ng. But in the
cold logic of the law and the chain of circumstantial evidence they
plainly saw that every statement, even that of Stuyvesant himself, bore
heavily against him. A lawyer, had he been represented by counsel, would
have permitted no such admissions as he had made. A gentleman,
unschooled in the law, preferred the frank admission to the distress of
seeing Mrs. Brent--and perhaps others--called into that presence to
testify to his having had the pistol with him when he left the gallery.

Brent in his bewilderment had blurted out his wife's words in the
hearing of the provost-marshal's people late the night before, and he
and his household were yet to be called, and when called would have to
say that though they passed and possibly repassed through the salon
between the moment of Stuyvesant's departure and that of their going out
to dinner, not one of their number noticed even so bright and gleaming
an object as Maidie's revolver. True, the lights were not brilliant in
the salon. True, the little table stood back against the wall five or
six feet from the door-way. Still, that pistol was a prominent object,
and a man must have been in extraordinary haste indeed to leave a loaded
weapon "lying round loose" in the hall.

That was the way "Thinking Bayonets" argued it, and soldiers by the
score crowding the sidewalk and entrance and unable to force their way
in, or even to make room for a most importunate female struggling on the
outskirts, hung on the words of an orderly who, despatched in further
search of Lieutenant Ray, was forcing a way out.

"How is it going?" said he. "Why, that young feller's just as good as
hanging himself. He admits having had the pistol that did the business."

Ten minutes later a Filipino servant went to answer an imperative rap at
the panel in the massive door of No. 199 Calle San Luis. Dr. Frank had
been early to see his patient, and had enjoined upon Mrs. Brent and Miss
Porter silence as to last night's tragedy. Not until she was stronger
was Miss Ray to be allowed to know of the murder of Private Benton. "By
that time," said he, "we shall be able to clear up this--mystery--I
_hope_."

The colonel had gone round to the police-station. Mrs. Brent, nervous
and unhappy, had just slipped out for ten seconds, as she said to Miss
Porter, to see an old army chum and friend who lived only three doors
away. Miss Porter, who had been awake hours of the night, had finally
succeeded, as s