rn to speak up and tell what he knew. "To begin with, I must confess I
was a little mistaken in my calculations. _To begin with._
Circumstantial evidence does not always prove guilt, Miss Duggan,
although it's generally a good pointer in a broad way. And your brother
had many pieces of evidence against him. That bit of red flexible
electric wire, you know, that I picked up in the library that first day
you showed me around. I admit I thought it belonged to him, particularly
when young Cyril here told such an excellent story of how Sir Ross (I
must give you your proper title, you know!) wired the room temporarily,
just to show James Tavish how it could be done. But it didn't, you see.
That fragment was found in Tavish's own bedroom. Then, when I went down
into the dungeons, I discovered--something else."

His hand dived into his pocket and brought forth a crumpled
handkerchief, slightly bloodstained, and handed it to her. "Can you
identify that?"

She looked up, startled.

"Of course. It's yours, Ross, isn't it? See, here are your initials. And
yet you found it down there--with something else, Mr.--Cleek?"

"I certainly did, my dear young lady. With a syphon of soda, a tumbler
and a bottle that smelt of very good raw whisky. Rather strong for _my_
liking, but still--we'll let that pass for the present. I'll have
something to say about that later which may interest you, Mr. Narkom. I
found it there--and, as you say, I found something else, too. And when I
saw the initials I naturally thought of your brother--which just goes to
prove that human nature is apt to make mistakes, even when it thinks
itself pretty expert upon certain subjects. As a matter of fact, Miss
McCall had borrowed that handkerchief--she supervises the laundering,
you told me, Miss Duggan--for James Tavish when he cut his finger, and
he had never given it back, obviously. When I discovered that, that was
the first pointer in his direction. The others followed fairly
rapidly.... Then the air-pistol, you know. You yourself told me your
brother had one--and then regretted the telling afterward, like every
loving and foolish woman who wants to preserve her kin from possible
blame, even in the face of her own suspicions. That was Number Two
against him. Number Three came from this young lady here--Miss Dowd--who
brought me the stiletto that had been used to stab your poor father, and
admitted, strictly against all her scruples, that, as far as she knew,
i