"Ah! You are engaged to be married to James Darcy, who is--er--detained as a--er--as a _witness_ in the murder of his cousin?"

"I am," and she seemed to glory in it. "As soon as I heard what had happened--to him--I wanted to help. They would not let me see Jimmie at police headquarters, but I sent word that dad and I were going to work for him every minute."

"That must have cheered him."

"I hope it did. But I want to do more than that. I want to help him!

I want to get the best detective in the country to work on the case and prove that Jimmie didn't do this--this terrible thing of which he is accused."

"He isn't exactly accused yet, as I understand it, Miss Mason."

"Oh, well, it's just as bad. He is suspected. Why, Jimmie wouldn't have caused Mrs. Darcy a moment of pain, to say nothing of striking her--killing her! Oh, it's horrible--horrible!" and she covered her face with her hands.

"I don't quite understand," began the colonel, "why you came to me, or how--"

"I told her it was the only thing to do," broke in the newsboy. "Soon as I read about Carroll and Thong being on the case I knew it would take a fly one to put anything over on them. I tried on the train to sell you a detective book, not knowing who you was. You treated me white, and when I heard Miss Mason was in trouble--or her friend was--I said to myself right away that you was the one to fix things. I went out to her farm last night and she was all broke up."

"It was a terrible shock to me when I heard Jimmie was under arrest,"

said the girl. "I didn't know what to do. Tom, here, proposed coming to see you, and when dad heard who you were, though we knew nothing of you, he said the same thing. He told me I could have all the money I wanted, and I have some of my own if his isn't enough."

"It isn't always a question of money," began the colonel, gently.

"I know!" broke in Amy. "But if I add the inducement of all the trout fishing--"

"You are strongly tempting me, my dear young lady. But finish your story."

"Well, there isn't much more to tell. Tom suggested that I come to see you and ask you to take Mr. Darcy's case--to prove that he had no hand in the murder--for I'm sure he did not.

"Tom stayed at our house at Pompey all night. I wanted to come to your hotel at once, but the storm got too bad, so I waited until this morning, and then we motored in. We found you had gone fishing, and we followed you here. It was, perhaps, not just the thing to do. But I was so anxious! I want to tell Jimmie that something is being done for him. You will help us, won't you?" and again she held out her hands appealingly.

"I don't know anything about police or detectives," she went on, "but I'm sure there must be some way of proving that my--that Jimmie had no hand in this. Some terrible thief--a burglar--must have killed Mrs.

Darcy. Oh, Colonel Brentnall, you will help us--won't you?"

She stood there, a beautiful and pathetic picture. The wind sighed through the trees and the murmur of the rippling water filled the air.

"Please!" she whispered. Her hands seemed to waver. Her body swayed.

"s.h.a.g, you black rascal!" cried the colonel. "The lady's going to faint! Catch her!"

"Yes, sah, Colonel!"

"No! Stand back! I'll attend to her myself! I've given up detective work, but--"

And a moment later Amy Mason sank limply into the colonel's arms.

CHAPTER VI

GRAFTON'S SEARCH

The funeral of Mrs. Darcy had been held, attended, as might be supposed, by a large throng of the merely curious, as well as by some of her distant kinsfolk, for she had few near ones. One of the relatives was summoned to take charge of the store and her other business affairs, for, a formal charge of murder having been made against him, James Darcy was not permitted to attend the final services, nor have anything more to do with the jewelry establishment.

Harry King, now painfully sober, was likewise held in jail, bail being fixed, because of his uncertain character, at such a high figure that he could not secure it.

The police had been busy, the prosecutor's detectives also, but, so far, the arrest of Darcy and King had been the only ones made. Singa Phut, whose watch was found clasped in the dead woman's hand, had been closely questioned, but had established a perfect _alibi_.

And the testimony as to this came, not from persons of his own nationality, but from business men and others, whose words could not be doubted. So, in the opinion of the authorities, he was not worth considering further. He admitted having left his watch at the shop to be repaired, some days before the murder, and had not called at the store since, except on the morning of the crime, and some time after its discovery, to get his timepiece, which, of course, he was not then allowed to take.

Darcy had been formally charged with the crime of murder by the police captain in whose precinct the happening occurred, and, no bail being permissible in murder cases, he must, perforce, remain locked up until his indictment and trial. He was transferred from the witness room of police headquarters, the day of the funeral, to the less pleasant jail, and put in a cell, as were the other unfortunates of that inst.i.tution.

Jay Kenneth, Darcy's lawyer, a young member of the bar, but enthusiastic and a hard worker, had made a formal entry of a plea of not guilty for his client, when the latter had been arraigned before the upper court, and had asked for a speedy trial.

And so, after the first few days of wonder and surmise and of speculation as to whether Darcy or King might have committed the crime, or perhaps some desperate burglar, the Darcy case was crowded off the front page of the newspapers to give way to items of more or less local interest in Colchester.

Up and down the narrow cell paced James Darcy. His head was bowed, but at times he raised it to look out through the barred door. All his eyes encountered, though, was the white-washed wall opposite him--a bare, white and glaring wall that made his eyes burn--a wall that seemed to shut out hope itself--as if it were not enough that it had been at the very bottom of Pandora's box.

Up and down, down and up, now pausing to take his hands from their strained position clasped behind his back that they might grasp the cold bars of his cell door--slim white hands that had set many a gleaming jewel in burnished gold or cold, glittering platinum, that it might grace the person of some sweet woman. And now those white fingers grasped cold steel, and a keeper, pa.s.sing up and down on his half-hourly rounds, wondered, grimly, if they had been stained with the blood of Mrs. Darcy.

But though the wall blocked his vision, Darcy saw through and beyond it. He saw the glittering showcases in the store, with their arrays of cut gla.s.s and silver. He saw the gleaming jewels in the safe.

He saw, too, the stained and keen paper knife which the drunken King had swaggered in to claim that gray morning. He saw the red spot on the floor--the spot which, even now, in spite of many scrubbings, was visible to the men and women who, now that the store was opened for business again, walked in to select some piece of gold or silver, some jewel for their own adornment or that of another.

And the gray-haired woman, whose pride it had been to display her beautiful wares to her friends and others, was all alone in a grave far up on the hill--a hill which looked down on Colchester--which looked down on the very store itself.

All of this James Darcy saw, and more.

There was a brisker step along the flagged corridor in front of the cells of "murderers' row." Half a dozen men, and one woman, against whom such a charge had been made--Darcy among them--looked up with an interest they had not shown before. Did it mean a visitor for any of them? Did it mean their lawyer was coming to bid them cheer up, or to tell them it looked black for their chances?

The step was that of the keeper of the outer gate--the larger and more ma.s.sively barred gate which gave entrance to the anteroom where, on visiting days, even those charged with the highest degree of crime were permitted to see their friends, relatives or counsel.

"Some one to see you, Darcy!" called the keeper.

There was the clang of the lock mechanism, and the door swung open.

Darcy's eyes brightened, those of the others in the same tier of cells with him which, for the moment had lighted up, grew dull again.

"My lawyer?" asked Darcy.

"Yes. And there's a lady with him."

"A lady?"

"Yes. Come on!"

Darcy caught sight of Amy before she saw him, for he approached from behind a line of other prisoners exercising in the s.p.a.ce before their cells. She was with Kenneth.

"Amy!" exclaimed Darcy, as he was allowed to step out into the anteroom, closely followed by a keeper, while a detective from the prosecutor's office stood near. "Amy!" and his eyes flowed.

"Jimmie boy!"