r, you are
making an important assertion."

"I am telling the truth, sir. I saw him plainly as he came around and
entered at the back door."

"You hear, Louis?" I said sternly. "I believe Elsa's statement rather
than yours, for she tells a straight story, while you are rattled and
agitated, and have all the appearance of concealing something."

Louis looked helpless. He didn't dare deny Elsa's story, but he would
not confirm it. At last he said, with a glance of hatred at the girl,
"Elsa, she tell that story to make the trouble for me."

There was something in this. Elsa, I knew, was jealous, and her pride
had been hurt because Louis had taken the rose she gave him, and then
had gone to call on another girl. But I had no reason to doubt Elsa's
statement, and I had every reason to doubt Louis's. I tried to imagine
what Louis's experience had really been, and it suddenly occurred to me,
that though innocent himself of real wrong, he had seen something in the
office, or through the office windows that he wished to keep secret. I
did not for a moment believe that the man had killed his master, so I
concluded he was endeavoring to shield someone else.

"Louis," I said, suddenly, "I'll tell you what you did. You went around
by the office, you saw a light there late at night, and you naturally
looked in. You saw Mr. Crawford there, and he was perhaps already
killed. You stepped inside and discovered this, and then you came away,
and said nothing about it, lest you yourself be suspected of the crime.
Incidentally you dropped two petals from the rose Elsa had given you."

Louis's answer to this accusation was a perfect storm of denials,
expressed in voluble French and broken English, but all to the effect
that it was not true, and that if he had seen his master dead, he would
have raised an alarm.

I saw that I had not yet struck the right idea, so I tried again. "Then,
Louis, you must have passed the office before Mr. Crawford was killed,
which is really more probable. Then as you passed the window, you saw
something or someone in the office, and you're not willing to tell about
it. Is this it?"

This again brought forth only incoherent denial, and I could see that
the man was becoming so rattled, it was difficult for him to speak
clearly, had he desired to do so.

"Elsa," I said, suddenly, "you took that rose from Louis's room. What
did you do with it?"

"I kept,--I mean, I don't know what I did with it," stammered