"That's all, then. Thank you."

She stalked away, head in air, stiff as any ramrod.

"Now for Bates," muttered the detective, and touched the bell. "I'll swear he's got something on his mind!"

In this surmise he was perfectly correct. The old butler did have something that was troubling him--a matter so grave and serious that they did not finish discussing it until the study was dusk and sounds from the dining-room indicated that Betty Blake was helpfully setting the table in the unduly prolonged absence of its regular attendant.

When their talk was ended, it was the detective who wore a perplexed expression, while Bates had lost the troubled, almost haunted look that had been in his eyes since the death of Simon Varr.

Creighton hurried to his room to prepare for dinner, and when he glanced from his window he observed for the first time that the weather was about to exhibit itself in a petulant, ill-humored mood. Black storm-clouds were rolling up, a chill, gusty wind was rattling the windows and a heavy spat of rain dashed against the gla.s.s as he turned away. It would be a nasty night.

Miss Ocky remarked on the fact when she joined him in the dining-room.

She looked unhappy.

"I hate cold," she told him. "Had enough of it in my life. I am going to have a fire lighted in the living-room. If you want to talk to me this evening you'll have to put up with having your toes toasted."

He a.s.sured her that toasted toes were his favorite delicacy. Then he nodded to a third place set at the table and raised his eyebrows.

"For Copley, but he hasn't turned up."

"He may be dining with his new father-in-law," suggested the detective.

"Or with Jason Bolt, talking business."

She did not pursue the subject, but later, when they were seated before a crackling fire in the living-room, she attacked him briskly.

"I haven't talked with either you or him since your interview in the library. Was--was it satisfactory? Please tell me."

"With all the pleasure in the world. The interview was satisfactory--and I think I know what you mean by that! He accounted for his movements on the night before last with unimpeachable accuracy."

"Thank heaven!" said Miss Ocky. "I don't mean that I had any suspicion of him, but I'm glad if he has cleared himself in your eyes."

"He has, perfectly."

"I wish I knew what your plan of campaign is to be! You half promised to let me see just how a detective works, you know. What are you going to do first?"

"Suppose I don't know myself?" He paused to light her cigarette and one for himself, then added deliberately: "You can't always tell which way a detective will jump; they're worse'n cats."

"Oh!" cried Miss Ocky, and choked on a puff of smoke. "Eavesdropper!"

she gasped.

"I didn't go for to do it. But if you _will_ have these little intimate chats on a piazza without looking around the corner--! Now, you can tell me what it was all about."

"I'll tell you first that it's a mistake to take overheard remarks too seriously." Miss Ocky, recovered from smoke and emotion, smiled at the fire. "Once, when I was a little girl of seven, I got an awful scare that way--right in this very room, on a wild stormy night like this! I had come in to say good night to my father and mother, who were sitting before a fire as we are now. Just as I left the room, I heard my mother say to him, 'The old man is out to-night!' Unless you were a nervous, high-strung brat yourself, you can't imagine the effect of that on me. I crept off to bed shivering, and lay awake half the night. Every time the wind shook my windows, I pictured some monstrous, h.o.a.ry-headed creature trying to get in and gobble me up!"

She laughed a little. "It gives me a grue to think of it even yet. I discovered the explanation of the phrase the next day. Can you guess it?"

"No. Another local legend, perhaps?"

"Nothing half so thrilling." She pointed to a high shelf above the mantelpiece. "There is the answer!"

Creighton followed the direction of her finger and smiled. On the shelf stood one of those miniature Swiss chalets so popular in drawing-rooms a generation ago. Two little figurines, a young woman and an old man, operating on barometric principles, emerged from the front door in turn as the weather indications were fair or stormy. At this moment the old man was well out.

"Enough to scare any child to death," he admitted. "Now--"

"But tame when explained, like lots of overheard things. Once when I was staying with a Chinese family in Pekin--"

"Where did you get the idea," inquired Creighton mildly, "that I was fond of red-herring? As a matter-of-fact, I've always hated it."

"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky, and made a face at him. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"You are probably aware that I had a long talk with Bates this afternoon. He told me much that was interesting--but I'd like _your_ version of that conversation which you felt shouldn't be repeated to me."

"I wish I'd kept still about it," sighed Miss Ocky repentantly. "Now you'll probably magnify it out of all proportion. You see, I've known old Bates ever since I was a youngster, and we've always been good friends. He got in the habit years ago of bringing his troubles to me and talking them over--'blowing off steam,' he always called it! That was how we happened to have that talk a few days ago. Simon had been unusually querulous even for him--and he could be very trying at times.

Bates had suffered a long while in silence, and when he got a chance to air his grievance to me he--he blew off quite a lot of steam first and last! He chiefly resented Simon's att.i.tude toward Lucy, and I couldn't blame him there. One thing led to another, and that's how we came finally to agree that the world would be a brighter little planet if Simon no longer lived on it." Miss Ocky shrugged her shoulders. "The sort of thing that means nothing at the time but sounds like the very devil after a man is found murdered!"

"Yes, it does," answered Creighton gravely. "I had no idea you two had been contemplating the possible death of Simon Varr. That is not at all a pleasant bit of news."

"You--you had no idea! You had no--!" Miss Ocky sat up very straight.

"Didn't Bates tell you that?" she demanded crisply.

"No. He told me much, but he wouldn't tell me the subject of your conversation with him because he'd promised you he wouldn't. He was adamant. That's why I've had to get it out of you."

"Oh!" She slumped again into her chair. "You--you _creature_!"

"I know," he said apologetically. "But what's a man to do if people hold out on him?"

"I suppose," said Miss Ocky in a small voice, "this is a judgment on me for wondering how a detective works!"

"Possibly. Did he make any threats?"

"_No!_" said Miss Ocky.

"Um. Would you tell me if he did?"

"N-no," said the lady.

"It makes a fellow long for the days of the Spanish Inquisition," said Creighton, addressing the fireplace. He added darkly, "There are several persons around that I could enjoy putting on a cozy little rack!"

"It's no use being bloodthirsty," she informed him. "As for Bates--!

Oh, I do wish you'd stop getting ideas into your head!"

"I can't. It's the sort of head that gets 'em!"

"Well, I wish you'd draw the line at Bates! Why, I've known him all my life!"

"There is always some one to say that about any criminal. Always some one to say it isn't possible. The awful thing is, it is possible."

"But--Bates! How could any one a.s.sociate the idea of murder with that gentle, harmless old man? Ridiculous!"

"He was devoted to your father because Mr. Copley stood by him when he didn't know where to turn. He had been in trouble. Did you know that?"