glove, the overheard conversation,--all

these points are to be considered as of one import,--as leading to one

conclusion. And you think of them as implicating--separately, mind

you--Miss Stuart, Miss Frayne, and the noble Count. Now, all those queer

points are not only connected, but identical in their significance. But

never mind that. Here's the place to begin. Miss Carrington was poisoned.

She didn't poison herself. Who did?"

"Mr. Stone, you have put it tersely. I entirely agree that all we are

seeking is the answer to that last question of yours."

"I will yet give it to you," and Fleming Stone spoke solemnly rather than

boastingly. "The poison, the aconitine, was taken by Miss Carrington as

she sat there at her own dressing-table. She took it willingly,

smilingly,----"

"Yes, because she didn't know she was taking it. When she ate the

sandwich----"

"The poison wasn't in the sandwich. She took that poison in water. The

tumbler and spoon that were used are even now on the glass shelf in her

bath-room."

"You know this?"

"I know that in the glass that now stands there a chemist has found a

slight trace of aconite. I took the glass myself to be tested, with that

result. This is not a great discovery, it merely proves that the poison

was administered in water, not in a sandwich."

"But it also means that it was given to her by some one who could

persuade her to take the solution, unquestioningly,--not under

compulsion."

"It would seem so."

"And that points to Miss Stuart."

"Not necessarily. Hardy, I refuse to discuss these things with you if you

avow everything to condemn her. Why does what I have just told you point

to Miss Stuart any more than any one else in the house? Why not Miss

Frayne? Or Haviland?"

"Pshaw! Nobody suspects Gray Haviland."

"But why not? If you're merely suspecting here and there without definite

reason, why not include him on your list? And here's another thing.

Whoever mixed that poison in the glass of water, afterward rinsed the

glass and returned it to its place in the bath-room? This was either done

at the time, that is, before the lady died, or later on, after death had

ensued. In either case, it opens up a field of conjecture."

"It doesn't with me," said Hardy, bluntly. "There's no room for

conjecture. It simply piles up the proof against Miss Stuart, and all

your skill and even your will can't get her off."

A low moan was heard and a sound as of a falling body. Stone sprang to

the door, and flinging it open, disclosed Pauline lying on the floor

where she had just fallen. With a low exclamation, Stone picked her up

and carried her to a couch. In a moment she sat up and cried, "What do

you mean, Mr. Hardy? Do you think I killed Aunt Lucy?"

"There, there, Miss Stuart, don't ask foolish questions," and Hardy,

deeply embarrassed, stood at bay. It was one thing to assert his

suspicions to Fleming Stone, and quite another to have them overheard by

this beautiful and indignant girl.

"How dare you!" Pauline went on. "I was at the door and I heard all you

said. No, I am not ashamed of listening, I'm glad I did. Now I know what

I have to fight against! And you, Mr. Stone, do you think me a murderer?"

Pauline cringed not at all. She looked more like an avenging goddess, as

she confronted the two men, and her blazing eyes and frowning face

challenged their replies.

"I do not, Miss Stuart," said Stone, quietly, but Pauline responded, "How

do I know? If you did, you'd say you didn't! I have no friend, no one to

stand up for me. I shall send for Carr. He will defend me."

With a disdainful glance round, she left the room. The two men looked at

one another.

"Guilty," said Hardy.

"Never!" said Stone, and then the two went their different ways.

Hardy's way led to the Police Headquarters, and his report there, which

included Stone's story of the tested glass, was heard with interest.

He demanded Miss Stuart's immediate arrest, claiming that only she could

have persuaded her aunt to swallow the poisoned draught.

Inspector Brunt was not quite willing to order arrest, but he set

machinery at work which he hoped would bring decisive results of some

sort.

It did.

That same evening, Pauline went to Fleming Stone. The two were alone.

Standing before him, in all her somewhat tragic beauty, Pauline asked:

"You don't think me guilty, Mr. Stone?"

He looked deep in the great, dark eyes that seemed to challenge his very

soul, and after a moment's steady glance, he replied, "I know you are

not, Miss Stuart."

"Can you prove it?"

"I hope to."

