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“But I do mind. I want you to answer it.”

“Want me to answer it honestly?”

“Honestly, certainly.”

“Then, sir, I think it was you who telephoned.”

“Oh, you do? And I said that somebody had set a trap for my uncle? And I said I would give him Frangipanni, or whatever it was? And I said I’d send him to the Caribbean Sea?”

“You asked me what I thought. You have it. Yes, I think you said these things, but I think they were some jests between your uncle and yourself that were perfectly intelligible to you two. I have no reason to think you were angry at your uncle. Disappointed, doubtless, in not getting the loan you asked for, but still quite ready to forgive and forget. Now, honest, am I not right?”

Kane Landon had a curious look in his eyes. “You’re a good guesser,” he said, a little shortly, “but you haven’t guessed right this time.”

“Then I beg your pardon, but I still believe whoever telephoned that farrago of nonsense, had no intent but pleasantry of some sort.”

Eleanor Black came bustling in. She looked strikingly beautiful in her black gown. Not what is technically known as “mourning,” but softly draped folds of dull, lusterless silk, that threw into higher relief her clear olive complexion and shining black eyes.

“A family conclave?” she said, lightly. “May I join? But first may I not have Mr. Landon duly presented to me?”

“Oh, surely, you’ve never really met, have you?” said Avice. “Mrs. Black, this is my cousin, or the same as cousin, for he’s Uncle Rowly’s nephew. Kane, my very good friend, Mrs. Black.”

The two bowed, rather formally, and Mrs. Black murmured some conventional phrases, to which Landon responded courteously.

Judge Hoyt took the occasion to draw Avice outside the hall.

“Let them get acquainted,” he said, “and suppose you pay some slight attention to me. You’ve had eyes and ears for no one but that cousin ever since you first saw him this morning. And now you’re asking him to live here!”

“But you expressed approval of that!” and Avice looked surprised at his tone.

“How could I do otherwise at the time? But I don’t approve of it, I can tell you, unless, Avice, dearest, unless you will let us announce our engagement at once. I mean after your uncle is buried, of course.”

“Announce our engagement! You must be crazy. I’ve never said I’d marry you.”

“But you’ve never said you wouldn’t. And you are going to. But all I ask just now, is that you’ll assure me you’re not in love with this Lochinvar who has so unexpectedly come out of the West.”

“Of course, I’m not!” But the emphasis was a little too strong and the cheek that turned away from him, a little too quickly flushed, to give the words a ring of sincerity.

However, it seemed to satisfy Judge Hoyt. “Of course, you’re not,” he echoed. “I only wanted to hear you say it. And remember, my girl, you have said it. And soon, as soon as you will let me, we will talk this over, but not now. Truly, dear, I don’t want to intrude, but you know, Avice, you must know how I love you.”

With a little gasping sigh Avice drew away the hand Hoyt had taken in his own, and ran back into the library.

She found Landon and Eleanor Black in a close conversation that seemed too earnest for people just introduced.

“Very well,” Eleanor was saying, “let it be that way then. I’ll give it to you this very afternoon. But I am not sure I approve, – ” and then, as she heard Avice enter, she continued, “of – of Western life myself.”

The artifice was not altogether successful. Avice’s quick ears detected the sudden change of inflection of the voice, and the slight involuntary hesitation. But she ignored it and responded pleasantly to their next casual remarks.

CHAPTER IX
A CLAUSE IN THE WILL

The funeral ceremonies of Rowland Trowbridge were of the dignity and grandeur that are deemed necessary for a man of his station in life. Great men of the financial world, scholars and statesmen had all come to pay their last respects to the one so suddenly taken from his busy and forceful career.

And now, the obsequies over, a group of people were gathered in the library of the Trowbridge home to hear the reading of the will.

There was a hush of expectancy as Judge Hoyt produced and read aloud the document.

As has already been disclosed there was a bequest of fifty thousand dollars to Kane Landon. The house and furniture were given unreservedly to Mrs. Eleanor Black, with fifty thousand dollars in addition. There were bequests of one thousand dollars each to Miss Wilkinson and to Terence McGuire, both favorites with their employer. Also a similar sum to Stryker, the butler, and various smaller sums to other servants and to a few charities.

And then came the disposition of the residuary fortune, which, it was rumored, ran well up into the millions.

