CHAPTER IV

MR. CONVERSE APPEARS AS CHORUS

Early the next morning Mr. Mountjoy, the district attorney, and the Coroner were seated in the former's office with a flat desk between them. Upon this set forth in orderly array, were the letters, papers, and other personal effects gleaned from the pockets of the dead man; dominating the whole was the sinister and grewsome little silver blade,—Doctor Westbrook's paper-knife.

The regard of both officials rested upon it as they meditated and waited for the Captain.

Remove those bloodstains and the weapon became a dainty toy, but withal a dangerous one. The point was like a needle's, and terminated a slender, tapering blade, silver-like in its brightly polished steel, two-edged, and of indubitable fineness. The guard, a solid piece of beautifully engraved gold, was shaped somewhat like a Cupid's bow, while the hilt, of silver, was decorated with an intricate, graceful pattern of chasing, inlaid with gold, and surrounding a scroll upon which was engraved in script the single word:

Paquita

The chasing, in addition to being an exquisite work of art, possessed also the utility of supplying an excellent purchase for any hand grasping it.

And what hand was upon that pretty hilt when last it was held in anger? Whose fingers had tightened slowly over the dainty feminine name, as the unsuspecting victim approached? Did "Paquita" contain a hidden charm—some invisible potency—to guide the hand to its hideous, self-appointed task?

Alas, if it could but tell! If, instead of the prænomen, redolent as it was of fresh maiden innocence, the scroll had borne some word pointing to the assassin! And yet, after all, could it be possible that the momentous intelligence actually was there, and only human eyes were blind? If such be the case, it will require a vision more than human to seek it out and read what is there written. Surely; for the weapon bore no other mark or testimony.

The District Attorney's voice disturbed the quiet.

"It is an amazing thing," said he, in a speculative tone, "what a nice tangle this case is beginning to promise. Relate the bare facts, as we know them, to any disinterested person, and he would instantly say that Mobley Westbrook committed the deed. To be suddenly come upon, a smoking dagger in your hand—standing over a dying man—the provocation supplying a motive—and all that—h-m-m! pretty bad."

But Mr. Mount joy the next instant laughed in a way that signified it to be the height of absurdity to think of Doctor Westbrook as a murderer.

"There is not a phase or side of the man's character," he continued, "with which the crime can be made to fit. I can more easily imagine Mobley Westbrook—but of course I know him so well that personal bias influences me largely in his favor. It would require evidence quite conclusive, though, to move me to proceed against him. It's queer, anyhow, a family of their quiet, humdrum respectability being mixed with an affair of this nature, even remotely; there is more behind it than we now imagine; and I believe there will be plenty of work for one John Converse."

As if this colloquy had been a scene on a stage, and the two last words a cue, the door opened, and the Captain of detectives himself entered. He walked to the desk with manner quiet and deferential, gravely returning the salutations of the two officials seated there.

"Here's John to speak for himself," said the Coroner.

"Theseus has come to lead us from this labyrinth of mystery," laughed Mr. Mountjoy. "Silent and enigmatical servant of Destiny, who knows what momentous knowledge is hidden behind that impassive exterior? John, are you ready to point the stern and unrelenting finger of denunciation at the guilty wretch, and say, 'Thou art the man!'?"

But the Captain did not respond to the lawyer's bantering humor. Instead, he seated himself on one side of the table, remarking merely:

"Gentlemen, this is a very serious case."

"Serious!" cried the District Attorney, his mood in no wise changing. "Serious? which is but one method of informing us that there has been a dearth of clues." He suddenly leaned forward, rested his elbows upon the table, and interlocked his slender fingers. "Come, John, what have you discovered?" he concluded more soberly.

For answer Mr. Converse drew forth his large and well-worn pocket-book, from which he took one by one, and laid upon the desk, two slips of paper, a small hairpin, two half-consumed cigarettes—the paper of which was a dark brown, like butcher's wrapping-papers—and lastly, a dainty bit of cambric and lace, to which clung a delicate odor of stephanotis,—a lady's handkerchief.

Mr. Merkel adjusted his spectacles; the District Attorney became wholly serious; and together they bent over the grotesque assortment, staring as though the mystery might be disclosed then and there.

Presently both sat back in their chairs, and turned expectantly to Converse.