"That means nothing. Are you sure you can?"

Fleming Stone looked troubled. Never before in his career had he been

unable to declare his surety of success; but with those compelling eyes

upon him he couldn't deny a present doubt.

Shaking himself, as if to be freed from a spell, he said, at last, "Miss

Stuart, I am _not_ sure. I am convinced of your innocence, but the only

theory of guilt that I can conceive of is so difficult, so almost

impossible of proof, and so lacking in plausibility, that it seems

hopeless. If determination and desperate effort can do it, you shall be

exonerated. But there are many circumstances not in your favor. These I

shall overcome, eventually. But, to be honest, until I can get a clue or

a link of some sort to join my purely imaginative theory to some tangible

fact, I can do little. I am working day and night in my efforts to find

this connection I seek, but it may take a long time. Meanwhile----"

"Meanwhile, I may be arrested?" Pauline's voice was a mere whisper; her

face was drawn and white with fear. To Stone she did not look like a

guilty woman, but like an innocent girl, frightened at thought of unjust

suspicion and terrorized by imagination of the unknown horrors that might

come to her.

"Oh, help me!" she moaned, "Mr. Stone, can't you help me?"

"Pauline!" he exclaimed, taking her hands in his; "Pauline! Go!" he

cried, tensely: "I will save you, but until I do, keep away from me! You

unnerve me! I cannot think!"

"I understand!" and Pauline slowly drew her hands from his. "I will keep

away from you."

Stone let her go. He closed the door after her, locked it, and threw

himself into a chair. What had he done? Full well he knew what he had

done. Hardy was right. He had fallen in love with Pauline Stuart! He

realized it, quietly, honestly, as he would have realized any

incontrovertible fact. His subconsciousness was that of a deep, still

gladness; but, strangely enough, his surface thought was that since he

had fallen in love with her, so undeniably, so irrevocably, she _must_ be

innocent.

Then on the heels of this thought, came another, equally logical: if he

deemed her innocent, was it not only because he loved her?

It was only after an hour of deep thought that Fleming Stone pulled

himself together and realized with a conquering assurance, that he could

go on with the case, and do his duty. If, as he was confident, he could

prove his vague theory to be fact, then his love for Pauline would help

him to good work and triumphant conclusions. If, instead, his further

investigations showed his theory to be false, then he must push on, and

if--it couldn't be, but if--well,--he could always drop the case.

But,--and of this he was certain,--his heart should not only be kept from

interfering with the work of his head but it should help and encourage

such desperately clever work that success must come.

Pauline did not appear at dinner that night, and on inquiry, Stone was

told she had gone over to New York for a day or two.

This, then, was what she had meant when she said, "I will keep away from

you."

The next day came District Attorney Matthews to interview Miss Stuart.

Her absence from home annoyed him and he asked for her New York address.

This no one knew, as she had not informed any of them where she was

staying in the city, and Mr. Matthews went off in a state of angry

excitement. But the household at Garden Steps was even more excited.

For this was the first sign of a definite action against Pauline. What it

meant or how far it would go, no one could say.

And then, that afternoon, came a letter from Pauline herself. It had been

mailed in New York that morning and contained the surprising news that

Pauline had sailed at noon that day for Alexandria.

"Get her back!" roared Haviland, as he read the letter. "Wireless the

steamer and make her get picked up by some incoming ship! Don't think of

expense! She musn't run off like that! It's equivalent to confession of

the crime!"

"Hush!" demanded Fleming Stone. "How dare you say that?"

"It's true!" cried Anita. "Why else would Pauline run away? She knew she

was on the verge of arrest and she fled to Carr Loria. He will hide her

from her pursuers."

"He can," said Haviland, thoughtfully: "maybe it's as well she's gone

there. Of course, she did it."

"Of course, she didn't!" and Fleming Stone's voice trembled in its very

intensity. "And I shall prove to a lot of dunder-headed police that she

didn't, but it will make my work much harder if you two insist on Miss

Stuart's guilt. Why do you want to railroad her into conviction of a

crime she never dreamed of?"

"Then who did it?" demanded Anita. "To whom _was_ Miss Lucy speaking when

she said those things I heard?"