In the words of the will it was set forth that all moneys and properties, not otherwise designated, were bequeathed to Avice Trowbridge, on the conditions that “she shall keep my collection of Natural History Specimens intact, and, within a year duly present it to some worthy museum; and herself become the wife of Leslie Hoyt. Also, she must add to said collection not less than twenty-five specimens of certain value every year. If these conditions are not fulfilled, my niece, Avice, inherits but fifty thousand dollars of my fortune, and the residue must form a trust fund, under the supervision of Leslie Hoyt, to be used to found and endow a museum of Natural History.”

With the exception of Hoyt and Avice, every one present looked astounded at the terms of the will. And yet it was not surprising that Mr. Trowbridge desired the union of his niece and his friend. Besides being the lawyer of the dead man, Hoyt had been his intimate friend and companion for years, and Hoyt’s regard for Avice was no secret. Moreover, the girl had always looked on the lawyer with friendly eyes, and it had been assumed by many that they were destined for each other. To be sure, Avice was only twenty, and Leslie Hoyt was forty-five. But he was a man who seemed ten years younger than he was, and Avice was mature for her years. So, while it was a surprise that their union had been made a condition of the bequest, it was not thought by any one that this fact would be objectionable to either of the two concerned.

But Avice looked grave, and an obstinate expression came into her eyes. Hoyt saw this, and smiled a little as he remembered her aversion to being made to do a thing, even though she fully intended to do it. It was the girl’s nature to chafe at authority, and Hoyt well knew he would have to give her free rein in many matters. Of course, having drawn up the will, he had known of this condition, but this was the first time he had had opportunity to note how it affected Avice. And it was quite plain that she was displeased.

“Then,” she burst out, “does my inheritance depend on my marriage to Judge Hoyt?”

“Yes,” answered Hoyt, himself, smiling at her.

“Then I refuse it! I will not be told whom I shall marry!”

“Let us not discuss that now,” said Hoyt, gently; “there is time enough for you to decide that later.”

Avice realized that this was not the time or place for such a discussion, and said no more.

Mrs. Black was dissatisfied. Although she had a handsome inheritance, she well knew that this will had been made before her betrothal to Rowland Trowbridge, and had he lived to marry her, she would have had much more. Indeed, the only person who seemed satisfied was Kane Landon. He looked serenely pleased, and began to make inquiries as to how soon he could have his share in cash.

Judge Hoyt looked at him, as if incredulous that any one could be so mercenary, and rising, went over to sit beside him and discuss the matter. On his way, Hoyt passed by the boy, Fibsy, and patting his shoulder, remarked genially, “I’m glad you were remembered, sonny. When you want to invest your money, let me advise you.”

Fibsy glanced up at the lawyer, and with an inquiring look on his face, he exclaimed “Vapo-Cottolene!”

What this cryptic utterance meant, no one could guess; and no one gave it a second thought, except Landon, who smiled at the red-headed boy and said, “Yes!”

As soon as she could do so, Avice escaped to her own room. So this was her inheritance! A fortune, only if she took also a husband of her uncle’s choice! It had come upon her so suddenly, that she had to reiterate to herself that it was true.

“If I’d only known,” she thought. “I’m sure I could have persuaded Uncle Rowly not to do that! I don’t blame him so much, for I know he thought I wanted to marry Leslie, but I never told him I did. I suppose he had a right to think so, – but – that was all before Kane came back.” And then her thoughts wandered far away from her inheritance, both real and personal, and concerned themselves with the strange man who had come out of the West. For he was strange. Landon had abrupt ways and peculiar attitudes that Avice could not altogether understand. He was so blunt and breezy. That, of course, was owing to his recent surroundings; then, again, he was so masterful and dominating, but that he had always been. Still more, he was incomprehensible. She couldn’t understand his curt, almost rude manner at the time of the inquest proceedings. To be sure, it was enough to make a man furious to have insinuating questions put to him about the murder of his uncle, – as if Kane could have known anything of it! – but, well, he was mysterious in some ways.

And his attitude toward Eleanor Black. They must have met before or they never would have talked as absorbedly as they had been doing when Avice came upon them unexpectedly. And Eleanor was another mysterious one! She had her inheritance now, and Avice hoped they might separate, never to meet again. Well, of course, they would, for neither had a desire to continue living with the other. As for Avice herself, she would go out of that house at once. But where? That must soon be decided. Then, like a flooding wave, came back the memory of her uncle’s will! She must marry Judge Hoyt or lose her fortune. She would have some money, to be sure, but the interest of that, as an income would make life a very different matter from what it had been!

And Eleanor would have this house, – to live in, or to sell. Idly she speculated on this, feeling an undercurrent of satisfaction that the widow’s bequest had not been even larger.

