red that.

"Now, as to the daughter of the house. There was only one possible
reason for Lucille Sloane's hiring Hastings: she was afraid somebody in
the house, Webster, of course, would be arrested. Being in love with
him, she never would have suspected him unless there had been concrete,
undeniable evidence of his guilt. Do you grasp that reasoning?"

"Sure, I do!" Mr. Crown condemned himself. "What I'm wondering is why I
didn't see it long ago."

"She, too, you recall, was looking out of a window--on that side of the
house--scarcely fifteen yards from where the crime was done. It's not
hard to believe that she saw what her father saw: the murder or the
murderer.

"Mr. Crown, if you can make her or her father talk, you'll get the truth
of this thing, the truth and the murderer.

"And look at Judge Wilton's part. You asked me why I went to his office
this morning. I went because I'm sure he knows the truth. Didn't he stay
right at Webster's side when old Hastings interviewed Webster yesterday?
Why? To keep Webster from letting out, in his panic, a secret which both
of them knew."

The sheriff's admiration by this time was boundless. He felt driven to
give it expression.

"Mrs. Brace, you're a loo-loo! A loo-loo, by gravy! Sure, that was his
reason. He couldn't have had any other!"

"As for Webster himself," she carried on her exposition, without
emotion, without the slightest recognition of her pupil's praise, "he
proves the correctness of everything we've said, so far. That secret
which the judge feared he would reveal, that secret which old Hastings
was blundering after--that secret, Mr. Crown, was such a danger to him
that, to escape the questioning of even stupid old Hastings, he could do
nothing but crumple up on the floor and feign illness, prostration. Why,
don't you see, he was afraid to talk!"

"Everything you say hits the mark!" agreed Crown, smiling happily.
"Centre-shots! Centre-shots! You've been right from the very beginning.
You tried to tell me all this yesterday morning, and, fool that I
was--fool that Hastings was!" He switched to a summary of what she had
put into his mind: "It's right! Webster killed her, and Sloane and his
daughter saw him at it. Even Wilton knows it--and he a judge! It seems
impossible. By gravy! he ought to be impeached."

A new idea struck him. Mrs. Brace, imperturbable, exhibiting no elation,
was watching him closely. She saw his sudden change of countenance. He
ha