ed it.

And why should Morley, wearing the disguise, have waked up Roddy and
assured himself, by the look flung over his shoulder, that the negro saw
him on the stairs?

Or had that been Morley, after all? What reason, what motive----

Suddenly, with the abruptness of a horse thrown back on his haunches, he
stood stock still in the middle of the room, his brilliant eyes staring
at the wall, his breathing faster than ever, as he considered the idea
that had flashed upon him. The idea grew into a theory. It had never
occurred to him before, and yet it was right. It must be. He had it! For
the first time, he felt sure of himself, was convinced that he held a
safe grasp on the case.

He strode to the window and struck the sill with his fist. The tenseness
went out of his body. He breathed a long sigh of relief. He had seen
through the mist of puzzling facts and contradictory clues. The rest
would be comparatively plain sailing.

Some of Braceway's friends were in the habit of laughing at him because,
when he was sure of having solved a criminal puzzle, he always could
be seen carrying a cane. The appearance of the cane invariably foretold
the arrest of a guilty man.

He went now to the corner near the bureau and picked up the light
walking-stick he had brought to Furmville strapped to his suitcase. He
lingered, twirling the cane in his right hand. His thoughts went to the
interview he and Bristow had had that morning with Fulton, whose white
hair and deep-lined face were very clear before him. He recalled the old
man's words:

"She wept bitterly. I can hear her weeping now. She had a dash, a spirit,
a joyous soul. This man none of you has been able to find has been in
Enid's life for a good many years."

Braceway's eyes softened.

Well, there was no need to worry now. Things were coming his way. The old
man would have his revenge. He put on his hat, deciding to go down for a
late lunch. When he looked at his watch, he whistled. He had promised to
be at the railroad station to see the funeral party off for Atlanta on
the four o'clock train; and it was now half-past three. He hurried out.

For the first time in his life, he had been guilty of taking a course
which might lead to serious results, or to no results at all. He had
permitted personal considerations to make "blind spots" in his brain.

Because of a warm friendship for George Withers, he had rushed to
conclusions which took no account of the dead woman's