Then her thoughts reverted to the episode of Mrs. Black’s telephoning so late that night, after the death of her uncle. She remembered she had secured the telephone number.

“I’ve a notion to call up and see who it is,” she mused. “I am going to devote myself to searching out the murderer, and while I don’t, of course, dream that Eleanor had anything to do with it, yet – she is Italian, – and suppose she is mixed up with some secret society – oh – well – I’ll have to call that number or never rest. I might as well do it now.”

Unwilling to take a chance of being overheard in the house, Avice dressed for the street and went out. She said to a maid in the hall, “If any one asks, say I’ve gone out for a little breath of air.”

Glad of a walk in the sunshine, she went to the nearest public telephone booth and called the number. She had a queer feeling of doing wrong, but she persuaded herself that her motive was a right one.

“Hello,” she heard a man’s hearty voice say.

“Hello,” she returned, thoroughly frightened now, but not willing to back out. “Who is this, please?”

“Lindsay, Jim Lindsay; who wants me?”

“But, – but, – ” Avice was at her wits’ end what to say, “are you – do you know – that is, are you a friend of Mrs. Black? Eleanor Black?”

“Don’t know the lady. Is this Mrs. Black?”

“No; but you must know her. She – she talked to you last Tuesday night, late – very late.”

“Tuesday night? Oh, I wasn’t here Tuesday night. A chum of mine had my rooms; Landon – Kane Landon, – ”

“Who?”

“Landon. Say, what’s the matter? Won’t you tell me who you are? What’s it all about? Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m inexcusably butting in! Forgive me, do. Yes, Kane Landon had these rooms to himself for a night or two while I was away. I believe he’s at a relative’s on Fifth Avenue now. Want to see him?”

“No – thank you. Good-by.”

Avice hung up the receiver, her brain in a whirl. Had Eleanor, then, been telephoning to Kane the very night of the murder? What had she said? For him not to try to see her that night! For him to meet her next day at the same time and place! Oh, they were old friends, then. More, they were keeping that fact quiet, and pretending to meet as strangers! Was there, could there be any connection between all this and the murder?

Scarce knowing what she was doing, Avice left the booth and went for a long walk. But she could get no meaning or explanation of the facts she had learned. The more she mulled them over the more confused she became as to their import. Her mind turned to Hoyt. After all, Leslie was the one to bank on. He would help her and advise her as he had always done. But, that will! She could ask no favors or advice of Judge Hoyt now, unless she acknowledged herself his betrothed. And was she prepared to do that? Well, one thing was certain, if Kane was all mixed up with Eleanor Black, she surely wanted no more to do with him! And he had told her he loved her. Perhaps because he thought she was her uncle’s heiress! Of course, he did not know then of the clause about her marrying the judge. Probably now, Kane would have no further interest in her. Well, he could marry Eleanor, for all she cared!

She went home, and paused first for a few moments in a small reception room, to calm her demeanor a little. But, on the contrary, the sight of the familiar walls and the realization that she was to leave them, struck a sudden sadness to her already surcharged heart, and she gave way to silent weeping. And here Hoyt, looking for her, found her.

“What is it, dearest?” he said, sitting beside her. “I have now a right to comfort you.”

“Why?” said Avice, throwing back her head and meeting his eyes.

Hoyt smiled tenderly at her. “Because our betrothal, long tacitly agreed upon, is now ratified by your uncle’s wish and decree.”

“Not at all. Because my uncle wished me to marry you, is no reason that I am obliged to do so.”

“Not obliged, my darling. That is a harsh word. But you want to, don’t you, my Avice? My beautiful girl!”

“I don’t know whether I do or not. But I’m sure of one thing, I won’t marry you simply because Uncle Rowly wanted it! Much as I loved him, and much as I revere his memory, I shall not marry a man I don’t love for his sake!”

“But you do love me, little Avice. You are so worried and perturbed now, you can’t think clearly. But you will find yourself soon, and realize that you love me as I love you.”

Hoyt spoke very tenderly and the girl’s quivering nerves were soothed by his strong, gentle voice, and his restrained manner. He didn’t offer endearments which she might resent. He knew enough to bide his time, confident that she would turn to him of her own accord when ready.

“I don’t want to think about marrying now,” she said, wearily; “I have so much to think about.”

And then Leslie Hoyt made his mistake.

“No, dear, don’t think about it now,” he said; “but remember, if you don’t marry me, you lose a very big fortune.”

