The major
was the first to speak. Addressing the district attorney, he
remarked: "This will strengthen your case very materially. We
have proof now that Mrs. Jeffrey's death was actually determined
upon. If Miss Tuttle had not shot her, he would. I wonder if it
was a relief to him on reaching his door to find that the deed
was done."

I could not suppress my surprise.

"Miss Tuttle!" I repeated. "Is it so unmistakably evident that
Mr. Jeffrey did not get to the Moore house in time to do the
shooting himself?"

The major gave me a quick look.

"I thought you considered Miss Tuttle the guilty one."

I felt that the time had come to show my colors.

"I have changed my mind," said I. "I can give you no good reason
for this; something in the woman herself, I suppose. She does not
look nor act like a criminal. While not desirous of raising myself
in opposition to the judgment of those so greatly my superior in
all respects, I have had this feeling, and I am courageous enough
to avow it. And yet, if Mr. Jeffrey could not have left the
cemetery gates and reached the Moore house in time to fulfil all
the conditions of this tragedy, the case does look black against
the woman. She admits to having been there when the pistol was
fired, unless--"

"Unless what? You have something new to tell us. That I have seen
ever since you entered the room. What is it?"

I cast a glance at the door. Should I be able to finish my story
before Durbin returned? I thought it possible, and, though still
upset by this new evidence, which I could now see was not entirely
in Miss Tuttle's favor, I spoke up with what spirit I might.

"I have just come from spending another night in the Moore house.
All the efforts heretofore made to exhaust its secrets have been
founded upon a theory that has brought us nowhere. I had another
in mind, and I was anxious to test it before resting from all
further attempt to solve this riddle. And it has not failed me.
By pursuing a clue apparently so trivial that I allowed it to go
neglected for weeks, I have come upon the key to the many mysterious
crimes which have defiled the library hearthstone. And where do
you think it lies? Not in the hearthstone itself and not in the
floor under the settle; not, in fact, in the library at all, but
in the picture hanging upstairs in the southwest chamber."

"The picture! that faded-out sketch, fit only for the garret?"

"Yes. To you and to most