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  CHAPTER X

  Evidence

  The few days following Gilbert Blair's death were like a nightmare tohis friends. A search of his papers had revealed a probable address ofhis mother, but a telegram sent there had as yet brought no reply andthough a letter was despatched, no answer could be expected to that fora week or more.

  Meantime, by general consent, Benjamin Crane took charge of Blair'saffairs. The funeral took place in an undertaker's establishment and thebody was placed in a receiving vault, until Blair's people could beheard from. His immediate possessions remained in the studio rooms, forthe lease had still six months to run, and the police objected to anyremoval of the dead man's effects. It was practically impossible to sealthem up as Thorpe occupied the same rooms, but a strict surveillance waskept, and Weston doggedly asserted he would yet track down the murderer.

  For no one could doubt Blair had been murdered. On the eve of the prizecompetition, in which he was so deeply interested,--on the eve, as hehoped, of being engaged to Carlotta Harper, whom he loved, full of lifeand energy, why should he kill himself? It was impossible to accept thetheory of suicide, and the detectives were hard at work on the case.

  McClellan Thorpe was suspected, but as there was no evidence againsthim, save his indubitable and exclusive opportunity, he had not as yetbeen arrested.

  "His opportunity was not exclusive," Mr. Crane contended. "Those studioapartments are not burglar proof! Anybody might have got in during thenight and administered the poison."

  "No," Weston objected. "It would be practically impossible for any oneto go into those rooms, force or persuade Blair to swallow poison andget away without being heard by Mr. Thorpe or without leaving any traceof his presence."

  "Well, look here, Weston," Mr. Crane spoke very seriously, "you know mewell enough to know I've no notion of evading justice for anybody. Butknowing McClellan Thorpe as I do, and knowing his peculiar temperament,I wish you'd let him alone,--at least, until you have a bit ofindisputable evidence."

  "I've got it, Mr. Crane."

  "What?"

  The two were sitting in Benjamin Crane's library, where they often metto talk over the case. Julie was present, for she wanted to know everydetail of any discovery that might be made.

  "I don't believe it!" she flared out at the detective's statement.

  "Yes, Miss Crane," Weston said, "I found a pretty suspiciouscircumstance to-day. Nothing less than a very small bottle, without corkor label, but smelling unmistakably of prussic acid."

  "Where was it?" demanded Crane.

  "Hidden in an old and unused paint-box of McClellan Thorpe's."

  "Where was the paint-box?"

  "'Way back, on a cupboard shelf. Pushed back, behind a pile of oldbooks."

  "Planted evidence," suggested Crane. "The real criminal put it there toincriminate Mr. Thorpe."

  "Not a chance!" said Weston, smiling. "I've had that place watched tooclosely for that, sir! Nobody could get in to plant evidence, or to doanything else without being seen by my men. No, sir, that bottle in Mr.Thorpe's paint-box was put there by his own hand, and it will prove hisundoing."

  "But it's absurd!" flashed Julie. "Mr. Thorpe never killed hisfriend,--but if he had done so, he wouldn't be fool enough to leave suchevidence around!"

  "He couldn't help himself, Miss Crane. When he used the bottle thatnight, he had to secrete it somewhere, and since then he has been tooclosely watched to dare to take it from its hiding-place and dispose ofit."

  "But I don't see how he could have done it," Crane objected. "How couldhe persuade Blair to take a dose of poison?"

  "Oh, in lots of ways. Say, they had a highball or that,--all he had todo was to drop the tiniest speck from the little vial into the drink. Hecould easily do that unobserved. Anyway, he did do it. Then, of course,afterward, he had ample chance to clean the glasses and remove everytrace of crime, except that he had to conceal the bottle. This he did inthe most obvious way. Exactly the way any one would try to secrete sucha thing. The bottle had been emptied and washed, but that poison hassuch an enduring odor that it is practically impossible to eliminate itentirely. But there's the fact, Mr. Crane, now, unless another suspectcan be found, it's all up with Mr. Thorpe."

  "Then we'll find another suspect!" exclaimed Julie.

  "Go ahead, Miss. I'll investigate your new man, as soon as you name him.That's the important part of this affair, there's no chance of anothersuspect. No one has been so much as thought of----"

  "That doorman?" said Julie.

  "Nixy! He had no motive, no opportunity,--and there's not the slightestreason to suspect him."

