y
suspicion; but the more I put it from me as impossible, the surer I
became that at last I had stumbled on a clue. Automatically, I began
adjusting the evidence to fit this new theory, and reluctant as I was to
see it, every circumstance from the beginning fitted it perfectly.

Jeff had returned secretly to the neighborhood, had taken up his abode
in the old negro cabins and made his presence known only to Mose. Mose
had stolen the chicken for him, and the various other missing articles.
They had resurrected the ha'nt to frighten the negroes away from the
laurel walk, and the night of the party Rad, in his masquerade, had
accidentally discovered his brother. Jeff demanded money, and Rad
undertook to supply it in order to get him away without his father's
knowing. That was why he had borrowed the hundred dollars from me, and
had written to his brokers to sell the bonds. It was Jeff who was
sitting beside Radnor the night they drove across the lawn. But unknown
to Rad, Jeff had found his way back and had robbed the safe, and Rad
suspecting it, had refused to make an investigation.

During the eleven days that intervened between the robbery and the
murder Jeff had still been hiding in the vicinity--possibly in the
neighborhood of Luray, certainly no longer in the cabins, for he had no
desire to meet his brother.

But on the day of the picnic they had met and quarreled. Rad had charged
him with the robbery and they had parted in a high state of anger. This
would explain Rad's actions in the hotel, his white face later when I
found him in the summer house. And Jeff, still quivering from the boy's
accusation, had gone back into the cave and met his father as the old
man was coming from the little gallery of the broken column with Polly
Mathers's coat. What had happened there I did not like to consider; they
both had uncontrolled tempers, and in the past there had been wrongs on
both sides. Probably Jeff's blow had been harder than he meant.

In the evening when Mattison and I brought the news of the murder, Rad
must have known instantly who was the real culprit. That was why he had
kept silent; that was why he so vehemently insisted on Mose's innocence.
I had found the light at last--though the darkness had been almost
better.

What must I do? I asked myself. Was it my duty to search out Jefferson
and convict him of this crime? No one could tell what provocation he may
have had. Why not let matters take their course? Th