“AND so that was his end!” Eleanor drew a long, shuddering breath. “Poor Uncle Dana! Douglas, do you really think he was guilty?”

“I’m afraid so,” sorrowfully. “The very fact that he was trying to escape proves it; otherwise he would have stayed here and faced an investigation.”

“It’s dreadful, dreadful!” moaned Eleanor. “And almost unbelievable. A traitor! A murderer! But”—checking herself—“that last hasn’t been proved.”

“That’s Brett’s voice,” exclaimed Douglas, springing from his chair and crossing to the hall door. “Come in, Brett; Miss Thornton and I are sitting in the library.”

The detective gave his hat and light overcoat to Nicodemus and followed Douglas back into the room, first closing the door carefully behind him.

“Has Captain Lane been here yet?” he inquired.

“Yes, he came over at once on being released. Mrs. Truxton took him upstairs to see Cynthia, who is rapidly improving, now that the mystery of Senator Carew’s death is solved and Fred cleared of any complicity in it,” explained Eleanor.

“Then would you mind asking Captain Lane to come down, Miss Thornton? I have several pieces of news which I must tell you, and I think his presence is necessary.” Eleanor looked at him questioningly, and he added hastily, “He won’t be involved in any further trouble.”

“What tragedies have happened since I reached this house twenty-four hours ago,” exclaimed Douglas, pacing the room restlessly. “Annette’s death last night, and now the Colonel——” He did not finish his sentence, but instead stopped before the full-length portrait of a dead and gone Thornton, and gazed moodily at the painted face. From that gallant naval hero to Dana Thornton, traitor, was indeed a great descent. “A good man gone wrong,” he commented, finally.

“An accomplished scoundrel,” growled Brett. He stopped speaking as Eleanor reËntered the room, followed by Fred Lane. The young officer showed the ordeal he had gone through that morning and afternoon by the deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth. He bowed curtly to Douglas and Brett.

“You wish to see me?” he asked.

“Sit down, please.” Brett pushed forward a chair for Eleanor, and the others grouped themselves about the center table. By common consent they all avoided Colonel Thornton’s favorite armchair. “I am anxious to have a talk with you because there are several loose threads to this mystery which must be straightened out.”

“What are they?” questioned Lane impatiently; he longed to be back with Cynthia.

“On my return from the River Road to headquarters I found an answer from the Paris police to my cable. They tell me, Miss Thornton, that your maid, Annette, was an international spy.”

“Great heavens!” ejaculated Eleanor, in round-eyed astonishment.

“She was also in the habit of impersonating you.” Eleanor’s face was a study. “She had clothes made exactly like yours, even her kimono was a duplicate. From what I hear, Mr. Hunter, I judge Annette, who you recollect was in the hall when we were discussing the mysterious letter written by Senator Carew, decided to try and find it, and that’s why she paid you a visit in the library last Tuesday night. She did not know that I had asked you to sleep there.”

“I was grossly deceived in her,” declared Eleanor bitterly. “I presume her splendid recommendations were all——”

“Forgeries,” supplemented Brett. “Quite right, they must have been. I have just talked with one of the nurses from Providence Hospital who attended Philip Winthrop, and he declares that he caught Annette trying to give Philip a sleeping powder. Probably she wished to reap all the reward that she could, through blackmail and otherwise, and was afraid if Philip saw me that he would spoil her ‘scoop.’ With her usual habit of involving you, Miss Thornton, she made that crazy fool believe you were drugging him.”

“Will you please explain to me,” broke in Fred Lane, “why Mrs. Winthrop swore out a warrant for my arrest? What led her to believe me guilty?”

“Mrs. Winthrop wished me to tell you, Captain Lane, that she bitterly regrets her hasty action. I never saw anyone so completely broken up. It seems she wanted that graceless stepson of hers to marry her niece, Miss Carew, so that he would eventually inherit the Carew fortune. Then she has a natural antipathy for you because you are your father’s son, and she was, unfortunately, only too ready to believe you guilty. Annette told her a number of lies,”—Brett shrugged his shoulders expressively,—“and there you have it—along with other circumstantial evidence, which would have pretty nearly convicted you.”