"Well, sir," he began gravely, "I believe we must look to a certain lady for a detailed account of her connection with this case."

"A woman!" ejaculated the lawyer. "Well, I am not surprised; it could not promise much without a woman—no more than that affair of the Garden could have been without Eve.... And do you know who she is?"

Mr. Converse raised a protesting hand.

"No," said he; "not yet. But a woman was in Mr. Nettleton's offices so close to the time the crime was committed that her presence is quite the most important factor at present—that, and Clay Fairchild's disappearance."

Both listeners showed their astonishment.

"So that young Fairchild has disappeared, has he?" remarked Mr. Merkel. "I always thought he was a steady sort of chap. But you can never tell about these young fellows, especially when they get tangled with a woman. I wonder who she is?" he added, musingly, and colored when Mr. Mountjoy laughed.

"That is just a puzzling feature of the thing," the Captain resumed. "I have had no trouble in securing a complete record of the young man's private life, and it proves to be unexceptionably clean. No woman figures in it to any great extent. Young Fairchild is very poor; but he is the head of one of these old families here, and is on a footing with people like the Westbrooks, the Nettletons, and their class, that a great many with more money can't boast of. He is one of 'the quality'; and though his poverty prevents him from figuring at all in society, he is nevertheless a frequent visitor in many of the best homes in the city."

"Aye, I know those Fairchilds," said Mr. Mountjoy, nodding his head slowly; "fine old stock, but dropped from sight since Dick, the scamp, went smash. There's a girl, too, isn't there? Mother an invalid? Thought so. Proceed, John."

"It appears that he was always a studious boy," Mr. Converse went on, "and there is only one thing that seems to be in his disfavor. It is this: although he has been acting as Mr. Nettleton's clerk and stenographer, and is a notary public, he entered Mr. Nettleton's office for the purpose of studying law. Now, Mr. Nettleton says that while young Fairchild was diligent in his duties, and possessed of no bad habits, he disappointed his patron by evincing a lack of interest in his studies, which he gradually came to neglect. It seems that he has literary aspirations, and his present vocation is a necessity. His mother and sister, excepting for a little property belonging to the latter, are both dependent on him, and he has always been particularly solicitous of their welfare. I must confess that his lighting out the way he has, and our failure to find the slightest trace of his whereabouts, coupled with the circumstance of the woman, are at present very puzzling. But we will get to this later; we can secure a better grasp of the entire situation by commencing at the beginning.

"Well, when De Sanchez entered the Nettleton Building yesterday evening there were in the east end of the second floor at least five persons,—Doctor Mobley Westbrook, who was in his reception-room; Fairchild, who was in one or the other of Mr. Nettleton's rooms; Mr. Ferdinand Howe, who was in the Doctor's laboratory; William Slade, who was in Room 6; and some woman. Mr. J. Howard Lynden entered the building only a few seconds after De Sanchez, and both were bound for the Doctor's office. It is self-evident that the criminal was present also, and I can account for no one else. Indeed, unless the witnesses were blind or are now resorting to deliberate falsehood, it is absolutely impossible that any person besides those indicated could have been present.

"Of the six individuals named we may at once drop Slade and Howe, leaving us Fairchild, the woman, Doctor Westbrook, and Lynden to be considered as possibilities.

"Beginning with Fairchild, and in connection with the lady, I will preface what I have to say with the statement that his place in the case is very difficult to determine; but that it is at least of great moment, I am convinced.

"For the present there is only a hypothetical motive for his curious behavior; but he was in the neighborhood of the crime at the time of its commission, and did not leave the building until several minutes afterward—and then under very peculiar circumstances. The hypothetical motive by which I shall try to explain his conduct is affection for the woman.

"Now, the hall dividing the rooms in the eastern wing of the Nettleton is just twelve feet wide, and we may take it as an established fact that the blow was delivered between Doctor Westbrook's entrance and the hall door to Mr. Nettleton's private office, the two doors being directly opposite each other. We may even go a bit farther and say that De Sanchez was closer to the Doctor's door, for, owing to the nature of the wound, all volition was immediately removed from the deceased's movements. The act of his falling through the door would indicate that he had already turned to enter the Doctor's office, was close to it, and was projected through the doorway simply by the momentum of the speed at which he had been walking. That gives us four possible routes whereby the murderer could have come into contact with his victim at the spot mentioned, and it is necessary to bear these in mind:

"1. Through the hall from the stairway;

"2. From Doctor Westbrook's office;

"3. Through the window at the end of the hall, which opens into the light-well; and

"4. Through Mr. Nettleton's private office.

