after all."

CHAPTER V

"How did I come to suspect the girl?" said Cleek, answering
Narkom's query, as they swung off through the darkness in the red
limousine, leaving Edgburn and his confederates in the hands of
the police. "Well, as a matter of fact, I did not suspect her at
all, in the beginning--her saintly reputation saved her from any
such thing as that. It was only when her father came in that I
knew. And later, I knew even better--when I saw that pretended
imbecile sitting there in that room; for the blundering fool had been
ass enough to kick off his slippers and sit there in his stocking
feet, and I spotted the Alvarez foot on the instant. Still, I
didn't know but what the girl herself might be an innocent victim--a
sort of dove in a vulture's nest--and it was not until I found that
scrap of wood from a sharpened lead pencil that I began to doubt
her. It was only when I promised that Barrington-Edwards should be
trapped, that I actually knew. The light that flamed in her eyes in
spite of her at that would have made an idiot understand. What's
that? What should I suspect from the finding of that scrap of
pencil? My dear Mr. Narkom, carry your mind back to that moment
when I found the stain on poor Jim Peabody's thumb, and then examined
the blade of his pocket knife. The marks on the latter showed
clearly that the man had sharpened a pencil with it--and, of
course, with the point of that pencil against the top of his
thumb. By the peculiar bronze-like shine of the streaks, and the
small particles of dust adhering to the knife blade, I felt persuaded
that the pencil was an indelible one--in short, one of those
which write a faint, blackish-lilac hue which, on the application
of moisture, turns to a vivid and indelible purple. The moisture
induced by the act of thrusting his forefingers up his nostrils to
allay the horrible sensation of the brain descending, which that
hellish powder produces, together with the perspiration which comes
with intense agony, had made such a change in the smears his thumb
and forefinger bore, and left no room for doubt that at the time he
was smitten he had either just begun or just concluded writing
something with an indelible pencil which he had but recently
sharpened. Poor wretch! he of all the lot had some one belonging
to him that was still living--his poor old mother. It is very fair to
suppose that, finding the Alvarez place so lavishly furnished, and
having hope