d
hold of the mantelpiece to steady himself. He had caught himself
seriously wondering if she had rocked him years ago.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE INVESTMENT.

It seemed to Henry that he had just dozed off to sleep when he was
startled by a loud knock at the door.

"Henry, Henry!" It was Witherspoon's voice.

"Yes."

"Get up, quick! Old man Colton is murdered."

When he went down-stairs he found the household in confusion. Every
one on the place had been aroused. The servants were whispering in the
hall. Witherspoon was waiting for him.

"A messenger has just brought the news. Come, we must go over there.
The carriage is waiting."

It was two o'clock. A fierce and cutting wind swept across the
lake--the icy breath of a dying year. Not a word was spoken as the
carriage sped along. At the door of Colton's home Witherspoon and
Henry were confronted by a policeman.

"My orders are to let no one in," said the officer.

"I am George Witherspoon."

The policeman stepped aside. Brooks met them in the hall. He said
nothing, but took Witherspoon's hand. The place was thronged with
police officers and reporters.

Adjoining Colton's sleeping-apartment, on the second floor, was a
small room with a window looking out on the back yard, and with one
door opening from the hall. In this room, let partly into the wall,
was an iron safe in which the old man kept "the little money" that he
had decided to invest in real estate. The window was protected by
upright iron bars. At night, a gas-jet, turned low, threw dismal
shadows about the room, and it was the old man's habit to light the
gas at bed-time and to turn it off the first thing at morning. He had
lighted the gas shortly after returning from Witherspoon's house and
had gone to bed, and it must have been about one o'clock when the
household was startled by the report of a pistol. Brooks and his wife,
whose room was on the same floor, ran into the old man's room. The
place was dark, but a bright light burned in the vault-room. Into this
room they ran, and there, lying on the floor, with money scattered
about him, was the old man, bloody and dead, with a bullet-hole in his
breast. But where was Mrs. Colton? They hastened back to her room and
struck a light. The old woman lay across the bed, unable to
move--paralyzed.

The first discovery made by the police was that the iron bars at the
window, four in number, had been sawed in two; and then followed
another discove