"Assuming the truth of all the statements, the story I obtained from Lynden obviates the first; number two we will set aside on the strength of Doctor Westbrook's statement, partially corroborated by Howe. Regarding the third route—that is to say, the hall window opening into the light-well—we have two persons who were looking into the light-well from two different points, from about five minutes before, and during the time the deed was committed, until several seconds thereafter. These two are Mr. Howe and Judge Elihu Petty, of Petty & Carlton, who was looking from his window in the Field Building, diagonally across from where Howe was standing. Both these gentlemen are positive that no one entered or left the Nettleton hall window, and that there was no movement of any kind at any of the other windows during the time they were looking into the light-well. Indeed, it seems impossible that there could have been under the circumstances. Looking from any of the windows mentioned, the entire light-well is within one's range of vision; and while it is true that twilight had set in, it was by no means dark or even nearly so when the deed was committed; and we may assume that it was impossible for anybody to have entered the hall by way of the light-well without attracting the attention of either Howe or Judge Petty.

"Fortunately we have a basis from which to estimate the exact time the blow was struck, and, in fact, all the other known incidents in this affair. That was the five o'clock whistles. We may set it down, then, as another established fact, that the blow was delivered in not to exceed four seconds of that hour. Howe knows the exact time he took up his position at the laboratory window; it was there he was standing when De Sanchez fell through the reception-room door, and at that moment he heard the whistles begin blowing. Judge Petty remembers the circumstance also, and connects it with Howe's sudden disappearance from the laboratory window; and Doctor Westbrook is now able to recall the fact of the whistles blowing being coincident with the deceased's tragic entrance.

"These facts confine us to Mr. Nettleton's private office to seek a solution, and there we find a number of circumstances justifying a closer examination.

"The facts here warrant the following assumptions: That between four-thirty and five o'clock yesterday afternoon, Clay Fairchild and some woman—name unknown—were in Mr. Nettleton's offices; that Mr. Fairchild did not depart until after five o'clock; that the lady was familiar with the arrangement of the second floor; that so far we know no one who either saw her enter the building, or saw her while she was inside it, or saw her leave; that she went into Mr. Nettleton's private office from the hall, where she stood behind the door for a while; that she next tiptoed on through to Mr. Nettleton's general office, where she stopped again at the connecting door, close by Fairchild's desk, at which point, in her agitation, she dropped this handkerchief into the waste-paper basket. She then made her way to the hall door of Mr. Nettleton's general office, where she again stopped behind the door, as though waiting for some one to pass.

"Now, if this woman was the assassin, her actions are easily explained. She stood behind the private office door—whence, with the door ajar, one has a view down the length of the hall to the stairway—and awaited the victim's approach; just as he turned to enter the Doctor's office she sprang out and administered the death wound,—in such haste to get back that she made no effort to recover the weapon, but hurried on through Mr. Nettleton's office to the hall door of the general office. Here warning footsteps announce that there is some one else in the hall, and standing close to the partially opened door, with her hand on the knob, she waits until Lynden passes. It is but a second after that he is standing at the threshold of the Doctor's open door, overcome by the scene it discloses, and both deaf and blind for a moment to all else. She takes advantage of that moment to pass on down the hall to the stairway, and so out of the building, probably unobserved by any one except Fairchild. An agile person would have had just about time before Lynden appeared at the head of the stairs to strike such a blow as killed De Sanchez, and then either spring into the light-well or run into Mr. Nettleton's office.

"Now, all this could not have happened without Fairchild's knowledge, and we are not lacking light on his participation in the murder under the theory I am now unfolding.

"Under the circumstances, knowledge can mean only connivance. The known facts coincide precisely, and explain every hypothesis upon which this theory is based; and to get at his connection with the affair, please observe these two bits of paper."

Mr. Converse unfolded one of them, and flattened it on the desk, and as he did so, asked:

"Is it not singular that two men, apparently unknown to each other, should have betrayed interest in Doctor Westbrook's paper-knife in an identical manner? But such is the fact.

