When a human being has run the gamut of horror and suffering in a short space of time his mind ceases to be affected by further sensations. At any other time I should have been appalled that Mr. Trenton could even for a moment believe his daughter guilty. As it was, I merely accepted his words as one more link in the chain of evidence against her.

"My boy," he said humbly, "I know that you have held me responsible for your misfortunes. And you are perfectly right to feel so. I, and I alone, am to blame for all that has happened."

He paused to wipe the moisture that had gathered on his forehead, showing what an effort he was making to control his emotion.

"But if I am to blame in spoiling the boy, I have been punished beyond my due. You do not know, I hope you may never know the anguish, the torture, the awful horror, of learning that the being you have worshipped and adored is worthless clay, a—a common murderer! I was frantic, crazy, and to save my boy I sacrificed my girl. And now, and now—" He broke off with a sob and buried his head in his hands.

"Mr. Trenton, don't. I'll stake my life that Ruth is innocent." I held out my hand, touched as I had thought I no longer possessed the power to be touched by his sorrow. Certainly if I had suffered, he had been in hell.

"My boy, you give me new life," he said, raising his head and taking my hand. "I do not deserve your forgiveness."

"It's all behind us, Mr. Trenton, and can't be undone. The task before us is to free Ruth. We will work together toward that end," I answered.

He was silent a moment, evidently pondering mentally some question, then he said with the air of one who has arrived at a decision by which he will abide whatever comes, "And the first step is to show you something that I had hoped not to reveal. The very day of the murder I received a letter from Dick stating—but you had better read it yourself."

He took from his wallet a single sheet of notepaper which he handed me. It was dated from Chicago two days before the murder and written in Dick's unmistakable flowing hand.

"Dear Dad," it began.

"Philip Darwin has persecuted the Trenton family for the last time. I have a weapon to use against him which will free Ruth and myself from the bondage we are in to that cur. I am leaving for the East to-morrow and when my task is completed, I shall call upon you at Tarrytown.

"Your repentant son,

"Dick."

When I finished reading I looked across at Mr. Trenton, wondering if to him too had occurred the thought which possessed me. Could the weapon be murder and the answer to the problem the fact that Ruth was shielding her brother again? Then I shook my head.

"If Dick was in the study how did he get away without my seeing him?" I said aloud. "He couldn't vanish into thin air."

"Carlton!" The word was a cry. "No, no, he would not dare again!"

"What did he mean by weapon then?" I inquired bluntly.

"Not—not murder! I could not bear that! No. I am sure he meant that he had learned that Philip Darwin was his uncle," he said low.

"His uncle!" I gasped, horrified.

"Yes, his uncle. But not Ruth's, Carlton! No, no, she was no relation to him," he reassured me quickly.

My head began to whirl. Affairs were growing too complicated for me. "I don't understand what you are talking about," I returned wearily.

"I'll explain. It all happened so very long ago that I never mention it, but the fact is that two years after Ruth's mother died I married Philip Darwin's sister."

"Darwin knew then that Dick was his nephew?" I asked when he paused.

"No. No one knows it except myself. Philip Darwin could not have been more than ten or so at the time, and I doubt if he remembers that he ever had a sister. You see when I met her I had no idea who she was, for she was acting under an assumed name. She had been on the stage six months and was heartily sick of it when I was introduced to her. We fell in love with each other and before the wedding she confided her story to me.

"Her father, Frank Darwin, was a stern, unyielding, puritanical man, who had no use for what he called the lure of the world. On the other hand, Leila was just eighteen, beautiful, proud, wilful. She had read of the wonders of the stage and when her father opposed her desire to become an actress she ran away from home. When he learned that she had actually joined a theatrical company, he disinherited her and refused to have anything further to do with her, forbidding his two sons, Robert, who became Lee's father, and Philip, from ever mentioning her name or seeing her again. She died when Dick was born, poor little girl, more than twenty-five years ago, and I think I had almost forgotten the relationship. A quarter century is more than ample time to erase a memory," he ended with a sigh.