Lane flushed angrily. “So Mrs. Winthrop took the word of a worthless servant, the better to humiliate me....”

“Had Annette any grounds for her accusation?” questioned Brett swiftly. “Mrs. Owen said her library desk file mysteriously disappeared the night of her dance.”

“A coincidence which I cannot account for,” declared Lane, looking the detective squarely in the eye. “It may be that Annette saw the end of my silver handled umbrella which I was carrying, and in the uncertain light mistook it for a weapon of some sort.”

“Considering Annette’s natural disposition to lie,” broke in Douglas, “I think it highly probable that she made up the story, and told it to Miss Carew.”

“And probably promised to keep silent if Miss Carew paid her,” suggested Brett scornfully. “It’s too bad Miss Carew permitted the maid to blackmail her.”

“What about the threatening letters to Senator Carew which Mrs. Winthrop thought I sent?” inquired Lane.

“Philip Winthrop wrote them.”

“The miserable scoundrel!” ejaculated Lane.

“He was that and more—the Secretary of State and I took him back home in the former’s motor, and when we had done grilling him we had cleared up many details in regard to this international intrigue. Through Senator Carew’s letter and Winthrop’s disclosures the intrigue has been nipped in the bud before more serious results can happen.”

“Thank God for that!” exclaimed Douglas devoutly.

“It seems that Philip Winthrop has been a go-between for a wealthy Colombian, whose name he obstinately withholds, and some person whom the conspirators called ‘our mutual friend.’ Strange to say, Philip declares he never knew until Carew’s letter was read that the mysterious individual was Colonel Dana Thornton. He says he gave all communications for the ‘mutual friend’ to Annette, and Annette, if you please, made him believe that the spy was—Miss Thornton.”

“Well, upon my word!” cried Eleanor, her eyes blazing with indignation. “I was a nice cat’s-paw for her. Do you know, I believe she, and not my uncle, killed Senator Carew.”

“I’m sorry,”—Brett hesitated, then went slowly on. “I’m sorry to say there’s no doubt but that Colonel Thornton did murder the Senator. I don’t want to inflict any more pain than necessary, Miss Thornton, but you will hear the details from others if not from me. I have seen Soto, your Japanese cook, and he swore that Colonel Thornton called at your house on Monday night, just after the Senator’s arrival, and Fugi admitted him. On being informed that Senator Carew was with you, your uncle told the butler not to announce him, but that he would wait in the writing room until the Senator left. Soto showed me an umbrella which Fugi had carried to the kitchen to dry for the Colonel. It has your uncle’s initials engraved on the handle, and Nicodemus positively identified it as belonging to the Colonel when I showed it to him on my arrival here just now.

“On being pressed, Soto also admitted that late Monday night he left your house to post a letter. As he came up the area steps to the terraced walk, which was covered by the awning, leading from the house to the sidewalk, he almost collided with Senator Carew, who seemed buried in thought and did not notice his approach. Soto drew back respectfully toward the area steps to let him pass. As the Senator entered his carriage another man sped down your high front steps, and, on reaching the carriage, pulled open the door and entered the vehicle, which then moved on. Soto swears solemnly that this last man was Colonel Thornton.”

Eleanor drew a long, sobbing breath, and glanced helplessly at the others. Her uncle was not only a traitor but a murderer. Her worst fears were realized. None cared to break the pause, and, after waiting a moment, Brett took up his narrative where he had left off.

“It must be, Miss Thornton, that your uncle overheard all or part of your conversation with the Senator. He probably waited in the writing room until the Senator left the house, picked up the letter file, as he had no other weapon handy, and stole after him. Hamilton was too drunk to notice anything. The horses probably moved up the street of their own accord when the preceding carriages made room for them to advance. It was unpremeditated murder, and yet chance concealed Colonel Thornton’s tracks most successfully.”

