“He will be able to tell us if anything has been disturbed, no doubt,” remarked Stillman.
Then he examined the body minutely. In the pockets were found a wallet containing a large sum of money, a massive, old-fashioned gold watch with a chain running from pocket to pocket of the waistcoat. Upon the little finger of Hume’s left hand was a magnificent diamond.
“Worth two thousand if it’s worth a cent,” appraised Osborne.
“If the criminal had meant robbery these things would unquestionably have been taken,” commented the young coroner. “Eh, Curran?”
“That is a very safe rule to go by, Mr. Stillman,” replied his assistant, with the utmost stolidity.
Through his big lenses the coroner gazed curiously at the bronze haft protruding from the dead man’s chest.
“A bayonet,” said he. “Not a common weapon in a crime like this. In fact, I should say it was rather in the nature of an innovation.”
“It probably belonged in Hume’s stock,” suggested Osborne. “There seems to be about everything here.”
But Stillman shook his head.
“We have already about concluded that the intention of the criminal was not robbery,” stated he. “And now, if we make up our minds that the bayonet belonged to Hume—that the assassin, in point of fact, came here without a weapon—it must be that he did not intend murder either.”
“Maybe he didn’t,” ventured Osborne. “There might have been a sudden quarrel. The person who struck that blow may have grabbed up the first competent looking thing that came to his hand.”
Stillman turned to Ashton-Kirk.
“That sounds reasonable enough, eh?”
“Very much so,” replied Ashton-Kirk.
“A bayonet is a most unusual weapon,” said the coroner thoughtfully, readjusting his glasses. “And I think it would be a most awkward thing to carry around with one. Therefore, it would be a most unlikely choice for an intending assassin. I am of the opinion,” nervously, “that we may safely say that it was a sudden quarrel which ended in this,” and he gestured with both hands toward the body.
The safe doors were tried and found locked; a cash register was opened and found to contain what had been apparently the receipts of the day before. An examination of the cabinets and cases disclosed hundreds of ancient coins and other articles the value of which must have been heavy. But their orderly array had not been disturbed. A long curtain of faded green material hung from the wall at one side, as though to screen something from the sunlight and dust.
“What have we here?” said the coroner.
He stepped across the store and whisked the curtain aside. A large gilt frame was disclosed; and from it hung the slashed remains of a canvas.
“Hello!” exclaimed Osborne, with interest. “This begins to look like one of the old affairs that they say Hume’s been mixed up in. Somebody’s tried to cut that picture from the frame.”
They examined it carefully. A keen knife had been run around the top and both sides, close to the frame. The painting hung down, its gray back displayed forlornly.
Stillman regarded it with great satisfaction.
“Here,” said he, “we at least have a possible motive.”
Ashton-Kirk took a twisted walking stick from a rack, and with the end of it, raised the slashed canvas so that its subject could be seen. It was a heroic equestrian figure of an officer of the American Revolution. His sword was drawn; his face shone with the light of battle.
Pendleton was just about to cry out “General Wayne,” when the stick fell from his friend’s hand, the canvas dropping to its former position. While the others were trying to get it into place once more, Ashton-Kirk whispered to Pendleton:
“Say nothing. This is their turn; let them work in their own way. I will begin where they have finished.”
After a little time spent in a gratified inspection of the painting, Stillman said:
“But, gentlemen, let us have a look at the other rooms. There may be something more.”
They repassed through the store room and into the living room. Nothing here took the coroner’s attention, and they entered the bedroom. Both these last had doors leading into the hall; upon their being tried they were found to be locked.
The smashed pictures upon the bedroom floor at once took the eye of Stillman. He regarded the broken places in the plaster and prodded the slivers of wood and glass with the toe of his shoe with much complacency.
“This completes the story,” declared he. “It is now plain from end to end. The criminal entered the building from the roof, made his way downstairs and gained admittance through the door which the scrubwoman found unlocked. His purpose was to steal the painting in the front room.
“In a struggle with Hume, who unexpectedly came upon him, the intruder killed him. Not knowing the exact location of the picture he wanted, he first looked for it here. The light probably being bad he tore down every picture he could reach in order to get a better view of it. When, at last, he had found the desired work, he set about cutting it from its frame. But, before he had finished, something alarmed him, and he fled without the prize.”
The stolid man listened to this with marked approval. Even Osborne reluctantly whispered to Pendleton:
“He’s doped it out. I didn’t think it was in him.”
After a little more, the coroner said to his clerk:
“I think that is about all. Curran, see to it that the postmortem is not delayed. Put a couple of our men on the case, have them make extensive inquiries in the neighborhood. Any persons who appear to possess information may be brought to my office at . Especially I desire to see this Mrs. Dwyer, Berg, who keeps the store on the ground floor and the young man who was employed by Hume. I’ll empanel a jury later.” He took off his eyeglasses,
