ay," he resumed, in a tone devoid of compassion, "I
couldn't drop this thing now. I may be able to find the murderer; and
you may be able to help me."

"I?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it Russell? He's among the ravens now, in my parlour. Wilton told
me the sheriff was certain Russell was the man. Murdered martyrs!
Sacrificed saints! Can't you let a guilty man hang when he comes forward
and puts the rope around his own worthless neck?"

"If Russell's guilty," Hastings said, glad of the information that the
accused man was then at Sloanehurst, "I hope we can develop the
necessary evidence against him. But----"

"The necessary----"

"Let me finish, Mr. Sloane, if you please!" The old man was determined
to disregard the other's signs of suffering. He did not believe that
they were anything but assumed, the exaggerated camouflage which he
usually employed as an excuse for idleness. "But, if Russell isn't
guilty, there are facts which may help me to find the murderer. And you
may have valuable information concerning them."

"Sobbing, sorrowing saints!" lamented Mr. Sloane, but his trembling
ceased; he was closely attentive. "A cigarette, Jarvis, a cigarette!
Nerves will be served.--I suppose the easiest way is to submit. Go on."

"I shall ask you only two or three questions," Hastings said.

The jackknife-like figure in the bed shuddered its repugnance.

"I've been told, Mr. Sloane, that Mr. Webster has been in great need of
money, as much as sixty-five thousand dollars. In fact, according to my
information, he needs it now."

"Well, did he kill the woman, expecting to find it in her stocking?"

"The significance of his being hard-pressed, for so large an amount,"
the old man went on, ignoring the sarcasm, "is in the further charge
that Miss Brace was trying to make him marry her, that he should have
married her, that he killed her in order to be free to marry your
daughter--for money."

"My daughter! For money!" shrilled Sloane, neck elongated, head thrust
forward, eyes bulging. "Leaping and whistling cherubim!" For all his
outward agitation, he seemed to Hastings in thorough command of his
logical faculties; it was more than possible, the detective thought,
that the expletives were time-killers, until he could decide what to
say. "It's ridiculous, absurd! Why, sir, you reason as loosely as you
dress! Are you trying to prostrate me further with impossible theories?
Webster marry my daughter for money, for sixty-five tho