"That won't do," objected the detective. "To dislike a man is one thing, to hate him to the point of murdering him is another."

"Greed is a motive for murder," said Krech. "Who stood to profit financially by his death?"

Jason Bolt stirred uneasily in his seat. Miss Ocky looked uncomfortable. Krech glanced from one to the other, then nodded to Creighton.

"It's the same answer," he said. "A lot of people."

"Neither the question nor answer are pertinent," commented the detective. "This murderer did not kill for money."

"Why are you so sure?" demanded Krech stubbornly.

"If he made up his mind that it would pay him to kill Simon Varr, he would have gone to work and done it out-of-hand, skillfully or clumsily as his limitations might permit. He wouldn't have wasted a lot of time with ineffective fires, bugaboo masquerading--and, above all, he never would have been so gracious as to send a warning note!" Creighton had the satisfaction of seeing his argument score a grand slam; there was conviction in the eyes of Krech and Jason Bolt, and something like admiration in Miss Ocky's. "No, the motive was not mercenary whatever else it may have been."

"There's this strike we've had on our hands," offered Jason. "I'll swear most of the men are decent fellows, but there are always some exceptions. They knew pretty well that Varr was the man who was fighting them--in other words, locking them out. With him out of the way, they knew they could count on better terms from me." He added diffidently, "Mightn't one of them have done it?"

"I spoke of the fires just now as being ineffective," replied Creighton. "I have gathered that they were. The second was the more serious of the two, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, was it serious enough to cripple the business? Was it a vital blow?"

"Not at all. The contents of the two buildings burned were worth money, of course, but they were only reserve stuff."

"But there are buildings in the yard whose loss might have hit you hard?"

"Oh, yes. Several."

"Then, if one of the striking workmen had set the fire, he would have selected one or more of them. I think we may safely a.s.sume that the incendiary was unfamiliar with the tannery and consequently was not one of the strikers."

"You win," said Jason Bolt, after a pause. "I've wondered why the scoundrel didn't touch off something more important, but the significance of his failure to do so never occurred to me. Go on, Mr.

Creighton; I'm getting a lesson in straight thinking."

"Not so very straight," smiled the detective. "Given a fact, you have to think over and under and all around it before you can grasp its every implication. It's only because I've had a lot of experience that I can draw inferences a shade faster than the average man--and often quite as inaccurate!"

"If it wasn't either a striker or a person actuated by the desire for gain," said Krech, "who is left? What other motives are there for murder?"

"Revenge. Jealousy. What about the last, Miss Copley? Was he interested in any other woman than his wife?"

"No," said Miss Ocky, "and remarkably little in her!"

"Um. Friction?"

"No--not friction."

He saw her reluctance to answer this line of questioning and took it for granted that the presence of the others embarra.s.sed her. He dropped the topic, intending to pursue it at a later, more favorable moment.

"Revenge," he continued. "Did Varr ever wrong any one to the extent of driving them to murder him?"

"No," said Jason Bolt. "Simon was a hard man but not as bad as that."

"No," said Miss Ocky--but she had gasped, and Creighton had heard her.

He made a mental note of that.

"We're getting along nicely," said Herman Krech, who never liked to be out of the limelight too long. "It wasn't for money, it wasn't for revenge, it wasn't jealousy; by the time we've eliminated a few more motives we'll have only the correct one left."

"Meanwhile," said Creighton, "what's going on in the house? Who is running the police show?"

"Chap named Norvallis," answered the big man. "The Sheriff, the County Physician and a few plainclothes sleuths are in attendance, but Norvallis is the real leader of the gang. He has been going through the usual motions--asking everybody about everything--"

"Hold on!" broke in Jason. "I don't know that I agree with you.

Seemed to me his questions were mighty casual and indifferent. Did it strike you that he had a sort of a pleased-with-himself air? I got the impression that he might already have made up his mind as to who was the guilty man and considered everything else relatively unimportant."

"It's not impossible that you're right," suggested Creighton. "The murderer may have left some glaring clue to his ident.i.ty. Naturally, the police wouldn't talk about it until they got their hands on him."

He turned to Krech. "You told him about this monk business, didn't you? How did he take it?"

"His first att.i.tude," said Krech, "was that of a polite but skeptical child listening to a bedtime story. I soon convinced him of its importance, though. He says it simplifies things."

"Um. He must be even quicker at inferences than I am!"

"By the way, I told him about you and he said he wanted to see you the moment you got here."

"Well, this is a nice time to tell me!" laughed Creighton. He stood up. "I'd better take my place in line."

"I can count on you, then, to help us in the matter of locating that notebook?" asked Jason Bolt.

"Yes, sir," the detective a.s.sured him for the second time. "I can promise to take a personal as well as a professional interest in this case. I feel deeply the fact that Mr. Varr should have met death in such a fashion after he became my client."

"You did what you could to warn him."

"Now, about my headquarters; there's a hotel in the town?"

"Yes, but I've been hoping you would let us put you up." Bolt wrinkled his brows thoughtfully. "Mr. and Mrs. Krech are staying with us, but there's always room for one more."

"You're both talking nonsense," interrupted Miss Ocky. "The logical place for Mr. Creighton is right _here_."

"Kind of you, Miss Copley, but I hardly think I'll add to your problems. Let us agree that the hotel is the best for the time being.

It is too soon yet to say where my activities will center."

_XIV: Lucy Varr_

There were four men in the living-room when Creighton tapped on the door and entered in response to a command. Two of them were standing by a French window which they appeared to be examining and discussing, and as Creighton knew that the theft of the notebook had been prefaced by the breaking of one of the windows in this room, he had no difficulty in deducing that this was the one and that the two men were plainclothes detectives of the county staff.

The other two were seated at the table in the center of the room, a litter of papers scattered in front of them. They looked up inquisitively as Creighton advanced and laid his card on the pile of memoranda before the more important gentleman of the pair.

"Ah, yes. Glad to meet you, Mr. Creighton. Very glad, indeed. My name's Norvallis--County Attorney's office. This is Sheriff Andrews, of Wayne County. Andrews, this is Mr. Peter Creighton of New York."