“You are right,” agreed Douglas. “If Annette had found Carew’s letter to the Secretary of State instead of Mrs. Truxton, Thornton would have escaped detection.”

“Annette was always complaining of Mrs. Truxton’s early rising,” Eleanor laughed hysterically, then cried a little.

“My darling, let me get you some wine!” exclaimed Douglas in distress.

“No, no, sit down!” Eleanor clutched his coat. “Don’t pay any attention to me; I’ll be all right in a minute.”

“Fugi has disappeared,” went on Brett, after a brief silence. “I think he overheard our conversation here this afternoon, for Nicodemus says he was loitering in the hall. On searching his room at your house, Miss Thornton, I found evidence, through certain papers, that he had been in your uncle’s pay.”

“He thought it wiser to bolt,” commented Fred Lane. “I have no doubt he knew more of affairs than we are giving him credit for.”

“It’s a great pity, Miss Thornton, that you kept silent so long,” said Brett. “If I had known that Senator Carew spent the evening with you, and also about the awning, I would have cleared up this mystery sooner.”

“I should have spoken.” Eleanor looked so troubled that Douglas sat down on the arm of her chair and took her hand gently in his. As his strong grasp tightened she formed a sudden resolution. “There is another reason for my silence which I have not told you; wait a moment,” and she rose and hurriedly left the room.

The men smoked in silence until her return. “The room is very dark, won’t you light another burner, Douglas?” she asked, on her return. She waited until her wish had been complied with, then, as the men seated themselves near her, she began her story. “On Tuesday morning, just after I had heard of Senator Carew’s death, I received a cardboard box containing jewels. That in itself bewildered me, but I was astounded by the message written in an unknown hand which I found on a card inside the box.” As she spoke she opened the small box which she had just brought into the room with her. “Here is the card; read the message aloud, Douglas.”

“‘The appointment was not kept. Well done.’”

Douglas laid the card on the desk and the three men looked at each other in amazement.

“The message frightened me horribly,” continued Eleanor. “I realized that some one must have thought me guilty of the Senator’s death—and approved of it. The mystery of it appalled me. I did not know whom to take into my confidence; so I put the jewels into my strong box and said nothing, hoping that I would be able to ferret out the mystery by myself.”

“Let us see the jewels,” suggested Douglas.

Eleanor opened the box and pulled off the top layer of cotton, then rolled the necklace of rubies on the table, where the stones lay glittering under the strong light.

“They are superb!” exclaimed Douglas, while a low murmur of admiration broke from Lane.

“Their almost priceless value frightened me more than anything else,” explained Eleanor. “I could not imagine who had sent them to me——”

“That’s easily answered.” Brett picked up the necklace and examined it minutely. “This necklace was sent you by the man who stole it.”

“What?” ejaculated the two men, while Eleanor collapsed limply in her chair.

“These are the Hemmingway rubies,” went on Brett. “They were stolen about a month ago in New York, and the police of this country and Europe were notified of their loss. I have here,” drawing out a leather wallet and extracting a thin, typewritten sheet, “one of the notices sent to headquarters. Let me refresh my memory.” He skimmed over the lines, then a shout of exultation escaped him. “Listen: ‘Mrs. Hemmingway was entertaining a house party at the time of the theft. Among her guests were Mr. and Mrs. Henry St. John, of Philadelphia; Miss Snyder, of Chicago; Colonel Dana Thornton, of Washington——’”

“Oh, no, no!” Eleanor cried, throwing out her arms as if to thrust the idea from her, then dropped forward and buried her head on her arms on the table.

