LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter XI.

       The Black Spangles

       Table of Contents

      As was to be expected, the jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against a person unknown; and I concluded from this, that they had accepted Mildred's story as true.

      And if so, then the main thing now, was to find the man in the automobile clothes. He must be some one whom Philip knew and recognized in spite of the goggles.

      He must have come in an automobile, for men do not walk around the country in such attire. But Miss Gardiner on the balcony commanded a view of the entrance and driveway, and she had seen no one enter the grounds.

      Possibly then he had come from a distance, had left his machine at some point nearby, and had approached the house secretly and on foot.

      But how had he gained an entrance?

      The servants had not let him in. He couldn't have come in by the front door without being seen. The conservatory door was always locked at night.

      Oh, well, while all these things were true, still there were many windows by which he might have entered, and slipped up-stairs unseen. Then he could have gone out on the balcony through the little cross-hall and so reached the library window.

      Or, he might have climbed to the balcony by means of a veranda pillar. An agile man could easily do this—still, not so easily if dressed in a bulky automobile coat.

      It was mysterious enough, but of course the first thing to do was to look for traces. If I had only known sooner that there was an intruder to be looked for, how much better a chance we should have had of finding him.

      But there was no use crying over spilled milk, so I started at once to look carefully at the veranda pillars. There I found myself forestalled.

      Mr. Hunt and Gilbert Crane were already examining them.

      "Any scratches?" said I.

      "Plenty of old ones," said Mr. Hunt, "but none that seems to have been made as recently as last night."

      "How about automobile tracks?"

      "There are any number of those, all over the drive; but as several people came in automobiles last night, they mean nothing definite."

      "What do you make of those marks on the balcony floor that look as if made by scuffling feet?"

      "They may be the marks of a scuffle," said Mr. Hunt, "or it may be that some one stood for some time looking in at the library window. A nervous person standing there might move about in a manner to leave just such traces."

      For some unaccountable reason these remarks of Mr. Hunt's seemed to disturb Gilbert Crane. He turned pale and was about to speak, then set his lips firmly, and turned silently away.

      "There is one circumstance that ought to be explained," I said, speaking to Mr. Hunt, and hoping that Crane would leave us.

      But Gilbert turned back and seemed anxious to know what I was about to say. I watched him closely as I went on, though addressing my remarks directly to Mr. Hunt.

      "I found these bits of evidence this morning," I said, taking my note-book from my pocket. "They may not be vital clues, but anything found in the library is of interest."

      Even before I opened my note-book Crane showed signs of agitation which he tried vainly to suppress. His white, frightened face and his clenched hands showed that he feared the disclosure.

      Still watching him covertly, I produced the three black spangles.

      "Do you recognize these?"

      "No," said Mr. Hunt, "what are they, and where did they come from?"

      "Do you recognize them?" I said, turning suddenly to Crane.

      "No!" he declared, but with such emphasis that I doubted him. "But they can't possibly be of any importance."

      "Perhaps not," I returned, "but I picked them up in the library, and on the balcony, and one piece I disengaged from the catch of the library window-shutter."

      "Well," said Gilbert Crane, trying to speak naturally, "and what does that prove to you?"

      "It doesn't prove anything," I said slowly, "but it is a peculiar coincidence that they should be found just where the intruder of last night must have stood."

      "Meaning that it might have been a woman?" said Hunt, quickly.

      "Possibly," I returned. "But none of the ladies were on the upper balcony last evening at ten o'clock, except Miss Gardiner, and she declares that she was not in the library or on the west balcony at all."

      "She says that?" said Hunt, looking up sharply, while Gilbert Crane looked more distressed than ever.

      "Yes," I answered. "Did you speak, Mr. Crane?"

      "No," said Gilbert, "I have nothing to say on the subject." And turning abruptly, he left us and walked rapidly across the lawn and out of the front gate.

      "I don't understand Miss Gardiner's attitude," said Mr. Hunt. "I cannot think she had anything to do with the crime, but I do think she is withholding information of some sort. But I must go now, and I will return this evening. Then, if you please, Mr. King, I would like to discuss matters more at length with you."

      Hunt went away, and I paced the veranda slowly, thinking things over. I went round the house, and seeing the Earl in the billiard-room, I went in through the open French window.

      His lordship seemed disinclined to talk, but he was courteous enough, and by a little diplomacy I succeeded in drawing him out on the subject that absorbed us all.

      "But it's better I should say nothing," he declared. "The truth is I've my own opinion of American detectives, and,—well, never mind—only you may as well give up first as last."

      The Earl spoke emphatically, and Tom Whiting, coming into the room just then, heard the remark.

      "No," declared Tom, "we'll never give up; not till we find that man who shot Philip, and so clear our Milly."

      "Clear Milly!" I exclaimed; "why, who could possibly imagine that that child had done any wrong? She is the sufferer, not the culprit."

      "I wish everybody thought so," said Tom, with but slightly concealed meaning.

      "Doesn't everybody think so?" inquired the Earl, politely.

      "Speak for yourself," said Whiting, in a more bitter voice than I had ever heard from the genial chap.

      "I think we must admit it's all a mystery," returned the Earl, in his coldest manner; "and perhaps we must also admit that little Miss Leslie is the greatest mystery of all. It's not surprising if her brain is affected by the shock that she should tell those strange stories of throwing things around the room. But if she is rational and perfectly sane, I think we must all admit her statements are mysterious."

      Tom Whiting's honest round face showed despair. He couldn't deny Lord Clarendon's assertions, though it was easily seen that he deeply resented them.

      "But she sounded perfectly sane and sensible as she gave her testimony," I said. "Of course Miss Leslie is excitable, but she told a straightforward story, and we have no reason to doubt her word."

      I realized as I said this that I was speaking insincerely, for I certainly couldn't help doubting Mildred's statement myself. If she had thrown those things, we couldn't have found them on the table when we all went up there immediately after. I knew, too, that I spoke as I did, out of sympathy for Whiting, and also out of a general sense of chivalry to the girl.

      And yet, after all, was it not more generous toward her, to assume, as Lord Clarence did, that her mind must be affected?

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