Arizona Republican

From Clue to Climax.

By Will N. Harben.

(Continued From Yesterday.)

"This is certainly a proof of my love, Alfred," she said, smiling faintly. "There never lived a soul with a greater horror of such things than I have, and yet I came. No, I could not wait. You know how papa is. He never had much faith in you anyway, and this morning when he heard the news down town he came right home to see me. Oh, he acted shamefully! I hate to think that he is my father. I could not tell you all he said."

Her voice had sunk into a whisper, and she hid her pretty face on his shoulder to keep him from seeing the tears in her eyes.

"What did he say?" asked Whidby.

"Oh, he says they think you did it. He says there is undoubted evidence against you."

Whidby was silent for a moment, drawing his breath rapidly, and looking more careworn than ever. He raised her face with a trembling hand and looked into her eyes.

"Pshaw! Didn't he know that the coroner's jury gave a verdict that your uncle met his death at the hands of some person unknown?"

"Yes, but he said you were going to be tried for the crime, and that it was the general opinion you'd be found guilty. He said your movements were watched by the police, and that you could not escape. I stood up for you and we had some hot words. He forbade me to receive you at home, and so I stole away and came here. Nothing on earth would make me think you could do such a thing, and I know you will establish your innocence."

Whidby made no reply. He was thinking, with a heavy heart, of the dream-like impression he had recalled of being up in the night, and of the blood-stain on his hand. To avoid the girl's searching eyes, he turned and led her to a sofa.

"What is the matter?" she asked, taking his hand in both of hers when they were seated, and anxiously stroking it. "You seem absent-minded. You are not like yourself."

"I am awfully done up, Annette," he answered. "You don't know what I have gone through. I am acting on the advice of Col. Warrenton. He is sure that he can pull me out of this, though even he says I am in danger unless—unless the real criminal can be traced."

"In danger? Does he think that—Oh, Alfred, I can't bear it! It was already hard enough as it was, with papa's objection to you on account of your lack of means, and now—to think that you—you! must be tried for your life, that you must be suspected of—Oh, I can't bear it!" And the girl burst into tears.

Whidby tried to soothe her with caresses and tender words, but the horror of his situation bore down on him with such force that he found himself utterly helpless to console her.

"You'd better not stay, darling," he said, presently. "They are going to bring the coffin into this room, and you must not be here. Poor little girl! To think that I would bring such trouble on you!"

Miss Delmar rose and wiped her eyes.

"I was a goose to break down that way," she said, forcing a smile. "I came to try to comfort you with an assurance of my faith in you, and I've acted like a schoolgirl. You will write to me, or send Col. Warrenton to see me, as soon as you know anything definite, won't you?"

"Certainly," he replied. "Don't worry. It will all come out right. You shall hear from me every day. I will send the colonel round this evening."

Whidby stood at the window and watched her graceful figure pass through the gate and cross the street.

"I'm sure I did right in not telling her about that afterthought of mine," he reflected. "It would only worry her, and—and perhaps it means nothing after all. And yet—My God! it will drive me mad! Could I have done it? Will it all come back to me some day?"

He sank on the sofa, covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud.

CHAPTER IV.

When Warrenton left Whidby he went downstairs. He knew the room where Whidby had slept the previous night, but he found the door closed and locked. Hearing the voices of the undertaker and his men in Strong's room, he entered it. The men looked up from the coffin at him, and Hodson, the undertaker, bowed and said good morning as Warrenton approached and looked at the dead man's face.

"I've never seen anything like that smile, colonel," said Hodson, "and I've been in this business over 20 years. It was all I could do to get my men to go to work when they first saw him. We tried to close his eyes; but the lids are as stiff as whalebone."

The colonel shuddered at the coarseness of the man's words.

"How do you explain the smile?" he asked.

"I can't explain it at all," answered the undertaker. "I don't think such a thing ever happened before."

Warrenton bent over the coffin for a moment. "It seems to me to be a genuine smile, unmixed with any sensation of pain, or even surprise."