"This one was torn from a sheet of typewriter paper, such as Fairchild uses; I found it on his desk. Here we have a fairly good drawing of the dagger in question, made painstakingly, and as though to illustrate a verbal description. But he drew it from memory, as a close inspection of the sketch will indicate. He has either omitted or distorted several little details which not only appear quite plain on the dagger itself, but are quick to catch the observer's notice. But most convincing of this circumstance are the words alongside the picture blade in Fairchild's handwriting, 'about 6 inches.' The blade is, in reality, exactly five inches long: then why, if he had it before him, together with the office ruler, which lay on the desk, should he have guessed at the blade's length?

"This other came from Doctor Westbrook's desk in the reception-room. It is widely different from Fairchild's drawing, and was made by a person who is something of an artist. Furthermore, he had the weapon before him, for the intricate design on the hilt is copied faithfully; besides, many trifling details, such as the peculiar shape of the little knobs at each end of the guard, the script in which the word 'Paquita' is engraved, are all rendered exactly in the sketch. From it we are even able to form an idea when it was drawn: some time on the evening of November third, or the day before the murder. So we may say that the weapon had not been removed from the Doctor's table prior to that time. Observe this spattered blot and the hole in the paper beneath it. That was caused by the artist bringing the pen down on the paper with such force that the pen broke, the ink was spattered, and the paper perforated as you now see it.

"Doctor Westbrook has four penholders on this table; but he is so partial to a particular one of them that he invariably selects it in preference to the other three when he wishes to write. He used it about four o'clock Tuesday afternoon—the third—and did not have occasion to use it again till yesterday evening, when he started to write the letter to De Sanchez. Then he discovered that the point was bent and broken; and we may infer the sketch to have been made between four o'clock on the afternoon of the third and five o'clock last evening.

"During that time a score or more of people were in and out of the Doctor's office, and we have no handwriting to guide us in this instance, as the word 'Paquita' here is a faithful copy of the script in the scroll—too faithful to betray many individualities. But still, it is easy to infer who sketched this dagger. Observe the blot again: it is located immediately at the end of the word 'Paquita,' and was made just as the artist concluded that word. Now, what emotions would cause one to so maltreat a pen? Anger or impatience,—the two being very near akin. It follows there was some suggestion in the word 'Paquita' which angered the artist; and this immediately suggested to me the man Vargas.

"On the evening of the third he called at Doctor Westbrook's offices in company with Señor de Sanchez. He and the latter were negotiating the deal involving the deed and the shares of stock in the Paquita Gold Mining Company, and, as I have found out, Vargas was having some difficulty in closing the matter. Only that afternoon had they come to an understanding; but De Sanchez had not yet delivered the papers. Vargas was becoming very anxious and impatient over the delay of getting them into his possession. When they called on the Doctor Tuesday evening, the latter and De Sanchez retired to the consultation-room, leaving Vargas in the reception-room, and as he sat idly at the table his eye was caught by the dagger, and he fell to sketching it. The word 'Paquita' on the hilt brings suddenly to mind his anxiety and impatience; and by a natural, involuntary gesture he ruins the Doctor's pen and blots the drawing.

"I will interpolate here, so that we may dismiss him, that this person Vargas attracted my attention owing to the very fact of his presence in the city at this time, his association with deceased, and the coincidence of the name 'Paquita' occurring both on the dagger-hilt and as the name of the mining company. But I have been able to follow the negotiations between the two, and to trace Vargas's movements all yesterday afternoon, and each succeeding fact tends cumulatively to absolve him from any participation in the affair. Warren, a clerk at the La Salle House, knew of the deal; both parties frequently talked about it in his presence; and it evidently was just what it appears to be. We are extremely fortunate in having this unprejudiced witness to save confusion upon this particular point. On the afternoon of Tuesday De Sanchez and Vargas approached him in rather an elated mood, and invited him to join them in a bottle of wine to celebrate the consummation of the negotiations. Right there, you see, this deal is removed from the chance of being a motive. As the party separated, De Sanchez mentioned half-past four on the following afternoon, yesterday, as the hour for delivering the papers. Vargas was on hand promptly at the appointed time, but the other was not; and after waiting, with growing impatience, the former left the hotel and did not return until about six o'clock. But it is not probable that he entered the Nettleton Building near the time of the murder, for it would have been utterly impossible for him to do so without being seen; and he was still awaiting De Sanchez when informed of his death by the clerk, Warren. Then he hastened to Doctor Westbrook's offices.