  "Some outsider, then," went on Julie, desperately, "some fellow artist,who feared Gilbert would win that prize----"

  "Miss Crane, you must know that's the motive attributed to Mr. Thorpe.You must know that he and Mr. Blair were rivals in that competitionand----"

  Julie's eyes flashed fire. "And you mean to say that he killed hisfriend,--his chum,--in order to be sure of winning the prize!"

  "That's the motive we're assuming. But there was doubtless a scrap,--arow about the pictures or drawings,--in fact,-- I hate to tell you thesethings, but we have learned that there was bad blood between the twomen, for each thought the other had imitated his own ideas. This broughtabout more or less dissension, and--well, probably both men lost theirtemper, and real hatred ensued."

  Weston tried to adapt his language so as to spare Julie's feelings asmuch as possible, for the girl was highly wrought up, and he wasgenuinely sorry for her. He knew of the state of things between her andThorpe, knew, too, that it explained Benjamin Crane's determination tofree Thorpe from suspicion, if it could be done.

  But Crane was staggered by the disclosure of the hidden vial.

  "It's a clew," he said, but he spoke slowly and thoughtfully.

  "Yes, it's a clew," agreed Weston, "and it will convict the criminal.The label,--if it ever had one,--has been washed off. The cork ismissing,--and, by the way, if that cork could be found it would help alot! But all the same, I've a notion I can trace that bottle to itssource."

  "How?" asked Crane. "Is it of a peculiar shape or style?"

  "No; just a common, ordinary two-ounce bottle, such as most druggistsuse all the time. But there's no name blown in it,--that's important,for many dealers have their names on their glassware, and a blank bottleis conspicuous of itself."

  "Conspicuous by its rarity,--but not therefore traceable," said Mr.Crane.

  "Perhaps so,--by elimination----"

  "Nonsense!" Julie cried; "you can't trace it, and you know it! You'rejust making believe,--you're what do you call it? framing a case! you'rerailroading McClellan Thorpe to prison! I won't have it! Father, surelyyou can do something! You _must_!"

  Stifling her sobs, Julie ran out of the room.

  There was an uncomfortable silence and then Benjamin Crane said:

  "You see what a hard position I'm in, Weston."

  "Yes, sir."

  "But of course," Crane sighed deeply, "justice must be done,--only I begof you, Weston, use every effort to find another suspect,--a logicalone,--now, don't misunderstand me! I mean, if there can possibly be adoubt of Thorpe's guilt, and a chance of another man's guilt,--forHeaven's sake find that other man!"

  "Not a chance."

  "But, at least, keep an open mind. And spare no expense. Get a specialdetective,--a big one,--there now, don't bristle! I don't suppose youthink yourself the cleverest in the world, do you? Don't you admit anysuperior? If so, get him; if not, then prove your own worth. I repeat, Iwant no undue favor shown to McClellan Thorpe, but if he is not theguilty man, then I want you to move heaven and earth to find the realcriminal. Can't you conceive, Weston, of a murderer so clever as to havecommitted the crime, planted the vial as evidence against Thorpe andmade his escape leaving no clew?"

  "I can conceive of such a thing, sir, as I can conceive of a ghost,--butthere is no evidence for either conception."

  "Evidence enough for ghost
s, Weston! Haven't you read my book?"

  "Oh, I clean forgot that book you wrote, Mr. Crane. No, I haven't readit, but my folks have, and I dare say you do believe in spooks. But,come, now, you don't believe a spook killed Mr. Blair, do you, sir?"

  "No,--and yet, it is within the bounds of possibility----"

  "Not as the police count possibility! There's small chance of any humanagency other than Mr. Thorpe, but far less chance of a supernaturalagent! I'll be getting along, Mr. Crane, if you're going off on thattrack."

  "Hold on, Weston, I'm in earnest about this special detective. Suppose Iengage a private one. Can you and he work in harmony?"

  "Oh, yes, I'm not pig-headed. So long as he don't interfere too much, orget me into any scrapes with his highfalutin tricks,--which they allhave, go ahead and get him. I'll do my own duty, as I see it and as it'sdictated to me by Headquarters; but if you want to engage a dozenprivate detectives, there's no law against it. And, sir, I'm free toconfess I feel mighty sorry for that pretty daughter of yours, and ifanybody else can save her man for her, when I can't--why, let him atit!"

