LITMIR.BIZ

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      "Janet," I went on, taking both her hands in mine, "it may seem dreadful to tell you now, when I've known you but a few days, but I must tell you that I love you. You know it, of course, and believe me, dear, I'm not asking you to respond,—yet. Just let me love you now, until this wretched business is finished, and then, after that, let me teach you to love me."

      "It's too late for you to do that," she whispered, and then, overcome with this sudden knowledge, I clasped her in my arms and realized the meaning of the tenderness in her eyes and the wistful droop of her scarlet lips.

      "You darling," I murmured, as I held her close; "you precious, contradictory bit of feminine humanity! This is the most blessed of all your contradictions, for I never dreamed that you already loved me."

      "But you can't doubt it now, can you?" she returned, as she rested, contentedly, in my embrace.

      "No, dearest, you are not easy to understand, there is much about your nature that puzzles me, but when that true, sincere look comes into your eyes, I know you are in earnest. Oh, Janet, my darling, how happy we shall be after all this troublesome mystery is cleared up, and you and I can devote our whole life to caring for each other."

      "I shall be so glad to be happy," she said, with a wistful little sigh, and I remembered that her life, so far, had given her little or no joy.

      "Sweetheart," I said, "my life purpose henceforth shall be to give you happiness enough to make up for the sad years you have spent.

      "You can easily do that, my dear," and the tenderness in her eyes fairly transfigured her. And then, with a pretty impetuous gesture, she hid her face on my shoulder.

      "But it doesn't seem possible," I said, after a time, "that you can really love me when you've known me but a few days."

      "That doesn't count in a love like ours," said Janet, speaking almost solemnly. "It is not the kind that requires time to grow."

      "No," I agreed, "it was born full grown. I always told Laura that when I fell in love it would be at first sight, and it was. The marvellous part, dear, is that you care, too."

      "Care!" she exclaimed, and the depths of love in her eyes gave me a hint of her emotional nature; "but," she went on, "this is all wrong. You must not talk to me like this, and I must not listen to it. I am under suspicion of having committed a crime. Surely you cannot love me until I am freed from that."

      "But you are not guilty?"

      I asked the question not because of any doubt in my own mind, but because I wanted for once to hear her own statement of her innocence.

      "That I shall not tell you," she said, and her eyes took on a faraway, inscrutable look, as of a sphinx; "that you must find out for yourself. Or rather, no, I don't want you to find out. I want it always to remain a mystery."

      "What, Janet! you don't want me to find out who killed your uncle!"

      "Oh, no, no!" and her voice rang out in agonized entreaty; "please don't, Otis; please don't try to find out who did it!"

      "But then, dear, how can you be freed from suspicion? and I want to tell you, Janet, I want to tell you now, while I hold you in my arms,—I want to tell you in the same breath that I tell you of my love,—that you will be accused of this crime, unless the real criminal is discovered."

      "How do you know I'm not the real criminal?"

      "I know it for two reasons. First, because I love you, and I'm telling you so; and second, because you love me, and——"

      "I'm not telling you so," she interrupted, and a look of pain came into her dear eyes as she tried to resist my embrace.

      "You don't have to tell me, dear," I said, quietly, "I know it. But you must tell me who it is that you are trying to shield by your strange ways and words. Is it Leroy? It can't be Charlotte."

      "I'm not shielding anybody," she cried out; "the jury people proved that I must have killed Uncle Robert myself, and so, you see, I must have done so."

      "Now you're talking childishly," I said, as I soothed her, gently; "of course you didn't kill him, darling; but you do know more about it than you have yet told, and you must tell me, because I'm going to save you from any further unpleasantness. I wish I could understand you, you bewitching mystery! You are surely shielding some one. It can't be that absurd J. S. I hardly think it can be the man of the handkerchief; oh, but I haven't told you about that yet. It can't be George,—because he has a perfect alibi."

      "I suppose if it were not for that alibi, George might be suspected," said Janet slowly.

      "Indeed he might, but as there are people to swear to his presence in another part of town at the time of the crime, he is beyond suspicion. I wish you had such an alibi, dearest."

      "Oh, I wish I did! Otis, what do you think? You know I was locked in that house and nobody could get in. You know I didn't kill Uncle Robert. Now who did?"

      "Janet," I said, very seriously, "I don't know. And I have nearly lost hope of finding out. So I will tell you what I have decided to do; I'm going to consult Fleming Stone."

      "Fleming Stone? Who is he?"

      "He is probably the cleverest detective in the city. I feel sure that he can solve our mystery, if he will undertake it."

      "Oh, don't have a detective!" she cried; "at least, not that Mr. Stone. He can find out everything!"

      "And don't you want everything found out?" I asked, looking at her intently.

      "No!" she cried vehemently. "I don't! I want Uncle Robert's death always to remain a mystery!"

      "It can't be a greater mystery than you are!" I exclaimed, for the words were wrung from me as I looked at the girl's face, which had again taken on that white, impassive look.

      It was at that moment that Laura returned, and as she entered the library, Janet fled away to her own room.

      Laura looked at me questioningly, and I told her quite frankly all that had passed between Janet and myself.

      She kissed me tenderly, like the dear sister that she is, and said; "Don't worry, Otis; it will come out all right. I know Janet much better than you do. She is innocent, of course, but she is so unnerved and distraught with these dreadful days, that I'm only surprised she bears up as well as she does. Leave her to me, and you go and get your Fleming Stone, and use every effort to persuade him to take the case."

      As it had been my life-long habit to take Laura's advice, especially when it coincided with my own inclination I started off at once to hunt up Fleming Stone.

      I knew the man slightly, having run across him a few times in a business way, and I knew that not only were his services exceedingly high-priced, but also that he never took any case unless of great difficulty and peculiar interest. I hoped, however, that the circumstances of the Pembroke affair would appeal to him, and I determined to use every effort to interest him in it.

      By good fortune, I found him at home, and willing to listen to a statement of my business.

      Fleming Stone's personality was not at all of the taciturn, inscrutable variety. He was a large man, of genial and charming manner, and possessed of a personal magnetism that seemed to invite confidence and confidences. I knew him well enough to know that if I could win his interest at all it would be by a brief statement of the mystery as a puzzle, and a request that he help me solve it.

      "Mr. Stone," I began, "if three persons spent the night in an apartment so securely locked on the inside that there was no possible means of ingress, and if in the morning it was found that one of those three persons had been murdered at midnight, would you say that the guilt must rest upon either one or both of the other two persons?"

      At any rate, I had succeeded in catching the man's attention.

      As there was no question of personal feeling in my statement, he seemed to look at it as an abstract problem, and replied at

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