d. She
put new and accurate meaning into facts time and time again, speaking
with the particularity and vividness of an eye-witness.

"Now," she said, having reconstructed the crime and described the
subsequent behaviour of the tragedy's principal actors; "now who's
guilty?"

"Exactly," echoed Crown, with a click in his throat. "Who's guilty?
What's your theory?"

She was silent, eyes downcast, her hands smoothing the black, much-worn
skirt over her lean knees. Recital of the gruesome story, the death of
her only child, had left her unmoved, had not quickened her breathing.

"In telling you that," she resumed, her restless eyes striking his at
rapid intervals, "I think I'll put you in a position to get the right
man--if you'll act."

"Oh, I'll act!" he declared, largely. "Don't bother your head about
that!"

"Of course, it's only a theory----"

"Yes; I know! And I'll keep it to myself."

"Very well. Arthur Sloane is prostrated, can't be interviewed. He can't
be interviewed, for the simple reason that he's afraid he'll tell what
he knows. Why is he afraid of that? Because he knows too much, for his
own comfort, and too much for his daughter's comfort. How does he know
it? Because he saw enough night before last to leave him sure of the
murderer's identity.

"He was the man who turned on the light, showing Webster and Judge
Wilton bending over Mildred's body. It occurred at a time when usually
he is in his first sound sleep--from bromides. Something must have
happened to awake him, an outcry, something. And yet, he says he didn't
see them--Wilton and Webster."

"By gravy!" exclaimed the sheriff, awe-struck.

"Either," she continued, "Arthur Sloane saw the murder done, or he
looked out in time to see who the murderer was. The facts substantiate
that. They are corroborated by his subsequent behaviour. Immediately
after the murder he was in a condition that couldn't be explained by
the mere fact that he's a sufferer from chronic nervousness. When
Hastings asked him to take a handkerchief, he would have fallen to the
ground but for the judge's help. He couldn't hold an electric torch.
And, ever since, he's been in bed, afraid to talk. Why, he even refused
to talk to Hastings, the man he's retained for the family's protection!"

"He did, did he! How do you know that, Mrs. Brace?"

"Isn't it enough that I know it--or advance it as a theory?"

"Did--I thought, possibly, Jarvis, the valet, told you."

She igno