thods unfathomably
vidocqesque, the young gentleman connected with the _Chronicle_--one
of the most enterprising sheets--discovered more about Loftus dead
than Loftus living could himself have known. They discovered that in
the panic he had dropped a bagatelle of five millions, and announced
that he had committed suicide. But while at the autopsy it was not
demonstrated that Loftus could not have shot himself, at the inquest
it was shown that the obligatory instrument had not been found. Even
to vidocqesque young gentlemen the suicide theory ceased then to
appeal.

But that only deepened the mystery. To dissipate it and, at the same
time, to display an endearing pro bono publicanism, the _Chronicle_
offered a reward of five thousand dollars for such information as
would lead to the arrest and conviction of the assassin.

Immediately there was a clue.

It was Harris who produced it. Under the guidance of a reporter he was
led to the office of the _Chronicle_, where the young gentleman turned
him over to the managing editor quite as though the clue were his own.

"Here, Mr. Digby, is a party that knows who shot Loftus."

Mr. Digby was a small man with a big beard, very well dressed,
remarkably civil.

"Yes," he said. "And who did?"

"Mr. Arthur Annandale."

Mr. Digby smiled. He did not believe it. But it stirred him
pleasurably. The _Chronicle_ stood for the people. Annandale
represented the predatory rich. Besides, it was in front of
Annandale's house that Loftus had been found. At once he saw scoops,
extras, headlines. Also the possible libel. Meanwhile at a glance he
had taken Harris in.

"You are in his employment?"

"Yes, sir," Harris, amazed at such perspicacity, replied. "I am the
butler."

"And you saw him do it?"

"No, sir, but I heard him say he would."

"When?"

"The night Mr. Loftus was shot."

"To whom did he say it? To you?"

"To Mrs. Annandale, sir."

"Oho! How was that?"

"It was after dinner, sir. I was in the dining-room. The second man
was with me cleaning up. On the floor under the table he found a
necklace. I took it in through the hall to the drawing-room. Mrs.
Annandale was there with Mr. Annandale. When I was just at the door I
heard him say, 'I'll kill Loftus.' I went in and gave him the
necklace."

"But why?" Mr. Digby interrupted. "What was he going to kill him for?
What was the motive?"

"Mr. Loftus had just gone, sir. He had been dining with us. He and
several ot