"And you didn't see your cousin again until--when?" and Carroll looked Darcy straight in the eyes.

"Not until after she was--dead."

"Um! I guess that's all now."

They let the young man go, back to his room in police headquarters. It was not a cell--yet, though it would seem likely to come to that, for Thong observed to his partner as they went downstairs:

"Well, there's a motive all right."

"Three, if you like. But none of 'em hardly strong enough for murder."

"Oh, I don't know. I hear he has quite a temper--different from Harry King's, but enough, especially if he got riled about the old lady talking against his girl. You never can tell."

"No, that's so."

Left alone, James Darcy threw himself into a chair and looked blankly at the dull-painted wall.

"This is fierce!" he murmured. "It will be a terrible blow to Amy! I wonder--I wonder if she'll have anything to do with me after this? The shame of it--the disgrace! Oh, Amy! if I could only know!" and he reached out his hand as though to thrust them beyond the confines of the walls. He bowed his head in his arms and was silent and motionless a long time.

Up in his hotel room, Colonel Ashley read the story of the case as printed in the _Times_.

"This does begin to get interesting," he mused, as he finished reading the account. "There are three possible motives in Darcy's case, and one in King's. And I've known murder to be done on slighter provocation. Darcy might have resented being called a fortune hunter, which, I suppose, is what the old lady meant, or he may have been stung to sudden pa.s.sion by the holding back of the thousand dollars and the taunts about his lathe. Most inventors are crazy anyhow.

"As for King--if he was drunk enough, and wanted money--or thought he could get some diamonds--it might be--it might be. I wonder who his lady friend is? He daren't tell, I suppose, on account of his wife. I wonder--"

"Oh, what am I bothering about it for, anyhow? I came here to rest and fish, and I'm going to. I've resigned from detective work! There!"

He tossed the paper behind the bed. "I'll not look at another issue.

Now let's see how my rods are. I'm going to get an early start in the morning, if this infernal rain lets up. Blast that s.h.a.g! He's jammed a ferrule!" and, with blazing eyes, the colonel looked at one of the joints of his choicest rod. A bra.s.s connection had been bent.

"That's a shame! It'll never work that way--never! I've got to go out and see if I can't get it mended. Wonder if there's a decent sporting goods store in this part of town. I'll go out and have a look."

He made himself ready, taking the two parts of the fishing rod with him. Inquiry at the hotel desk supplied him with the information as to the location of the store, and the detective was soon out in the wet streets, breathing in deep of the damp air--for it was fresh and that was what the colonel liked.

Somehow or other the address of the jewelry store clung to his mind, and, almost unconsciously, he found himself heading in that direction.

"Well, I am a fool!" he murmured, as he pa.s.sed the place, now ghostly with its one light in front of the safe. The police had taken charge, pending the arrival of a relative of Mrs. Darcy's. Inside, the cut gla.s.s and silver gleamed as of old, but on the floor, sunk deep in the grain of the wood now, was the spot of blood--fit to keep company with the red rubies in the locked safe.

"Quite a place," murmured the colonel, as he pa.s.sed on toward the sporting goods store. "Quite a place! Oh, hang it! I must get it out of my mind!"

In spite of his rather exacting demands regarding a ferrule for his rod, he found what he wanted and, feeling quite satisfied now, as he noted that the weather showed some slight signs of clearing, the colonel started back for his hotel, walking slowly, for it was not yet late.

Just how it happened, not even Colonel Ashley, naturally the most interested person, could tell afterward. But as the detective was crossing a crowded street a big auto truck swung around a corner, and he found himself directly in its path as he stepped off the curb.

Active as he always kept himself, the old detective sprang back out of the way. But fate, in the person of a small boy, had just a little while before, dropped a banana skin on the streets. And the colonel stepped squarely on this peeling, as he tried to retreat.

There was a sudden sliding, an endeavor to retain his footing, and then Colonel Ashley fell prostrate, his fishing rod pieces spinning from his fingers. Down he went, and the truck thundered straight at him.

It was almost upon him, and the big, solid, front tires were about to crush him, in spite of the frantic efforts of the driver to swerve his machine to one side, when a slim figure dashed from the crowd on the sidewalk, and, with an indistinguishable cry, seized the colonel by the shoulders, fairly dragging him with a desperate burst of strength from the very path of death.

There were gasps of alarm and sighs of relief. The driver of the truck swore audibly, but it was more a prayer than an oath. The colonel, grimy and muddy, was set on his feet by his rescuer, and several men gathered about. The colonel was a bit-dazed, but not so much so that he could not hear several murmur:

"He saved his life all right!"

Recovering his breath and the control of his nerves at about the same time, the detective, his voice trembling in spite of himself, turned to the man who had dragged him from almost under the big wheels and said:

"Sir, you did save my life! You saved me from a horrible death, and saying so doesn't begin to thank you or tell you what I mean. If you'll have the goodness, sir, to call a taxi for me, and come with me to my hotel, I can then--"

The colonel came to a halting and sudden pause as he saw the face of the slim little man who had saved him--a face covered with freckles, which were splotched over the cheeks, the turned-up nose, and reaching back to the wide-set ears.

"Spotty!--Spotty Morgan!" gasped the detective, as he recognized a New York gunman, who was supposed to have more than one killing to his credit, or debit, according as you happen to reckon.

"Spotty Morgan! You--you--here!" gasped the detective.

The rescuer, who had been grinning cheerfully, went white under his copper freckles.

"My gawd! It's you! Colonel--"

Further words were stopped by the detective's hand placed softly, quickly, and so dexterously as hardly to be seen by those in the crowd, over the mouth of the speaker.

"No names--here!" whispered the colonel in the big ear of the man who had saved him from death.

The slim little man gave a wiggle like an eel, and would have darted away through the crowd, but there was a vice-like grip on his shoulder that he knew but too well.

"Spotty, my name's Brentnall for the present," said the colonel, with a grim smile. "And you'd better come with me. How about it?"

Spotty Morgan hesitated a moment, nodded silently, and then, arm in arm with the man whom he had pulled from the path of the big truck, went down the street, the mist and rain swallowing them up.

CHAPTER V

AMY'S APPEAL

Tinkling gla.s.ses formed a friendly rampart between Colonel Ashley and Spotty Morgan. Spotty looked narrowly and shrewdly at the detective.

"I didn't expect to see you here," remarked the gunman, speaking out of the side of his mouth, with scarcely a motion of his lips--a habit acquired through long practice in preventing prison keepers from finding out that he was disobeying the rules regarding silence. "Not for a minute did I expect to run across you here, Colonel As--"

"Not that name, Spotty, if you please," and the fisherman-detective smiled in easy fashion. "You know my little habits in that regard.

I'm known here as Brentnall, and, if it's all the same to you, just use that. As for you, if Spotty--"

"Oh, that suits me as well as any other. I can change whenever I like." Spotty raised a gla.s.s to his lips, and, with a murmured "here's how," let the contents slide down his always-parched throat.

"That's so, Spotty. Well, I didn't expect to see you here, I give you my word. When did you leave New York?"

"Well, I come away--"

"Hold on!" interrupted the colonel. "Don't answer. I shouldn't have asked. I forgot you saved my life just now. Gad! it isn't the first time I've nearly pa.s.sed over, but--not in that way!" and he reached for his gla.s.s to conceal the shudder that pa.s.sed over him as he thought of the rumbling wheels of the thundering truck.