"If you harp on that string much longer," said Stone, looking at her,

"one might almost be justified in thinking she said them to you."

"No," said Anita, in a low, awed voice, and looking straight at Fleming

Stone, "no, she did not say them to me."

And Stone knew she spoke the solemn truth.

But she had not spoken the truth when she said she saw Pauline Stuart

coming from the boudoir of her aunt.

XIX

LETTERS FROM THE FUGITIVE

Pauline's flight was deemed by many a confession of guilt. The District

Attorney declared his intention of cabling a command to hold her for

examination at Alexandria. Or, he said, perhaps it would be better to

intercept her course at Gibraltar or Naples.

The people at Garden Steps paid little attention to these suggestions, so

absorbed were they in planning for themselves.

"Poor child," said Haviland, "she ran away in sheer panic. You don't know

Pauline as we do, Mr. Stone; she is brave in the face of a present or

material danger. When a gardener's cottage burned, she was a real

heroine, and saved a tiny baby at risk of her own life. But always a

vague fear or an intangible dread throws her into a wild, irresponsible

state, and she loses her head utterly. Now, I may as well own up that I

do think Polly committed this deed. I think that she had stood Aunt Lucy

as long as she possibly could, and you've no idea what the poor child had

to put up with. I think that when Lady Lucy threatened to send Pauline

away, homeless and penniless, this panic of fear overcame her and she

gave that poison, on an impulse,----"

"But," interrupted Stone, "that would imply her having the poison in

readiness. She couldn't procure it at a moment's notice."

"That's so," agreed Haviland, thoughtfully; "but, even so, it's my belief

that that's the way it all happened. How Pauline got the stuff I've no

idea, but there's no other explanation that fits the facts. Aunt Lucy's

aversion to drugs or medicines could have been overcome by few people,

but Pauline could have wheedled her into taking it by some

misrepresentation of its healing qualities or something like that."

"It must have been under some such misapprehension that she took it,"

said Stone. "For I'm convinced she took it dissolved in a glass of water,

and therefore, was conscious of the act, though not of the nature of the

dose. But couldn't Miss Stuart have given it innocently by mistake, as a

headache powder, or----"

"Miss Carrington never had headaches," returned Anita, "and, any way,

Pauline couldn't make such a mistake. It isn't as if Miss Carrington had

a medicine cabinet like other people, where drugs might get mixed up. No,

Mr. Stone, there was no mistake."

"You think Miss Stuart administered the poison purposely, to kill her

aunt?"

It would have been a brazen soul indeed, that could have spoken falsely

under the piercing gleam in Fleming Stone's eyes then.

"I am forced to think that," replied Anita, quietly. "And you know I was

present when Miss Carrington denounced Pauline and told her to leave this

house the next day. And I also heard Miss Carrington when she said,

later, that half her fortune should not go to a niece who treated her as

Pauline did----"

"Would she have used those words in speaking to Miss Stuart?" asked

Stone, pointedly.

"Surely she would. Why not?"

"Never mind all that, 'Nita," said Haviland. "Polly's gone,--run

away,--and it's up to us to do all we can to help her. If her flight

means she's guilty, never mind, we must stand up for her, and deny

anything that incriminates her. If she did poison Aunt Lucy, we don't

want her convicted of it. She'll go straight to Loria, and he'll look out

for her all right. But if we find anybody's going to head her off at

Naples, or anywhere, we must warn her and help her to thwart their

plans."

"Accessory after the fact--" began Stone.

"Sure!" said Haviland. "You bet we'll be accessories after the fact, to

help Polly out! Why, Mr. Stone, if she did this thing, the best possible

plan for her was to vamoose, just as she did do. Carr Loria can hide her

in Egypt, so nobody can find her, and after a while----"

"Mr. Haviland," and Stone's eyes gleamed, "I am surprised at your

attitude. How can you so easily take Miss Stuart's guilt for granted?"