"Now, let us return to Fairchild. I learned a fact of some importance from the Doctor this morning. Yesterday, as he was leaving his office at about one o'clock, he met Fairchild at the reception-room entrance; the latter, in a hurried manner, asked Doctor Westbrook if he could borrow the dagger for a few minutes, to which the Doctor assented. Doctor Westbrook continued on out, not giving the matter another thought, while Fairchild went into the reception-room. The Doctor don't know whether he got the dagger then; as a paper-knife, the Doctor uses it only to cut magazines or books, or the little papers in which he puts up powders—and often, when it is not right at hand, he resorts to his pocket-knife, rather than hunt for it in the mass of magazines and papers that usually litter his table. It could easily be absent from its place several days without his missing it.

"Mr. Nettleton left his office yesterday afternoon at four-thirty, and he had no lady callers during the entire day; hence the following assumption—for want of a better one—will fit the present theory: During the noon hour, while Mr. Nettleton was at lunch, Fairchild and the woman were together; the crime was contemplated and discussed between them, the man volunteering to secure the weapon; which he did, but was surprised by encountering the Doctor, who generally goes out to make his visits at that time of day.

"However, she was the active spirit; hers was the hand that held the weapon, while the more timid man waited at his desk in the adjoining room. There she paused in her flight, and told him the deed had been committed; and there he waited until about a quarter-past five, when, moved by that irresistible impulse which leads some murderers to gloat over their handiwork, he crossed the hall and looked upon the dead man. This happened while Lynden was on his way to headquarters with the news of the murder. Fairchild's actions were so singular that they attracted both Doctor Westbrook's and Howe's attention. Overcome with horror, he turned and fled without a word. That is the last seen of Clay Fairchild, and that is why I sent a note to Barton and Adams, who were waiting below, to find him.

"Under this theory I can as yet conjecture but a single motive—Fairchild's interest in the woman; and as to what hers is, we must wait until her identity is established."

Converse paused. His eyes narrowed, and he ran the tip of his tongue across his lips with a deliberate lateral movement.

"I'd like very much to lay my hand on that fair lady," said he, presently, in a quiet manner; but an observer might have remarked that a shudder convulsed the corpulent figure of Mr. Merkel, and that Mr. Mountjoy shot at him a quick, keen look, and then nodded his head in silent approval.

The Captain went on at once.

"There is one incongruous element in this theory, however. When the blow was struck the deceased was in the act of turning toward Doctor Westbrook's door, and consequently his back was almost squarely presented to Mr. Nettleton's. The wound, as you know, is not only on the left side of the throat, but tends backward toward the spinal column, which the point of the blade penetrated. Suspended from the centre of the hall, and on a line with the centre of the two doorways, is an electric light. Now, then, the murderer coming from behind the victim could, under the present circumstances, strike the blow in one of two ways: it was either a left-handed person, or, if right-handed, the murderer must have stepped to deceased's left, and a little in front of him, facing in the same direction, and struck to the right and backward. If the latter theory is correct, the murderer would have been between De Sanchez and the hall window opening into the light-well, and so close to the window that he—or she, if it was a woman—would have been not only plainly visible from the windows on the opposite side of the light-well, but would have cast a distinct shadow because of the electric light. If the murderer was left-handed he would not have been obliged to go so far to De Sanchez's left, and consequently would have remained so nearly beneath the electric light that the only shadow would have been on the hall floor.

"Now, from the point where Judge Petty was looking into the light-well, one cannot quite see Doctor Westbrook's door through the Nettleton hall window; but the hall window would be so far within such a person's range of vision that the slightest obscuring of the light would attract notice. Judge Petty recollects that the light was burning at five o'clock yesterday evening, and he is positive that there was no shadow at the hall window, and that no one approached close to it while he was looking into the light-well.

"Now mark this—at least, as a singular coincidence—while Doctor Westbrook is not what you might call left-handed, he can use both hands equally well."

"Ambidextrous," suggested Mr. Mountjoy.