The words were meant to be half playful, half remindful, but they roused the deepest indignation in the heart of Avice Trowbridge.

She turned on him with flaming eyes. “How dare you? How can you put forth such an argument? Do you think that will help your cause? Do you suppose I would marry any one for a fortune? And any way, as a lawyer you can find some way to set aside that proviso. It can’t be possible a whim like that can stand in law!”

Hoyt looked at her intently. “It will stand,” he said, coldly; “I do not use it as a bribe, but I tell you truly, if you do not marry me the bulk of your uncle’s fortune will go to a museum.”

“Can’t a will like that be broken?”

“In no possible way. Your uncle was in full possession of all his faculties, the will is duly witnessed and recorded, there isn’t a flaw that could be found on which to base a contest. But don’t let us talk in this strain, dear. If you don’t want to marry me, you shan’t, but you must realize the situation.”

“I begin to realize it at last. But I cannot decide now. Give me time, Leslie,” and the sweet brown eyes looked appealingly into his.

“Of course, I will, you darling girl, all the time you want. And please, Avice, if you want any information or advice, come to me and let me help you, without feeling that you are committing yourself to anything. You understand?”

“Oh, thank you! That is what I wanted. Yes, I do understand, and I bless you for it. I am very much perplexed, Leslie, but I want to think out things a little for myself, before I tell you what I’m bothered about.”

“So be it, then. And whenever you’re ready, I’m waiting.”

Judge Hoyt went away, and Avice, wandering listlessly through the house, came upon Eleanor Black. That volatile spirit had already assumed complete ownership and command of the home that was now all her own. She was giving orders to the servants in quite a different manner from the one she had shown as a mere housekeeper, and was already arranging for a different mode of life.

“I shall close the house for the summer and go away,” she was saying to Stryker, “and then in the fall there must be complete renovation. Avice, what are your plans?”

“Oh, Eleanor, I haven’t made any yet. How can you be so hasty? Do have a little respect for uncle’s memory, if you have no sorrow in your heart.”

“Don’t trouble yourself to talk to me like that, Avice,” and the black eyes snapped. “There’s no need of pretense between us.”

“Then let’s lay pretense aside,” and the girl’s attitude suddenly became as haughty as the older woman’s. “Who is Jim Lindsay?”

“Mercy! I don’t know, I never heard of him. Why?”

It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of Eleanor’s speech and expression, and Avice was at once sure that it was the truth.

“Nothing, then. I don’t know him either. And Eleanor, I’ll talk with you some time, soon, about our future plans and all that, but I can’t just yet. You don’t mind my staying in the house a short time, do you?”

“Of course, not. Don’t be a goose. Stay till you marry Judge Hoyt, if you will. But I’m going away for the summer.”

“When?”

“As soon as I can settle up some matters and get off. But you stay here if you choose. Keep the servants, and get some one to chaperone you. My dear Avice, look on the place as your home just as long as it suits you to do so, won’t you?”

The invitation was given in a whole-souled, honest manner, and Avice really appreciated the kindness that prompted it.

“Thank you, Eleanor,” she said; “I shall be glad to stay for a time, I can’t say yet how long. And it’s good of you to be so hospitable.”

“I’ve asked Mr. Landon to stay a while,” Mrs. Black added, “until I go away, at any rate.”

Avice wanted to ask her then, how long she had known Kane Landon, but something seemed to restrain the question. So with a few murmured words of acquiescence, she went her way.

CHAPTER X
STRYKER’S HANDKERCHIEF

It was soon after this, that the reporter, Pinckney, came again to see Avice. The girl liked the wide-awake young man, and granted him an interview.

“Shall I announce your engagement to Judge Hoyt?” he asked, gravely, but with intense interest.

“No, indeed!” said Avice, with spirit.

“You’re not going to lose all that fortune?”

“Not necessarily. But I object to having my engagement announced before it has taken place! Oh, do all these things have to be in the papers?”

“Certainly they do; and that’s why you’d better tell me the truth than to have to stand for all the yarns I’d make up.”

“Oh, don’t make up a lot of stuff, please don’t!”

“Well, I won’t, if you’ll give me a few facts to work on. First, do you think that Swede killed your uncle?”

“Oh, I don’t know what to think! But I’m going to get the best detective I can find, and let him find out all he can. I believe uncle was killed by some robber, and his reference to Cain was merely the idea of a murderer. Uncle often talked that way.”

