rs. Withers. It brings in
further complications--hard ones for us."

CHAPTER XII

THE MAN WITH THE GOLD TOOTH

Mr. Fulton's arms trembled as he put his hands on the arms of a chair and
seated himself with the deliberateness of his years. In his face the
lines were still deep, and once or twice his mouth twisted as if with
actual pain, but there was in his eyes the flame of an indomitable will.
He was by no means a crushed and weak old man. Neither the terrific blow
of his daughter's death nor the reverses he had suffered in his business
affairs had broken him.

"What I have to say," he began, looking first at Braceway and then at
Bristow, "is not a pleasant story, but it has to be told."

His low-pitched, modulated voice was clear and without a tremor. His
glance at the two men gave them the impression that he paid them a
certain tribute.

"Both of you," he continued, "are gentlemen. Mr. Braceway, you're a
personal friend of my son-in-law. Mr. Bristow, I know you will respect my
confidence, in so far as it can be respected."

They both bowed assent. At the same moment the telephone rang. Bristow
excused himself and answered it. The chief of police was on the wire.

"It's all over!" his voice sounded jubilantly. "It's all over, and I want
you to congratulate me, congratulate me and yourself. It was quick work."

"What do you mean?" queried Bristow.

"The inquest is over. The coroner's jury found that Mrs. Withers came to
her death at the hands of Perry Carpenter."

"And you're satisfied?"

"Sure, I'm satisfied! We've found the guilty man, and he's under lock and
key. What more do I want? I'll tell you what, I'll be up to have dinner
with you in a little while. I invite myself," this with a chuckle. "You
and I will have a little celebration dinner. It is a go?"

"By all means. I'll be delighted to have you, and I want to hear all
about the inquest."

Bristow went back to the porch.

"That," he told them, "was a message from the chief of police. He says
the coroner's jury has held the negro, Perry Carpenter, for the crime."

Mr. Fulton moved forward in his chair, his hands clutching the arms of it
tightly.

"I'll never believe it, never!" he declared, evidently indignant.
"Nothing will ever persuade me that Enid, Mrs. Withers, met her death at
the hands of an ordinary negro burglar."

"What makes you so positive of that?" Bristow asked curiously.

"Because of what has happened in the past,"