Converse nodded. "Exactly," said he; "ambidextrous." He continued:

"Regarding the woman's identity, now there are one or two little points deserving special attention. Lynden states positively that he neither saw nor passed anybody in the hall nor on the stairway; yet, there was something about Mr. Nettleton's offices and the indications of a woman's recent presence there that disturbed him strangely. While in the very act of asserting that he had neither seen nor passed anybody, he stopped as though struck by a sudden doubt, although he did not alter his statement. A similar incident happened with Howe while we were all gathered in the Doctor's office last night after the murder. He also paused in the midst of a statement that there was nothing to indicate who the assassin might be, and Lynden was impressed by his hesitation, as though it reminded him of his own. Are these gentlemen trying to conceal anything? What possible object could Howe have in doing so? Yet I believe that both of them are perturbed by some misgiving which they hesitate to put into words. Their doubt may contain the key to the whole riddle; but it will be a delicate matter getting at it. Assuming that it points to the lady's identity, we may surprise one or the other of them into betraying it; but it is no easy task to make a man speak of something which he will not admit even to himself."

CHAPTER V

A TELEGRAM FROM MEXICO

"Your deductions seem natural," said Mr. Mountjoy, at length. "But this unknown woman? Is there any one in the city to whom you could ascribe a motive? Will you have to go into the past record of Señor de Sanchez? And Fairchild—Heaven knows there can't be anything between him and such a mysterious, blood-thirsty female. How are we to account for his participation in the crime? I think it well to secure such a record; also De Sanchez's association with General Westbrook in Mexico. There is no telling how the darkness may be illuminated from some unexpected quarter. At present, John, to me it is completely baffling."

But Mr. Converse had neglected nothing that his experience suggested as being a likely means of casting light upon the crime.

"Yes, sir," he rejoined, in his steady manner. "Yes, sir; I admit the case offers many puzzling phases, and apparently contradictory circumstances; but you must remember that we have been at work on it less than twenty-four hours; the woman's identity may be shown in a manner we cannot now imagine, and any hour may bring the news of Fairchild's apprehension.

"Besides, I have been beforehand in looking up the deceased's past. I should receive a telegram from Mexico to-day. The net is well spread, I think. A man is watching Fairchild's house—in fact, the whole department are keeping a look-out for him; and the other actors are being shadowed by capable men."

"But from all the facts in your possession," interrupted Mr. Mountjoy, "have you considered the possibility—aside from the statements of the witnesses, I mean, and simply upon what you know to be the facts—of either Doctor Westbrook or Howard Lynden being the assassin?"

"Yes, sir, I have," was the reply. "But for the present we may dismiss them shortly, though I shall not cease to consider every development in this case in the light of its possible application to all the parties.

"Could the Doctor, then, have delivered the fatal thrust? From the present facts we must give him the benefit of the doubt, and abide the results of further investigation. It is very fortunate for him that his friend Howe happened to be present just when he was; and it is strange, his coming all the way from Georgia to be a piece in this puzzling game. But here he is.

"Howe's importance arises from the peculiar acoustics of that portion of the Nettleton Building about Doctor Westbrook's office." Converse then told of his experience with Lynden in the Doctor's laboratory, concluding: "It is not at all surprising that Howe could not hear a struggle in the hall, while, at the same time, he could hear such faint sounds as the scratching of a pen and the rustling of paper while the Doctor was writing in the reception-room.

"As for Lynden, we have to show he so quickened his pace that he overtook De Sanchez at Doctor Westbrook's door. He shared with all the frequenters of the Doctor's office a knowledge of the dagger and where it usually reposed. Under such a theory, however, Lynden's actions would have displayed a carelessness and a reckless disregard for consequences which I don't think the man capable of. He did not know who had or had not gone home from the other offices that line the hall, and the deceased was not surprised by the sudden onrush of a determined murderer. Had such been the case, how about Doctor Westbrook's statement that De Sanchez came on steadily to the reception-room door?—for, singularly enough, in the reception-room one can hear quite distinctly sounds arising in the hall. Besides, the Doctor does not remember having heard Lynden at all until the young man grasped his arm."

"Well, now, tell us of the cigarette stubs." This from the District Attorney.

Converse picked them both up, one in each hand, and contemplated them with uplifted brow and puckered lips.

