attitude which Britz adopted toward the prisoner tend to
relieve his terror.

"So you thought you'd elope with the papers I went to all the trouble to
gather?" snarled the detective. "You thought you could fool the
police--eh!"

"No, sir! No, sir, I didn't," quavered the prisoner. "I didn't mean to
fool you. I didn't know you were a detective. I know you said so, but
anybody could say so and show a badge. I took the papers because I
thought Mr. Beard might need them. And ever since I've been in hiding
for fear I'd be arrested! To-day I made up my mind to deliver them to
Mr. Beard. I was afraid to approach that awful looking jail, but finally
I did so and a detective immediately arrested me. He was awfully rough,"
complained the butler. "He hurt my wrists and tore my collar. I gave the
papers to him without any struggle--really, sir, if I'd met you I should
have given them to you."

Britz thrust the butler back into the cell and closed the door.

"Won't you please let me go?" pleaded the prisoner, clutching
frantically at the bar. "I haven't done anything."

Unheedful of the man's appeal, the detective ascended the iron stairs
and hastened into his private office. He found Manning and Greig seated
at his desk scrutinizing the papers.

"Anything of value in them?" asked Britz.

"Not yet," returned the chief. "But we haven't finished with them."

Britz applied himself to the documents, his eyes racing through them in
futile search of something that might shed a welcome illumination on the
dark complexities of the case. But the papers contained nothing of worth
to the police. Mostly they related to Whitmore's business affairs, which
apparently were in a healthy and flourishing condition.

With a shrug of disappointment the detective flung the last of the
documents from him.

"Wasted labor!" he observed to the chief. "Might as well return them to
Beard."

"Here is one we haven't examined," said Manning, offering a long, white
envelope to Britz. "I don't know whether we are justified in opening
it."

The back of the envelope had been sealed with wax in three places, and
the seals were still undisturbed. Across the front of it was written,--

"Last will and testament of Herbert Whitmore."

Britz regarded the envelope with covetous eyes.

"There is no law which prevents the police from examining a murdered
man's will," he remarked. "I suppose the proper thing would be to open
it in the presence of the attorne