  "Good for you, Weston, I hoped you'd be above petty jealousy. Go on,now, and see if you can't connect up that empty vial with somebody whosename isn't Thorpe,--and, I say, you're not going to arrest him yet, areyou?"

  "Not just yet,--but,--well, I'll let you know--soon, where we stand."

  His visitor gone, Benjamin Crane put on his hat and went at once to seeMadame Parlato. He had acquired the habit of an interview with her whenanything bothered him, and his faith in her powers was unshaken.

  His request for a _seance_ was granted, for since the book of BenjaminCrane's had made such a success, the medium was besieged with patrons,yet she always gave Crane the preference over other sitters.

  Admitted to the private sanctum, Crane told the Madame he wished tolearn anything possible concerning the death of Gilbert Blair.

  The medium went into a trance as usual, and after a short interval,announced in her low monotone that the spirit of Peter Crane waspresent.

  "My boy," said Crane, eagerly, "do you know who killed Blair?"

  "Yes, father," came the reply, through the voice of Madame Parlato; "donot seek further than you already know."

  "You mean it was----"

  Benjamin Crane hesitated. He was a cautious man, and often as he had hadthis sort of interviews with Peter's spirit, he was always particular togive no information unnecessarily.

  "Yes,--dad,--it was."

  "Well, who? who, Peter?"

  "Must I say the name?"

  "Yes, boy. But only if you're sure you know. It would be a grave errorotherwise."

  The medium stirred uneasily, and was silent for a time. Then, with along drawn sigh, she resumed, "Well, father, if I must tell you, it wasThorpe."

  "Oh, Peter, not really!"

  "Yes, dad. Don't look any further,--it was Thorpe."

  The medium was silent after that. She came out of her trance state,looking a little bewildered.

  "Did you get anything?" she asked, for, as she had frequently told hersitter, she herself knew nothing of what transpired while she wasunconscious.

  "Yes," Crane returned, and knowing there would be no furthercommunication that day, he went home.

  He found Thorpe there, discussing the matter with Mrs. Crane and Julie.

  "I don't know what to do," Thorpe said, as Mr. Crane joined the group."I didn't kill Blair,--at least, I don't think I did."

  "What does that mean?" Crane asked.

  "Only that if I did do it, it was unconsciously."

  "In your sleep?"

  "No; but under hypnotism. I've not much belief in that sort ofthing,--but,--well, you know about occult matters, might it not bepossible?"

  Benjamin Crane was disappointed. He had hoped for a vigorous denial onThorpe's part, but this halfway confession seemed to him a mere quibble.He found himself believing the man guilty and that he was using thishypnotism suggestion as a last resort to prove innocence.

  "Stop it, father!" Julie cried. "You are thinking Mac did do it, havingbeen hypnotized by somebody! Well, he didn't! and I _know_ he didn'tand I'll _prove_ it!"

  "Good talk, Julie, but does it mean anything!" asked her father, givingher a look of gentle sadness.

  "I'll make it mean something! That thick-witted detective doesn't know athing! Now, I don't believe in the hypnotism theory----"

  "Why, Julie," said her mother, "I've heard you say you believed inhypnotism!"

  "Oh, yes, I do, but I mean not in this case. Nobody hypnotized McClellanto kill Gilbert. I'm sure of that, and I wish you wouldn't repeat it,Mac. People will only laugh at you."

  "Well, what are you going to do, my child?" asked her father.

  "Oh, I don't know! I'm desperate,-- I will find out something!"

  "Of course you will, Julie, for I'll help you."

  It was Thorpe who spoke, and he seemed to have suddenly acquired a newenergy.

  "I'm going to turn detective myself," he went on. "We'll work together,Julie, and,-- Mr. Crane, if we succeed,-- I mean succeed in freeingmyself from suspicion----"

  "And finding the real criminal," put in Crane with a very serious face.

  "Yes, and find the real criminal," but Thorpe's face was less bright,"then, sir, will you give us your blessing?"

  "Yes, McClellan," but Crane's voice had no hearty ring, "yes, when youare a free man in every sense of the word, you may take my little girlfor your own."

  Thorpe gave him a searching look. "I can't help seeing, Mr. Crane," hesaid, "that you think,--or perhaps I may say, you fear I am guilty. Ihope I can prove to you that I am not."