"Gentlemen," he began at length, "these two snipes have caused me more mental worry—I have had more trouble in fitting them into any place where they could belong—than anything else concerning this case.

"You will observe that both of them are but half consumed, and that when rolled neither was moistened by the tongue to hold it together. Any one who has travelled in Mexico or the extreme Southwest will recognize this as a national and local characteristic. The paper of both is identical—coarse and a dark brown; and the tobacco is from a black Mexican growth. I suppose, outside the Mexican quarter you could not find a man in the city who smokes such a cigarette—excepting Vargas. It is just such a cigarette as nine out of ten of the lower class of Mexicans—men, women, and children—smoke. Yet the tastes of neither De Sanchez nor Vargas were too fastidious for them; the papers and tobacco are identical with those found in the deceased's pocket, and they are just like those Mr. Vargas smokes.

"The first I picked up near the top of the Nettleton Building stairway, while I was accompanying Lynden to Doctor Westbrook's offices; the second I found on the skylight at the bottom of the light-well. The ends that had been held in the mouth were still moist when I found them, so they had not been long discarded. De Sanchez, of course, is responsible for the first; but how about the other? Could he, after throwing one cigarette away at the point where I found the first, roll and light another and smoke it half up as he walked down the hall, then flip the second out the hall window into the light-well just before turning toward the Doctor's door? I believe not.

"The second could have come from any window abutting upon the light-well, of either the Field or the Nettleton Buildings. But who threw it, and why was he there at that particular time? Well, it took two men more than an hour this morning to eliminate all except five windows out of a possible twenty; and those five told nothing. I examined them myself. Yet it might be possible that the second stub came from the unknown woman.

"Did she steady her nerves and beguile the time until her victim's approach, with a cigarette? It may be—"

Here, for the first time, Mr. Merkel interrupted.

"A Mexican woman!" he fairly shouted; "some dark-eyed señorita—" His enthusiasm suddenly cooled as Mr. Mountjoy's look of surprise at his outburst rapidly changed to one of much meaning.

At this juncture the door opened, and a clerk appeared from the outer office, holding a telegram in his hand.

"For you, Captain," said he, handing him the message.

Neither of the other two could conceal his impatience, as, with annoying deliberation, Converse opened the yellow envelope.

"Well," said he, presently, "it is indeed from Mexico—the reply to my inquiry. Here it is." He read aloud:

A. de S. has no police record, but have obtained following facts: Age, 38; family, old, aristocratic, and very wealthy; A. educated in Paris; returned here when twenty-one. Was in banking and broking business several years ago with P. Westbrook, but severed partnership about four years ago. Reason not known. A. always prominent in society; rather wild when young; but nearest approach to woman entanglements are following: Engagement broken with Señorita Aurora de Pacheco. Understood to have been by reason of disagreement in marriage settlements. She has since married into prominent family, and now on best of terms with De S. family. A rumored liaison with a circus performer, supposed to have committed suicide, but unable to ascertain details; liaison with a Mme. Claude Le Tellier, now residing Nice, France, on pension from De S. family. For last twelve years A. de S. known as unusually steady. Rumored he fell in love with Miss Westbrook when she visited here about four years ago, and that he has followed her for purpose of marrying. GRINNELL.

"Well!" said the District Attorney, "this is not promising: Señorita Somebody"—with a sidewise look at Mr. Merkel—"now a matron and probably the mother of other señoritas; a circus performer—"

"It's the madame that interests me," Converse quietly broke in. "Grinnell would not, of course, know whether she is in Nice at the present time. I will go to headquarters, ascertain who our correspondent at that place is, and send him the lady's name. That should bring us what we want to know about her.

"That is about all now," he concluded. "I have gone over these different phases of the case in order that you might formulate a line of inquiry to be followed at the inquest. In the meantime, I will work out one or two little ideas of my own, laying the results before you as soon as they mature. Good morning."

That day Mr. Converse received two more messages, one of them a cable despatch. The first read:

Rumor connecting A. de S. with circus performer very vague. Seems to have occurred in Paris 17 or 18 years ago. No trace of her identity here. GRINNELL.

The cablegram contained the following:

Mme. C. Le T. died Oct. 28. GAILLARD.

