woman’s necklace. She was a fury, Blanche Conway, capable of anything.”
“Then why did you countermand that message?” I asked curiously.
“When I got to the Carter house, and got to bed - I had sprained my ankle in the jump - I went through the alligator bag I had taken from lower nine. When I found your name, I sent the first message. Then, soon after, I came across the notes. It seemed too good to be true, and I was crazy for fear the message had gone.
“At first I was going to send them to Bronson; then I began to see what the possession of the notes meant to me. It meant power over Bronson, money, influence, everything. He was a devil, that man.”
“Well, he’s at home now,” said McKnight, and we were glad to laugh and relieve the tension.
Alison put her hand over her eyes, as if to shut out the sight of the man she had so nearly married, and I furtively touched one of the soft little curls that nestled at the back of her neck.
“When I was able to walk,” went on the sullen voice, “I came at once to Washington. I tried to sell the notes to Bronson, but he was almost at the end of his rope. Not even my threat to send them back to you, Mr. Blakeley, could make him meet my figure. He didn’t have the money.
McKnight was triumphant.
“I think you gentlemen will see reason in my theory now,” he said. “Mrs. Conway wanted the notes to force a legal marriage, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
The detective with the small package carefully rolled off the rubber band, and unwrapped it. I held my breath as he took out, first, the Russia leather wallet.
“These things, Mr. Blakeley, we found in the sealskin bag Mr. Sullivan says he left you. This wallet, Mr. Sullivan - is this the one you found on the floor of the car?”
Sullivan opened it, and, glancing at the name inside, “Simon Harrington,” nodded affirmatively.
“And this,” went on the detective - “this is a piece of gold chain?”
“It seems to be,” said Sullivan, recoiling at the blood-stained end.
“This, I believe, is the dagger.” He held it up, and Alison gave a faint cry of astonishment and dismay. Sullivan’s face grew ghastly, and he sat down weakly on the nearest chair.
The detective looked at him shrewdly, then at Alison’s agitated face.
“Where have you seen this dagger before, young lady?” he asked, kindly enough.
“Oh, don’t ask me!” she gasped breathlessly, her eyes turned on Sullivan. “It’s - it’s too terrible!”
“Tell him,” I advised, leaning over to her. “It will be found out later, anyhow.”
“Ask him,” she said, nodding toward Sullivan. The detective unwrapped the small box Alison had brought, disclosing the trampled necklace and broken chain. With clumsy fingers he spread it on the table and fitted into place the bit of chain. There could be no doubt that it belonged there.
“Where did you find that chain?” Sullivan asked hoarsely, looking for the first time at Alison.
“On the floor, near the murdered man’s berth.”
“Now, Mr. Sullivan,” said the detective civilly, “I believe you can tell us, in the light of these two exhibits, who really did murder Simon Harrington.”
Sullivan looked again at the dagger, a sharp little bit of steel with a Florentine handle. Then he picked up the locket and pressed a hidden spring under one of the cameos. Inside, very neatly engraved, was the name and a date.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his face ghastly, “it is of no use for me to attempt a denial. The dagger and necklace belonged to my sister, Alice Curtis!”
CHAPTER XXXI
AND ONLY ONE ARM
Hotchkiss was the first to break the tension.
‘Mr. Sullivan,” he asked suddenly, “was your sister left-handed?”
“Yes.”
Hotchkiss put away his notebook and looked around with an air of triumphant vindication. It gave us a chance to smile and look relieved. After all, Mrs. Curtis was dead. It was the happiest solution of the unhappy affair. McKnight brought Sullivan some whisky, and he braced up a little.
“I learned through the papers that my wife was in a Baltimore hospital, and yesterday I ventured there to see her. I felt if she would help me to keep straight, that now, with her father and my sister both dead, we might be happy together.
“I understand now what puzzled me then. It seemed that my sister went into the next car and tried to make my wife promise not to interfere. But Ida - Mrs. Sullivan - was firm, of course. She said her father had papers, certificates and so on, that would stop the marriage at once.
“She said, also, that her father was in our car, and that there would be the mischief to pay in the morning. It was probably when my sister tried to get the papers that he awakened, and she had to do - what she did.”
It was over. Save for a technicality or two, I was a free man. Alison rose quietly and prepared to go; the men stood to let her pass, save Sullivan who sat crouched in his chair, his face buried in his hands. Hotchkiss, who had been tapping the desk with his pencil, looked up abruptly and pointed the pencil at me.
“If all this is true, and I believe it is, - then who was in the house next door, Blakeley, the night you and Mr. Johnson searched? You remember, you said it was a woman’s hand at the trap door.”