“Look here, Miss Trowbridge, I don’t want to butt in, I’m sure; but I’m a bit of a detective, myself, in an amateur way. Don’t you want me to, – but I suppose you want a professional.”

“I think I do want a professional,” began Avice, slowly; “still Mr. Pinckney, if you have a taste for this sort of thing, and know how to go about it, I might work with you more easily than with a professional detective. I’m going to do a lot myself, you know. I’m not just going to put the matter in an expert’s hands.”

“I hardly know what to say, Miss Trowbridge; I’d like to take up the case, but I might muff it awfully. I suppose you’d better get the real thing.”

“Well, until I do, why don’t you have a try at it? If you discover anything, very well; and if not, no harm done.”

Jim Pinckney’s face glowed. “That’s great of you!” he cried; “I’d like to take it up on that basis, and if I don’t find out anything of importance in a few days, engage any Sherlock Holmes you like.”

But a few days later when Pinckney again called on Avice, he was in a discouraged mood.

“I can’t find out anything,” he said. “The whole case is baffling. I went to the scene of the crime, but could find no clues. But, what do you think, Miss Trowbridge? When I reached the place where they found Mr. Trowbridge, there was that young office boy, looking over the premises.”

“That Fibsy, as he calls himself?”

“Yes; I asked him what he was doing, and he said, ‘Oh, just pokin’ around,’ and he looked so stupid that I feel sure he had found something.”

“He’s just smart enough for that,” and Avice smiled a little.

“Yes, he is. I asked him to come here today, and I thought you and I would both talk to him, and see if we can learn anything of his find. If not, I admit I am at the end of my rope, and if you choose, perhaps, you’d better get a real detective on the case.”

“I spoke to Judge Hoyt about that, and he agreed. But Mr. Landon doesn’t want a detective. Ah, here’s Fibsy, now. Come in, child.”

The boy had appeared at the door with a beaming face, but at Avice’s calling him “child,” his countenance fell.

“I ain’t no child,” he said, indignantly; “and say, Miss Avice, I found some clues!”

“Well, what are they?”

“A shoe button, and a hunk o’ dirt.”

“Interesting!” commented Pinckney. “Just what do you deduce from them?”

Then Fibsy rose up in his wrath. “I ain’t a-goin’ to be talked to like that! I won’t work on this case no more!”

“Sorry,” said Pinckney, grinning at him. “Then I suppose we’ll have to call in somebody else. Of course, he won’t do as well as you, but if you’ve decided to throw the case over, why – ”

“Aw, can the guyin’!” and with a red, angry face, Fibsy jumped up and fairly ran out of the room and out of the house.

“Now you’ve made him mad,” said Avice, “and we’ll never know what he found in the way of clues.”

“He said, a shoe button, and some mud! We could hardly expect much from those treasures.”

Then Judge Hoyt came. His calls were frequent, and he continually tried to persuade Avice to announce their engagement. But the girl was perverse and said she must first solve the mystery of her uncle’s death. The judge was always willing to listen to her latest theories, but though he never said so, Avice felt pretty certain that he did not suspect the Swede.

She told him of Fibsy’s finds, and he said curiously, “What did he mean by mud?”

“He didn’t say mud,” corrected Avice, “he said dirt I think he meant soil or earth.”

“How would that be a clue? Any one can get some soil from the place, if they don’t take too much. A few square feet might be valuable.”

“Why pay any attention to that rubbishy boy?” exclaimed Pinckney. “Why not get a worth-while detective, and let him detect?”

“Yes, that’s the thing to do,” agreed Hoyt. “Duane stands well in the profession.”

“Alvin Duane! just the man,” and Pinckney looked enthusiastic. “But he’s a bit expensive.”

“Never mind that,” cried Avice; “I must find uncle’s murderer at any cost!”

“Then let’s have Duane,” and Judge Hoyt reached for the telephone book.

Meantime the administrators of law and justice were pursuing the uneven tenor of their way, hoping to reach their goal, though by a tortuous route.

“It’s a mighty queer thing,” said District Attorney Whiting, “I’m dead sure the western chap killed his uncle; we’ve even got his uncle’s word for it, and yet I can’t fasten it on him.”

“But,” said the chief of police to whom this observation was addressed, “aren’t you basing your conviction on that curious coincidence of names, Cain and Kane? To my mind that’s no proof at all.”

“Well, it is to me. Here’s your man named Kane. He’s mad at his victim. He goes to the place where the old man is. And as he kills him, the old man says, ‘Kane killed me.’ What more do you want? Only, as I say, we’ve got to have some more definite proof, and we can’t get it.”