He tossed the cable message to one side; but for several minutes he pondered over the second message from Mexico. He then prepared, with much care, a long despatch, which was sent immediately to Paris.

Away from the presence of his superiors and those whose concern it was to be put in possession of everything bearing upon the case, John Converse was the last man to advance any theory to account for Alberto de Sanchez's untoward end.

His seemingly unerring judgment and his uniform success in dissipating the clouds of mystery in which his associates sometimes lost themselves were governed by an extreme caution, and based upon a vast knowledge of humanity. His had been an unusually eventful life. Of New England parentage, he had early run away to sea; and to portray the stirring experiences of this period of his life would require a whole volume for itself.

But those experiences had given him wonderful powers of observation, which were able to grasp and contemplate every detail in its just proportions to the whole, a trait that was simply the complement to his unemotional and methodical temperament.

If he hesitated, however, in advancing theories, the papers did not,—either probable or improbable; and as it was one of his maxims never to ignore a suggestion coming from the outside, he followed these reports with the same intensity of eagerness that characterized all his proceedings.

The murder, owing not only to the prominence of every one concerned therein, but also to the suggestive veil of mystery which surrounded it, had been "featured" every day since the tragedy, and he was impressed by the unanimity with which the press hit upon Robert Nettleton's offices as the probable lurking-place of the murderer.

None of the papers, of course, was in as full possession of all the known facts as the Captain was; but a certain evening sheet, after theorizing at length on Fairchild's unaccountable disappearance, concluded with the assertion that the end would show the controlling factor of the mysterious murder to have been a woman.

"I believe that gentleman is eminently correct," was the Captain's comment, as he laid the paper aside. "If his insight had been only a little clearer, if he had looked only a little farther, and seen who that woman is, it would save a deal of trouble and worry."

He left his private office and walked to the mail repository at the police clerk's desk. He found several letters addressed to himself; but one, the writing of which was very like copper-plate engraving, caught his instant attention by the peculiarity of its address. It read:

For Detective on De Sanchez Case,
Police Headquarters,
City.

After the Captain had returned to his desk he turned his attention to this letter. The mark of the cancelling-machine showed that it had been mailed at the main post-office that morning. What the envelope contained made him suddenly sit upright.

The writer knows that C. Fairchild had no hand in the murder of the man De Sanchez. When you discover the female who was in the second story of the Nettleton on Wed. P.M., Nov. 4, at the hour of 5, you will know why C. F. has vanished.

Again—the unknown woman!

There was no address to this brief epistle, no date, no signature—nothing else; yet there was an added light in Mr. Converse's gray eyes, as he laid the missive on the desk before him, that lent something like an expression of satisfaction to his almost illegible countenance. He scrutinized the single sheet of paper long and attentively before finally folding and returning it to the envelope.

"Who in the city can write such a hand?" he mused.

After he had placed the anonymous missive in his pocket-book, he drew toward himself a number of bound typewritten sheets—the record of the De Sanchez case. Turning until he found the paragraphs he sought, he read the following:

Besides the front entrance, opening into Court Street, the Nettleton has but one other outside doorway or means of exit. Opening into a high-walled court in the rear is a single door, used only for the purpose of admitting fuel in the winter; during the summer it is open not more than once or twice, when the trash-bin accumulations are removed. During the interim it is locked by a bolt, a No. 4 Yale compound spring lock, and a common padlock passed through staples. Inspection of this door revealed beyond doubt that it had not been disturbed for weeks.

The reader turned back to the statements of the different persons in the second story at the fatal moment, and his glance passed them all over until it fell upon the following:

William Slade, 62; bachelor; abstracter of titles for the Guaranty Trust Co. Is very deaf; was engaged in his regular duties in Room 6 on the evening of Nov. 4, at 5 o'clock, yet it cannot be shown that he knew anything of the murder. His statement is to the effect that he first learned of it at about 8:30 o'clock that night.

He closed the volume, placed it in a drawer of his desk, and after securing his hat, left department headquarters, and made his way to Court Street.

Here he consumed the better part of the day by interrogating closely every individual whose place of business had an outlook toward the Nettleton entrance, a quest the results of which were purely negative. He called at all the newspaper offices; and the next morning, again in the evening, and for a week thereafter, every local paper contained the following advertisement: