"Did you see any other man around?"

"Not there. I caught a glimpse of a man when I was hurrying through the woods to the station."

"When you came to the house, after the tragedy, Mr. Ostrello, what were you so anxious about?"

"You mean what was I looking for?"

"Yes."

"A letter d.i.c.k had sent me. It told about his trouble. I thought at first it might be in the library, but I found it in my mother's room. It contained an account of the scandal he had gotten into. I did not wish that scandal to become public property. I can show you that letter if you wish to see it."

"Lately you have had some trouble with a man named Matlock Styles. What was that about?"

"It was over a patent. I thought of an idea for a machine to box up pills in a new way, and spoke to Mr. Langmore about it. I left some papers with Mr. Langmore and I think Styles got hold of them and applied for the patent. We had several disputes, and at last he threatened to get me into trouble with the firm I represent. He said he had influence, and as I didn't want to lose my job, I didn't press him about the patent.

He acts like a farmer, but he is a shrewd fellow, and not to be trusted."

"You went back to the house lately, on the sly--told Mrs. Morse you wanted some books."

"I admit it. I wanted to get some of my mother's private papers. Now she is dead, I wish to look out for any share of the estate that may be coming to my brother d.i.c.k and myself. Isn't that natural? It was foolish of me to run away as I did, but--well, I was nervous. This tragedy has completely unnerved me, and I hardly know what I am doing."

"How about this bit of wrapping paper?" and Adam Adams brought forth the piece he had found under Mr. Langmore's safe.

"I do not know where that came from, but it is evidently a part of some of my firm's advertising. The first three lines are the name and address. The last line reads, 'Keep dark'."

"I found this under the library safe."

"That is not to be wondered at. Some time ago, I remember, I got some powders for Mr. Langmore, for headaches. I remember the box had a wrapper of that sort on it. The powders lose their strength if exposed to the sunlight. And that reminds me, you--you think these murders were committed through the agency of a Chinese powder--_yamlang-peholo_--a powder my firm once introduced in this country."

"The evidence points that way."

"I know of n.o.body around that house who had any of the accursed stuff, for it certainly was accursed. I never took any there--or, at least, if I ever did, I do not remember taking it out of my grip."

"Can you furnish me with a list of people who received this stuff from you or from others?"

"I can. On my way to Sidham I made out this list, and here it is," and the young man brought it forth.

Adam Adams glanced at it quickly, and read over the long line of names and addresses--doctors, druggists and private individuals. Suddenly he paused and a smile of triumph lit up his features.

"Good!" he almost shouted.

"You have discovered something?" asked Tom Ostrello quickly.

"Yes, I have discovered a great deal. I think the murder mystery is as good as solved."

CHAPTER XXVIII

WHAT HAPPENED TO MARGARET

It is said by specialists that the human brain can stand just so much, and no more. The tension becomes so great--something snaps--and then?

The question is one, hard, if not impossible, to answer.

So it was with poor Margaret, hounded by the well-meaning but ignorant officers of the law of the community in which the double crime had been committed. So searching had been the questions put, so strong the accusations, that the reasoning powers of the girl were completely shattered. She imagined herself guilty--imagined herself being taken to prison, to be hung or electrocuted, and in a hundred ways suffered the mental tortures of the eternally condemned.

Then came a change, when she grew hysterical and laughed softly to herself. No! no! she must not let them hang or electrocute her! It would be too much of a disgrace! She must escape such a fearful fate!

But how? There could be but one answer to that question. She must contrive in some way to outwit her enemies--she must escape--must fly to some place where they would never be able to find her.

It is said that those who are insane are usually shrewd, and so it was in Margaret's case. She prepared to run away, but she did not allow the nurse or the doctor to become aware of what she was doing. She waited until the doctor had made another call, and then asked the nurse to fix her something special to eat.

"Why, yes, I'll get whatever you wish, my dear!" said the nurse, and went below to prepare the food.

No sooner had the woman disappeared than Margaret leaped from her bed and began to dress. All of her things, even to her hat, were in a closet of the bedroom, so this was easy.

"How shall I go?" she asked herself. She knew, from the talk she had heard, that a policeman was somewhere around, watching the house. She looked out of a window and saw him, leaning against a fence, taking occasional sly puffs from a pipe he held in the hollow of his hand.

She did not dare descend the stairs. She looked out of the window. It was not very far to the roof of a porch, and against the porch was a trellis, with a wealth of honeysuckle growing upon it.

How she did it, Margaret could not afterwards remember. But she crawled forth from the window, and climbed down the trellis as if it were a ladder. The sweet scent of the honeysuckle made her sick, and she came close to falling in a faint at the foot of the vines.

Reaching the ground, she stared around like a frightened fawn seeking to hide from the hunters. Then, without knowing why, she sped for the river bank.

The water looked cool and inviting, and for several minutes the beautiful girl stood there, gazing steadily down into those depths.

Should she make a leap and end it all?

"It would be the easiest way out of it!" she moaned to herself. "The easiest way, and n.o.body would care!"

But, as she bent lower, she seemed to see reflected, not her own face, but the face of Raymond. With a cry of despair, she shrank back as if struck a blow.

"No! no! It will not do!" she moaned. "Not that! Not that!"

She ran along the river bank until she came to where a rowboat was tied up. On the seats were the oars, and, scarcely knowing what she was doing, she leaped into the craft, untied the painter, and took up the oars.

The fresh air seemed to give her strength, and she pulled on and on.

She grew thirsty and stopped to drink some of the water and to bathe her face and hands. While doing this, her hat slipped overboard and drifted away, but she did not notice this.

Presently she took up the oars once more, and rowed along the stream until she reached a spot where there was an island. Here she went ash.o.r.e, hiding the rowboat in the bushes.

It was only a small island, but in the center some boys had erected a hut where they had once camped out. Margaret dragged herself to this shelter. Her strength was almost gone now, and, as she dropped on a rude bench, her senses forsook her.

She did not remain unconscious long, but during that time she had a dream or vision. She imagined that she was back home once more, and that her father and her stepmother were alive and well, and that the bitter quarrelling had come to an end. She sat up and brushed the tumbled hair from her forehead,

"It--it must have been a dream!" she murmured. "It can't be true--that daddy is dead! I--I must go home and find out!"

She was surprised to find herself on the island, but the sight of the rowboat brought with it a memory of how she had used the craft, and once again she got in and rowed away.

This time she headed for the Langmore mansion, and it was not long before she came within sight of the well-known dock where her own tiny craft still rested. She looked around. Not a soul seemed to be in sight.