“Gryce!—that man!” exclaimed Mr. Ferris, astounded.
“Yes, sir. He was in disguise, probably for some purpose of his own, but I knew his eye. Gryce’s eye isn’t to be mistaken by anyone who has much to do with him.”
“And that famous detective was actually on the spot at the time this murder was discovered, and you let him go without warning me of his presence?”
“Sir,” returned Mr. Byrd, “neither you nor I nor anyone at that time could foresee what a serious and complicated case this was going to be. Besides, he did not linger in this vicinity, but took the cars only a few minutes after he parted from us. I did not think he wanted to be dragged into this affair unless it was necessary. He had important matters of his own to look after. However, if suspicion had continued to follow him, I should have notified him of the fact, and let him speak for himself. But it vanished so quickly in the light of other developments, I just let the matter drop.”
The impatient frown with which Mr. Ferris received this acknowledgment showed he was not pleased.
“I think you made a mistake,” said he. Then, after a minute’s thought, added: “You have seen Gryce since?”
“Yes, sir; several times.”
“And he acknowledged himself to have been the humpback?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must have had some conversation with him, then, about this murder? He was too nearly concerned in it not to take some interest in the affair?”
“Yes, sir; Gryce takes an interest in all murder cases.”
“Well, then, what did he have to say about this one? He gave an opinion, I suppose?”
“No, sir. Gryce never gives an opinion without study, and we detectives have no time to study up an affair not our own. If you want to know what Gryce thinks about a crime, you have got to put the case into his hands.”
Mr. Ferris paused and seemed to ruminate. Seeing this, Mr. Byrd flushed and cast a side glance at Hickory, who returned him an expressive shrug.
“Mr. Ferris,” ventured the former, “if you wish to consult with Mr. Gryce on this matter, do not hesitate because of us. Both Hickory and myself acknowledge we are more or less baffled by this case, and Gryce’s judgment is a good thing to have in a perplexity.”
“You think so?” queried the District Attorney.
“I do,” said Byrd.
Mr. Ferris glanced at Hickory.
“Oh, have the old man here if you want him,” was that detective’s blunt reply. “I have nothing to say against your getting all the light you can on this affair.”
“Very good,” returned Mr. Ferris. “You may give me his address before you go.”
“His address for tonight is Utica,” observed Byrd. “He could be here before morning, if you wanted him.”
“I am in no such hurry as that,” returned Mr. Ferris, and he sank again into thought.
The detectives took advantage of his abstraction to utter a few private condolences in each other’s ears.
“So it seems we are to be laid on the shelf,” whispered Hickory.
“Yes, for which let us be thankful,” answered Byrd.
“Why? Are you getting tired of the affair?”
“Yes.”
A humorous twinkle shone for a minute in Hickory’s eye.
“Pooh!” said he, “it’s just getting interesting.”
“Opinions differ,” quoth Byrd.
“Not much,” retorted Hickory.
Something in the way he said this made Byrd look at him more intently. He instantly changed his tone.
“Old fellow,” said he, “you don’t believe Miss Dare committed this crime any more than I do.”
A sly twinkle answered him from the detective’s half-shut eye.
“All that talk of having seen through your disguise in the hut is just nonsense on your part to cover up your real notion about it. What is that notion, Hickory? Come, out with it; let us understand each other thoroughly at last.”
“Do I understand you?”
“You shall, when you tell me just what your convictions are in this matter.”
“Well, then,” replied Hickory, with a short glance at Mr. Ferris, “I believe (it’s hard as pulling teeth to own it) that neither of them did it: that she thought him guilty and he thought her so, but that in reality the crime lies at the door of some third party totally disconnected with either of them.”
“Such as Gouverneur Hildreth?” whispered Byrd.
“Such—as—Gouverneur Hildreth,” drawled Hickory.
The two detectives eyed each other, smiled, and turned with relieved countenances toward the District Attorney. He was looking at them with great earnestness.
“That is your joint opinion?” he remarked.
“It is mine,” cried Hickory, bringing his fist down on the table with a vim that made every individual article on it jump.
“It is and it is not mine,” acquiesced Byrd, as the eye of Mr. Ferris turned in his direction. “Mr. Mansell may be innocent—indeed, after hearing Hickory’s explanation of his conduct, I am ready to believe he is—but to say that Gouverneur Hildreth is guilty comes hard to me after the long struggle I have maintained in favor of his innocence. Yet, what other conclusion remains after an impartial view of the subject? None. Then why should I shrink from acknowledging I was at fault, or hesitate to admit a defeat where so many causes combined to mislead me?”
“Which means you agree with Hickory?” ventured the District Attorney.
Mr. Byrd slowly bowed.
Mr. Ferris continued for a moment looking alternately from one to the other; then he observed:
“When two such men unite in an opinion, it is at least worthy of consideration.” And, rising, he took on an aspect of sudden determination. “Whatever may be the truth in regard to this matter,” said