  Crane noticed the wording of his speech. Thorpe hoped to prove tohim,--but he didn't say he was innocent.

  And Benjamin Crane believed the man guilty. Greatly influenced by whathe had heard at the _seance_ with the medium, Crane was still willing tobe convinced to the contrary, but Thorpe's own attitude and words didnot carry conviction.

  "Well, my children," Crane said at last, "here's my proposition. I can'tthink your determination to do detective work will produce much fruit.Now, if you like, I'll engage the best detective I can find and put himon the job. What say, Thorpe?"

  It was a test question, and Crane eagerly awaited the answer. If Thorpewere really innocent, he would welcome the clever sleuthing that wouldbe likely to unearth the truth.

  But he was disappointed to hear Thorpe say, "Not yet, Mr. Crane. Give usa chance. Let me try,--let us try,"--with a glance at Julie--"give us afew days, at least,--then, if we gain nothing,--then bring on yourdetective."

  "But,-- I hate to say it, Mac, though I dare say you know it,--you maybe arrested any day now."

  Thorpe gave a start, and the sudden pallor that came to his face showedhow the idea affected him.

  "Oh, not that,--hardly that----"

  "Yes, it's imminent." Crane thought best to tell him this. "They--theysay they've got the goods on you, Mac."

  "What--what do you mean by that?"

  "Well," Crane couldn't bring himself to tell of the poison bottle,"well, my boy, they say that you and Blair quarreled."

  "We did."

  "Over the sketches for the prizes?"

  "Yes, over those, and over other matters."

  "When was this?"

  "We'd been scrapping off and on for some time. Nothing very serious.But,--well, when Gilbert implied that I had used his ideas, I--I gotmad."

  "And saw red?"

  "Yes, I suppose that's what they call it."

  "The night he--he died?"

  "Yes."

  "Mac," Benjamin Crane looked grave, "suppose you tell me just whathappened that night."

  "Well,--we'd all been to the Club to dinner, you know."

  "Yes."

  "And when we went home, Bob Knight went with us. He was irritating,somehow,--said he heard Blair and I had combined on our work----"

  "Why was that annoying?"

  "Oh, it implied that Gilbert and
I took each other's ideas, orsomething,-- I don't know,--anyway, he stirred us up, and when he wentoff, Gil and I were touchy. We had some words, and Blair tore up hissketches, a-and--tore up some of mine, too."

  "He did! No wonder you were annoyed."

  "Yes; they were the ones I had ready,--or, almost ready, to send in."

  "Go on," said Crane, briefly.

  "Well, there's little more to tell. I went into my bedroom and slammedthe door. Yes, I slammed it, for I had lost my temper, and I was mad atBlair."

  "And then?"

  "I don't know anything more to tell. I heard Blair around the studio fora time, and once I heard his footsteps near my door, as if he wanted tospeak to me,--maybe make up,--but he didn't say anything or knock, orcall out,--and then, after a time I heard him go into his own bedroomand close the door."

  "And you heard nothing through the night?"

  "Nothing unusual. The ordinary sounds in the building, of course."

  "And you stayed in your room,--in your bed,--till morning?"

  "Yes, I did. I sleep very soundly, and I sleep late. The details of themorning, and my finding of Blair,--you know. Don't ask me to recountall that again."

  "No; I shan't. Are you going on with your work for the competition?"

  "Of course!" Thorpe's face showed surprise at the question. "Why shouldI not? I rescued the torn sketches from the waste-basket, and I can copythem. I've a good chance at it, I think."

  "Now that Blair's out of the running?"

  Thorpe looked up angrily, but as suddenly he became calm. "No, Mr.Crane," he said, "not because of that. But because Gilbert can't stealmy plans."

  "Unpleasant talk, Mac. I don't like that."

  "But it's true. Blair did take my ideas----"

  "Consciously?"

  "I think so. Why, he incorporated in his design, a particular bit ofdrawing that I had invented and shown to him only a day or two before."

  "You must see, McClellan, that your saying that puts a bad face on thewhole affair?"

  "I suppose it does," and the man again relapsed into moody silence. "Oh,well,--it's all in a lifetime."

  "A lifetime that has just ended,--or one still being lived?" BenjaminCrane spoke like an avenging justice, and there was no mistaking hismeaning.

  But beyond a startled glance, Thorpe made no reply.