to run down the guilty man."

Mr. Sloane turned his face to the wall.

"A little whiskey, Jarvis," he said softly. "I'm exhausted, Tom. Leave
me alone."

Wilton waved his hand, indicative of the futility of further argument.

"Judge," announced Hastings, at the door, "I'll ask you a question I put
to Mr. Sloane. Did you receive, or see, a letter in an oblong, grey
envelope in yesterday afternoon's mail?"

"No. I never get any mail while I'm here for a week-end."

Wilton followed the detective into the hall.

"I hope you're not going to give up the case, Hastings. You won't pay
any attention to Arthur's unreasonable attitude, will you?"

"I don't know," Hastings said, still indignant. "I made my bargain with
his daughter. I'll see her."

"If you can't manage any other way, I--or she--will get any information
you want from Arthur."

"I hope to keep on. It's a big thing, I think." The old man was again
intent on solving the problem. "Tell me, judge; do you think Berne
Webster's guilty?" Seeing the judge's hesitance, he supplemented: "I
mean, did you notice anything last night, in his conduct, that would
indicate guilt--or fear?"

Later, when other developments gave this scene immense importance,
Hastings, in reviewing it, remembered the curious little flicker of the
judge's eyelids preceding his reply.

"Absolutely not," he declared, with emphasis. "Are you working on
that"--he hesitated hardly perceptibly--"idea?"

VIII

THE MAN WHO RAN AWAY

Ancestors of the old family from whom Arthur Sloane had purchased this
colonial mansion eight years ago still looked out of their gilded frames
on the parlour walls, their high-bred calm undisturbed, their
aristocratic eyes unwidened, by the chatter and clatter of the strangers
within their gates. Hastings noticed that even the mob and mouthing of a
coroner's inquest failed to destroy the ancient atmosphere and charm of
the great room. He smiled. The pictured grandeur of a bygone age, the
brocaded mahogany chairs, the tall French mirrors--all these made an
incongruous setting for the harsh machinery of crime-inquiry.

The detective had completed his second and more detailed search of the
guest-rooms in time to hear the words and study the face of the last
witness on Dr. Garnet's list. That was Eugene Russell.

"One of life's persimmons--long before frost!" Hastings thought, making
swift appraisal. "A boneless spine--chin like a sheep--brave as a
lamb."