"He was laughing, colonel, if ever a man laughed in his life. I ain't particularly superstitious. I once unscrewed a box and let a man out that had passed for dead 36 hours. I was alone with it at midnight. You can bet that gave me a shock; but, frankly, I'd hate to spend a night with this one."

"Whidby slept in that room, didn't he?" asked the lawyer, glancing indifferently towards the portiere.

"Yes, sir, but the indications are that the deed was done very quietly. Perhaps Mr. Whidby was drugged."

Hodson turned to give some orders to his men. The colonel went into Whidby's room and let the curtain fall behind him. The room had not been put to rights. A chair stood between the portiere and the bed. Its back was towards him. Warrenton listened. Hodson was still talking to his men, and the colonel could hear them using their tack-hammers. Quickly and stealthily he stepped to the chair and turned its back to the light from the window. He found what he feared was there—a faint smear of blood just where Whidby had caught the chair with his right hand.

"Enough to draw the halter around his neck," thought the lawyer. "I hope it escaped that detective's eye." He had just replaced the chair, when the portiere was drawn back and Hodson looked in.

"I beg pardon, colonel, but Capt. Welsh asked me to allow no one to come in here. I thought you went into the hall."

"I was just wondering how Whidby could have slept so soundly unless he was drugged," said the colonel. "I would not have come in if I had thought it was forbidden. Whidby and I are so intimate, you know, I feel as if I were at home here."

"Oh, no harm done," said the undertaker, as he held the curtain aside for Warrenton to pass out.

The colonel went into the hall and turned into the parlor. Here he looked about aimlessly for a moment, and then, seeing an open door which led to the servants' rooms in the rear, he passed out.

In a little room adjoining the kitchen he found Matthews.

"I want to see you, Matthews," said the colonel. "I want to ask you some questions. Mr. Whidby is so excited and upset that I don't wish to disturb him, and yet I must get some light on this subject."

"I don't know much about it, sir," replied the gardener. "I've told all I know to the jury."

The colonel sat down on a window-sill and lighted a cigar.

"You can trust me, you know, Matthews. I am an old friend of the family."

"Oh, I know that, sir, well enough."

"You have been in Mr. Strong's service a long time, Matthews, and you may now remember some things that you did not think of when you were testifying. For instance, have you any recollection of ever having seen anything which might tend to show that Mr. Strong had an enemy?"

Matthews stared at the lawyer for a moment in silence and then sat down on a chair and folded his hands nervously over his knees.

"I can't say I have, colonel," he said; "and yet—well, you know, my master was a very excitable, suspicious sort of a man."

"I never knew that."

"Well, he was, sir. He used to have spells of it, sir—spells I call 'em. He didn't seem able to sleep well at times and has once in awhile had me sleep on the floor at the foot of his bed."

"Ah! Is that so."

"Not often, sir, but perhaps twice a year, or thereabouts."

"Do you recall anything that might have caused him uneasiness at those times?"

"Well, I did have a sort of idea that he might 'a' brought home some money and was afraid o' bein' robbed of it."

"Can you remember ever having seen anyone about just before or after those spells?"

Matthews was silent, deep in thought, for a moment, then he said:

"Yes, I do remember something rather odd, sir. It was when Mr. Whidby was at the seashore in the summer, and master was makin' me sleep in his room every night while he was gone. One evenin' master told me he was lookin' for a visitor to see him on important business, and that I was to stay back here till he left."

"Did you see the man?"

"Yes, sir. I opened the door when he rang."

"How did he look?"

"Very queer-lookin' individual, sir, it struck me. He looked like he might be a drinkin' man. He was tall and thin, and had dark eyes and white hair. He was so queer-lookin', sir, that I thought strange o' master havin' a appointment with him. To tell the truth, sir, I kinder thought it might be some poor relation in trouble, that master didn't care for people to see about. I showed him into the parlor and went back into the kitchen. About 15 minutes after that I thought I heard loud words and a scramblin' o' feet in the parlor. Their voices would sink down and then rise up again like they was quarrelin'. I was frightened, but was afraid o' displeasin' master if I went in, so I just come as far as the room next to the parlor."

(Continued Tomorrow.)