"Well, it beats me," was his only remark, when I had ended, and with a visible effort he tore himself away from the portrait, and turned to the coroner, who had been waiting patiently until our inspection of the painting was ended. "Is this where the inquest will be held?"

"Yes, sir; I'll have some chairs brought in. It won't last very long. I'll have to adjourn it, of course, until Miss Kingdon can give her testimony."

G.o.dfrey nodded.

"Yes, you'll have to do that. Well, you may depend upon us-but I doubt if our evidence will go very far toward solving the mystery."

If the town had been glowing the night before over the disappearance of Marcia Lawrence, it was fairly blazing now over this new mystery. In fact, the one had quite eclipsed the other, and I was mightily relieved to find that no one suspected any relation between them. I bought copies of both the local papers, and observed again their prodigal use of black type and exclamation points. Each of them devoted the whole front page to the case, without, however, throwing any new light upon it. On another page, one of them stated in a few lines that nothing further had been heard from Miss Lawrence; the other contained no reference whatever to the Lawrence affair, and had apparently forgotten all about it.

Could any good come of reviving it? Why need Dr. Schuyler interfere at all? If it was Marcia Lawrence who was insane, the law could not touch her, whatever she had done. Harriet Kingdon was dead, and the obloquy of the crime could do her no injury. Besides, whoever had fired the shot--

Then, suddenly, I remembered the revolver. That was going to prove an awkward piece of evidence. G.o.dfrey had suspected instantly who its owner was; and he, certainly, would permit no sentimental considerations to interfere with placing the whole truth before the public.

But perhaps I was mistaken, after all. Granted that Marcia Lawrence had been subject to spells of derangement, that was no proof that she had committed this crime. It might be, indeed, that that very infirmity was the cause of her flight. She may have believed herself cured, and accepted Curtiss in good faith, only to discover at the last moment that she was not cured; or the impulse to flight may have seized her during a sudden aberration caused by the excitement of her wedding-day. Aversion to friends and kindred was, as I knew, one of the most common symptoms of such derangement. Was this the key to the mystery? Was this the explanation of her flight?

It was with my mind in this tumult that I approached Dr. Schuyler's house, that evening, and rang the bell. He opened the door himself.

"I was expecting you," he said, and led the way to his study. "Sit down, Mr. Lester. I've been thinking over what you told me, and it seems to me that the world should know the whole truth."

My heart sank at the words.

"But what good will it do?" I questioned. "Of course, Dr. Schuyler, I suspect what the secret is. What good will it do that the world should know it?"

"It will at least turn loathing into pity; it will show that she was justified, in so far as there can be justification for such an act. It will show that she was not mentally responsible-therefore neither legally nor morally guilty."

"I wasn't aware that she was regarded with loathing," I said. "In fact, I didn't know that she was connected with this case at all in any one's mind outside of ourselves and a friend of mine."

"Not connected with it!" Dr. Schuyler cried. "You astonish me!"

"The public doesn't know the facts, and I see no reason why they should. You will answer me, perhaps, that it's a duty to protect the memory of the dead; but the dead was guilty equally with the living."

"My dear sir," said Dr. Schuyler, staring at me in a way I found most puzzling, "you're speaking in riddles. I confess that I don't in the least understand you. What is it you propose?"

"What I propose," I said bluntly, "is this. Let Harriet Kingdon bear the obloquy of the crime-it can't harm her now-besides, she largely deserves it. My evidence and G.o.dfrey's will show that Lucy Kingdon had no hand in it, so there'll be no danger of wronging her. Let us see that Marcia Lawrence is placed in proper hands and receives proper care. Perhaps she may yet--"

"Marcia Lawrence!" he repeated hoa.r.s.ely. "What has she to do with this case, Mr. Lester?"

The question, the expression of his face, brought me to my feet. I was trembling so that I caught at the chair for support. I saw it all. In an instant, I saw it all!

"Then it wasn't Miss Lawrence--"

"Nonsense! Not at all!" he broke in testily. "It was Harriet Kingdon."

CHAPTER XXII

Light at Last!

I sank back into my chair, overcome by such a flood of relief and thankfulness that I could not speak. But Dr. Schuyler laboured under no such disability.

"I cannot understand," he said, and I saw by his flushed face that he was genuinely angry, "how you could have got the preposterous idea that Marcia Lawrence was connected in any way with this affair. Any sane man would have seen the utter absurdity of such a theory."

"I see it now," I a.s.sented hoa.r.s.ely.

"Why, Marcia Lawrence could no more be concerned in a thing like that," he went on hotly, "than-than a babe unborn. She could not be concerned in anything wrong, or mean, or criminal. I want you to understand, Mr. Lester, that she's absolutely spotless. If you knew her, I shouldn't need to tell you."

"I've always believed it," I protested. "In my heart of hearts, I've always believed it. We've been fools-we've been trying to make two things fit which didn't fit. We imagined they must fit because they happened so close together. I see now that it was merely a coincidence, and I'm glad from the very bottom of my heart."

"You believed, then, that Miss Lawrence was really concerned in this murder?"

"We thought her the active party in it."

"The active party! But on what grounds?"

"We thought the dead man was her husband-an adventurer who'd lured her into a marriage while she was abroad. You'll remember I mentioned this theory to you the other night."

"Yes, and I told you at the time how ridiculous I thought it."

"I've never wholly believed it," I repeated. "It wasn't mine. But it seemed to fit the facts so perfectly, and when you intimated this afternoon, as I thought, that Miss Lawrence was subject to spells of insanity, I imagined that I understood the whole story."

He sat for a moment silent, regarding me from half-closed eyes; I saw that he was considering whether he should speak or remain silent.

"I hope this mistake has gone no farther," he said, at last.

"No," I answered, and genuinely thankful I was that I could say so. "I kept it absolutely to myself."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then no harm has been done. I'm glad of that. I see that you're glad, too."

"Yes," I said; "I am-more glad than I can say."

"And now that you understand the matter," he continued, "I suppose you see it in a different light?"

"In a different light?"

"At least, you'll hardly advise now that I keep silent?"

"By no means," I a.s.serted heartily. "I think it is clearly your duty to tell all you know. You will absolve Harriet Kingdon from responsibility for her act-as you said, change loathing to pity. Besides, if the dead man deserved death, let the world know it."

"I don't know that he did," corrected my companion; "I know nothing about him."

"But you suspect?" I prompted.

"Perhaps I do," he admitted, "but suspicion uttered is such a deadly thing! What I do know came to me in the way so many things come to a minister. I was asked for advice-I received a confidence--"

He stopped and pondered for a moment.

"I came very near telling you night before last," he continued, "when you were asking me about the Kingdons-telling you, at least, as much as I could without violating that confidence. But on second thought, I did not see that any good would come of it, and so kept silent. Now, circ.u.mstances absolve me from any obligation of secrecy and I can speak freely.