"No other way out. Now, look here, Mr. Stone, neither Miss Frayne nor I

did this thing. We weren't tied to Miss Carrington's apron strings. We

could walk off and leave her if we chose. But Miss Stuart couldn't. Her

life was a perfectly good hell on earth. I know all about it, a lot more,

even, than Miss Frayne does. I don't quite say I don't blame Polly, but I

do say I quite understand it. She is an impulsive creature. She'll stand

an awful lot and then fly all to pieces at some little thing that sets

her nerves on edge. She's clever as the Devil, and if she procured that

aconite, long ago, say, it was in anticipation of some time when

she--well, when she just reached the limit. And it happened to come that

night. That's all."

"Wrong, Mr. Haviland, all wrong!" and Stone's face was positively

triumphant. "I've found an additional hint, in what you've just said, and

I'm convinced I'm on the right track! One more question, Miss Frayne,

about that conversation you so luckily overheard."

"Luckily?" said Anita, her great blue eyes showing alarm in their

startled gaze.

"Surely! Most fortunate, to my mind. Indeed, it may well be that that

carefully exact memorandum of yours may be the means of clearing Miss

Stuart of all suspicion. Now, tell me this. You heard only Miss

Carrington's voice, as if speaking to somebody. Did it sound as if she

spoke always to the same person, or to more than one at the different

times?"

"Well, it did sound as if she spoke to different persons, but it couldn't

have been so. Surely, if there had been more than one I must have heard

some other words than her own."

"Never mind your own surmises. You say, it seemed as if she addressed

more than one person. Why?"

"Because she used a different intonation. At times angry, at times

loving. But this is only an impression, as I now look back in memory. I

haven't thought about this point before."

"Nor need you think of it again. You have told me all I want to know, and

I assure you it will be of no use for you to mull this over or give it

another thought."

"But I don't want you to think, Mr. Stone," and Anita began to cry, "that

I want to suspect Pauline----"

"I am not considering your wishes in the matter," said Stone, coldly. "If

you do not want to think Miss Stuart implicated in this matter, your

words and actions are unintelligible to me, but they are equally

unimportant, and I have neither time nor thoughts to waste on them."

With this somewhat scathing speech, Stone went away, leaving the angry

Anita to be comforted by Haviland.

"What did he mean?" she cried, her cheeks pink with anger, and her blue

eyes shining through tears. "Gray, does he suspect me?"

"No, Anita, of course not. But he's on a trail. Perhaps it wasn't Polly

after all."

"But it had to be! It was somebody in the house, and it wasn't you or me

or any of the servants."

"Well, you listen to me, girl. If they quiz you any more about that

talkfest you butted into, don't you color the yarn to make it seem

against Polly. I won't have it!"

"How cross you are! But I never did, Gray. I never made it seem to be

evidence against Pauline."

"You never did anything else!"

"Don't you love me any more?" and the soft lips quivered as an appealing

glance was raised to his face. Her eyes, like forget-me-nots in the rain,

were so beautiful, Haviland clasped the lovely face in both his hands,

and said as he held it: "I won't love you, 'Nita, if you go back on our

Polly. I'm surprised at your attitude toward her just now, and I warn you

I won't stand any more of it. I'm forced to think she did this thing, but

I intend to admit that to nobody but you and Stone. If he can find the

real criminal, and it isn't Polly, I'll bless him forever. But you know,

as well as I do, why he is clinging to that forlorn hope. It's because

he's----"

"Of course, I know! Because he's in love with her."

"Yes; and it's a remarkable thing for him to fall head over heels in love

at first sight, like that."

"Well, of course, she is handsome," and Anita's grudging admission was

real praise.

"You bet she is! And old Stone fell for her in a minute! Now there's the

old adage of 'Love will find a way,' and if Fleming Stone has any magic

ability, or whatever these wizard detectives claim, he's going to work it

to the limit to prove Polly innocent. And I hope to goodness he succeeds.

Great Scott! I wouldn't suspect the girl if there was a glimpse of a

gleam of any other way to look. But, you hear me, Anita! Don't you say a

word, true or false, that will help on the case against Pauline Stuart! I

won't stand for it! And don't you say you saw her coming from that room,

when you _know_ you didn't!"

The postman came just then, and brought with him two letters addressed in

Pauline's dashing hand.