ere was nothing but
circumstantial evidence against Radnor. Surely no jury would convict him
on that. I could work up a sufficient case against Mose to assure his
acquittal. He would be released with a blot on his name, he would be
regarded for the rest of his life with suspicion; but in any event there
seemed to be no outcome which would not involve the family in endless
trouble and disgrace. And besides, if he himself elected to be silent,
had I any right to speak? Then I pulled myself together. Yes, it was not
only right for me to speak; it was my duty. Rad should not be allowed to
sacrifice himself. The truth, at whatever cost, must be brought out.

My first move must be to discover Jeff's whereabouts on the day of his
father's murder. It ought not to be difficult to trace a man who had
come more than once under the surveillance of the police. Having made up
my mind as to the necessary course, I lost no time in putting it into
action. I barely waited to snatch a hasty supper before riding back to
the village. From there I sent a fifty-word telegram to the chief of
police in Seattle asking for any information as to the whereabouts of
Jefferson Gaylord on the nineteenth of May.

It was ten o'clock the next morning before an answer came. So sure was I
of what it was going to contain, that I read the words twice before
comprehending them.

"Jefferson Gaylord spent May nineteenth in lumber camp thirty
miles from Seattle. Well-known character. Mistaken identity
impossible.

"HENRY WATERSON,
"_Police Commissioner_."

I had become so obsessed with the horror of my new theory; so sure that
Jeff was the murderer of his father that I could not readjust my
thoughts to the idea that he had been at the time of the crime three
thousand miles away. The case, then, still stood exactly where it had
stood from the beginning. Six days had passed since the murder and I was
not one inch nearer the truth. Six days! I realized it with a dull
feeling of hopelessness. Every day now that was allowed to pass only
lessened the chance of our ever finding Mose and solving the mystery.

I still stood with the telegram in my hand staring at the words. I was
vaguely aware that a boy from "Miller's place" had ridden up to the
house on a bicycle, but not until Solomon approached with a second
yellow envelope in his hand was I jostled back into a state of
compr