I was silent for a while and then asked him why he had not told Philip Darwin that Dick was his nephew, thus avoiding all the dire consequences which had followed Darwin's threat of exposure.

"Because it would have made no difference to him at all," answered Mr. Trenton. "He wanted Ruth and if she had refused him he would have revenged himself by exposing Dick, knowing that we would suffer far more than he. Besides, he would have demanded proofs. I had none which I could give him."

"What about family resemblance?"

Mr. Trenton shook his head. "They are both dark and about the same build. That is as far as the resemblance goes, and that's no proof, for Ruth is dark, too."

"And you really think that Dick—"

"Yes, I do. I believe that in some way the boy learned that he was Darwin's nephew and hoped to use the knowledge to force Darwin to divorce Ruth," he interrupted.

This time it was I that disagreed. "But you said yourself that the knowledge would cut no ice with Darwin," I said, impatiently.

"But Dick wouldn't know that. He is young and to him it would seem only natural that an uncle should desire to shield his nephew. The husband bound to secrecy to preserve his good name would be unable to fight proceedings if Ruth brought suit for divorce against him. At any rate, that is how I read it."

I did not like to say so, and thus shatter his fool's paradise, for he was entitled to any consolation which he could draw from his deductions. To me, however, there were two flaws in his reasoning. In the first place, if Mr. Trenton was the only one who knew his wife's identity and he had almost forgotten it, how in the name of all the gods had Dick learned it? And in the second place, I was firmly convinced that Mr. Richard Trenton stood in no ignorance of Mr. Philip Darwin's true character and would be under no delusions as to the exact reception such knowledge would receive.

No, Dick had some other weapon in mind, and the only one which would free both himself and Ruth at one stroke was the death of Philip Darwin. Dick had killed a man once under less provocation. What was to prevent his repeating the act when he realized the injustice that had been done Ruth in forcing her to marry such a man? But in that event why had he not come forward to free Ruth from jail? Surely he had not sunk so low that he would permit her to pay the extreme penalty for his act. It's true that she was allowed to shield him once, but I very much doubt whether Dick knew anything of it until after the wedding when his coming forward would certainly have created a terrible scandal without in the least bettering conditions for Ruth.

Besides, the whole thing was illogical. If Dick killed Darwin to free Ruth, it was ridiculous to suppose that he would then run away and leave her to face the consequences. I was more inclined to believe that the boy had discovered some counter-knowledge which would buy his freedom from exposure. He had been in New York the day of the murder, or should have been, according to his letter. Why then did he remain in hiding, or had he returned to Chicago without making use of his "weapon" when he learned that Darwin was dead? On the other hand, that would also be a senseless proceeding, for Darwin dead, he, Dick, had nothing further to fear.

The whole affair was a muddle and growing more complicated at every turn, and I heartily wished that Dick would show up to settle all doubts on his score at least.

As if in answer to my thought, the phone in the hall rang sharply and Jenkins appeared to announce that Headquarters would like to speak with me. I sighed. What new evidence had they discovered now, I thought savagely, and my "hello" must have sounded like a roar in the Inspector's ear.

When he was through explaining I leaned limply against the wall and wiped my forehead with a trembling hand.

"Jenkins!" I said hoarsely. "Ask him if—if—it's really true!"

Jenkins took the receiver from my nerveless hand and spoke into the phone. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him, yes, sir." He rang off and turned to me, his long face graver than ever.

"He says there is no mistake, sir. And he'd be obliged if you and Mr. Trenton would receive Detective Jones and give him all necessary information, sir."

"Would you tell him—now?" I asked dully.

"It would be far kinder, sir," answered Jenkins. "I'm very sorry, sir."

I went slowly back into the library wondering how best to break the news to Mr. Trenton. My face must have told him much, for he sprang toward me with a sharp exclamation.

"Dick!" he cried. "You have news of Dick?"

I nodded, for I was unable to speak.

"Don't keep me in suspense, Carlton! What is it? Have they—" Then he turned away and sought a chair. "You need not tell me," he said very quietly. "I know that he is dead."

"Yes." I found my voice, but I hardly knew it for my own. "Yes, he—he drowned himself in the East River early this morning!"