“Then you can’t convict your man. I admit it’s in keeping with that young fellow’s western ways to kill his uncle after a money quarrel, but you must get more direct evidence than you’ve dug up yet.”

“And yet there’s no one else to suspect. No name has been breathed as a possible suspect; the idea of a highway robber is not tenable, for the watch and money and jewelry were untouched.”

“What about the Swede?”

“Nothing doing. If he had killed the man, he certainly would have done it for robbery? What else? And then he would not have come forward and told of the dying words. No, the Swede is innocent. There’s nobody to suspect but Landon, and we must get further proofs.”

The District Attorney worked hard to get his further proof. But though his sleuths searched the woods for clues, none were found. They had the bare fact that the dying man had denounced his slayer, but no corroboration of the murderer’s identity, and the neighborhood of the crime was scoured for other witnesses without success.

The district attorney had never really thought the Swede committed the murder. A grilling third degree had failed to bring confession and daily developments of Sandstrom’s behavior made it seem more and more improbable that he was the criminal.

And so Whiting had come to suspect Kane Landon, and had kept him under careful watch of detectives ever since the murder, in hope of finding some further and more definite evidence against him.

But there were no results and at last the district attorney began to despair of unraveling the mystery.

And then Groot made a discovery.

“That Stryker,” he said, bursting in upon Whiting in great excitement, “that butler, – he’s your man! I thought so all along!”

“Why didn’t you say so?” asked the other.

“Never mind chaffing, you listen. That Stryker, he’s been taking out a big insurance. A paid-up policy, of, – I don’t remember how much. But he had to plank down between eight and nine hundred dollars cash to get it. And he used his bequest from old Trowbridge to do it!”

“Well?”

“Well, here’s the point. You know how those premiums work. After Stryker is sixty years and six months old, he can’t get insured at all, – in that company any way, and at those rates.”

“Well?”

“Well, and Friend Stryker reaches his age limit next week!”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Sure, I’m sure! I got it from the agent Stryker dealt with. The old fellow has been fussing over that insurance off and on for years; and now, just at the last minute, a man up and dies who leaves him enough money to get his insurance. Is it a coincidence?”

“At any rate we must look into it,” said Whiting, gravely. “What have you done?”

“Done? I’ve just found this out! Now’s the time to begin doing. I’ll search his rooms first, I think, and see if I can nail any sort of evidence. And by the way, on the day of the murder, it was Stryker’s day out, and he’s never given any definite or satisfactory account of how he spent the afternoon. For one thing, he wasn’t definitely asked, for nobody thought much about him, but now I’ll hunt up straws, to see how the wind blows.”

Groot went off on his straw hunt, and as it turned out, found far more decided proof of the wind’s direction than straws.

Inspector Collins and he came back together with their news.

“It’s Stryker, all right,” said Collins to the district attorney; “the handkerchief is his.”

“The handkerchief his?”

“Yes, we found others in his dresser just like it. It’s a peculiar border, quite unmistakable, and the size and textures are the same. Oh, it’s his handkerchief, for sure. And Sandstrom found it, just as he said, and he was scared out of his wits, – remember he saw the police there with the body, – so he hid the handkerchief, and was afraid even to wash it.”

“What’d he take it for?”

“Plain theft. Thought he’d make that much. Same way he took the milk bottle. Say, maybe Stryker laid a trap for Mr. Trowbridge, and maybe somebody else did tell him of it, over the telephone, as a warning!”

“Arrest Stryker as soon as possible,” said Whiting, “perhaps we’d better let the Swede go.”

“Sure let him go. He won’t make any trouble. I’ve got to know him pretty well, and I sort of like him.” Groot’s shrewd, old face showed a gleam of pity and sympathy for the wronged prisoner. “But how could we know it was Stryker’s handkerchief?”

“Where can we find him? Is he at home?”

“Guess he is now,” returned the detective. “They expected him in about five o’clock. I’ll go to the house myself, and a couple of chaps with the bracelets can hang around outside till I call ’em.”

At the Trowbridge house, Groot was admitted as usual. His visits had been rather frequent ever since the crime, but as he had done nothing definite, the family paid little attention to him.

He asked for Avice, and found her, with Judge Hoyt, in the library.

“Come in, Groot,” said the lawyer. “What’s up now?”

“Where’s the man, Stryker?” asked Groot, in lowered tones. “Is he in?”

“I think so,” said Avice, “he always is, at this hour. Do you want to see him?”