does not raise
her veil. Why, it is the typical mysterious lady! Then the good doctor
comes across Arnold Armstrong, who was a graceless scamp--de
mortuis--what's the rest of it?--and he is quarreling with a lady in
black. Behold, says the doctor, they are one and the same."

"Why was Mr. Bailey not present at the inquest?"

The detective's expression was peculiar.

"Because his physician testified that he is ill, and unable to leave
his bed."

"Ill!" I exclaimed. "Why, neither Halsey nor Gertrude has told me
that."

"There are more things than that, Miss Innes, that are puzzling. Bailey
gives the impression that he knew nothing of the crash at the bank
until he read it in the paper Monday night, and that he went back and
surrendered himself immediately. I do not believe it. Jonas, the
watchman at the Traders' Bank, tells a different story. He says that
on the Thursday night before, about eight-thirty, Bailey went back to
the bank. Jonas admitted him, and he says the cashier was in a state
almost of collapse. Bailey worked until midnight, then he closed the
vault and went away. The occurrence was so unusual that the watchman
pondered over it an the rest of the night. What did Bailey do when he
went back to the Knickerbocker apartments that night? He packed a
suit-case ready for instant departure. But he held off too long; he
waited for something. My personal opinion is that he waited to see
Miss Gertrude before flying from the country. Then, when he had shot
down Arnold Armstrong that night, he had to choose between two evils.
He did the thing that would immediately turn public opinion in his
favor, and surrendered himself, as an innocent man. The strongest
thing against him is his preparation for flight, and his deciding to
come back after the murder of Arnold Armstrong. He was shrewd enough
to disarm suspicion as to the graver charge?"

The evening dragged along slowly. Mrs. Watson came to my bedroom
before I went to bed and asked if I had any arnica. She showed me a
badly swollen hand, with reddish streaks running toward the elbow; she
said it was the hand she had hurt the night of the murder a week
before, and that she had not slept well since. It looked to me as if
it might be serious, and I told her to let Doctor Stewart see it.

The next morning Mrs. Watson went up to town on the eleven train, and
was admitted to the Charity Hospital. She was suffering from
blood-poisoning. I fully mea