Douglas started to move over to her side, but Brett checked him. “Let her alone,” he advised in an undertone; “it’s a shock, but she will recover.” Then, in a louder tone: “By Heavens! that man was a positive genius!” in reluctant admiration. “He probably heard that the case had been turned over to the police, although the Hemmingways had asked to have the search conducted quietly, and therefore it did not reach the papers. Fearing to keep the necklace in his possession, he sent it to his niece with a cryptic message which he knew she would not, under the circumstances, dare show to others, and also reasoned that she would keep the necklace concealed for the same cause. I don’t doubt he expected her eventually to ask his advice about the jewels and then he would get them back again, as soon as all danger of detection was over, on the plea that he would have them returned to the rightful owner, or some such plausible excuse.”

“Upon my word, such villany exceeds belief.” Lane gazed incredulously at the detective. “And yet I don’t doubt you have guessed the right solution of the problem.”

“Eleanor, dear,”—Douglas turned to the weeping girl. “If you feel strong enough I wish you would tell us about your quest to which you alluded this afternoon.” Eleanor raised her head and looked reproachfully at him. “I realize the subject may prove painful to you at this time, but, Annette having implicated you in her transactions, I think it is best for you to clear up any seeming mysteries.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Eleanor sighed as she wiped away her tears. “I must first tell you that my mother was Nora Fitzgerald——”

“The famous actress?” broke in Brett.

“The same. She gave up the stage when she married my father, Barry Thornton, then a lieutenant in the United States Navy. Their married life was unusually happy; therefore it was all the more incredible and tragic when one day he disappeared——”

“Disappeared?” echoed Douglas blankly.

“Disappeared utterly. His ship was at Hampton Roads and he was given shore leave one day. At the wharf he told the coxswain to come back for him at ten o’clock that evening, and he walked on up to the hotel. From that hour to this he has never been seen or heard from.” Eleanor paused and pushed her hair off her forehead, then continued: “A short time before his mysterious disappearance my father fell from the rigging of the ship to the deck with such force that he was picked up unconscious. It is supposed that the fall may have affected his brain, and so accounted for his subsequent disappearance.”

“That is very likely,” commented Lane. “I saw a similar case in the Philippines, but pardon me, Miss Eleanor, I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Several days after my father’s disappearance a nude body was washed ashore miles below Norfolk. The condition of the body prevented positive identification, but many persons, among them Uncle Dana, believed it to be my father. My mother, however, refused to accept that theory. She was convinced that he was still alive and suffering from mental aberration. She returned to the stage, first placing me with my uncle, John Fitzgerald, who brought me up. She visited many cities and many countries, but could find no trace of my father. Shortly before her death she sent for me and charged me solemnly to continue her search, which I have done to the best of my ability.”

“My poor girl,” said Douglas softly.

“My idea has been that if my father was still alive he would pursue his profession, so I searched the records of other navies, thinking that perhaps he might be serving under another flag. The day that you saw me at the Navy Department, Douglas, I had been going over old records, hoping to find some clew to his present whereabouts.”

Douglas colored hotly as he remembered the construction which he had put on her presence in the department. “What did you mean,” he asked, “by saying this afternoon that Senator Carew told you he could help you to bring your quest to a successful conclusion?”

“Senator Carew said that while in Panama he had seen a man who closely resembled my father. The stranger apparently did not recognize him, but so certain was Senator Carew of his identity that he gave him his visiting card, and insisted that he should call at the Navy Department in Washington. Douglas, do you recollect asking me about a man who you thought you saw with me in the elevator at the Navy Department on Wednesday?”

“I do.”

“I was terribly excited by your apparently simple question, for in stating that the man had black hair and blue eyes you exactly described my father.”

“Great heavens!” Douglas sprang to his feet. “It is most astounding, but such a man as you describe really did call at the Department that morning and insisted on seeing the Secretary, saying that he had an appointment to meet Senator Carew.”

“What became of him?” Eleanor’s lovely eyes were aglow with excitement.

“I don’t know. The Secretary and I both thought he had stolen the plans of the battleships.” Eleanor’s shocked expression stopped him. “Of course, now we know it was Colonel Thornton who called there later with you and Mrs. Wyndham, although how on earth he managed to steal the plans under the very nose of the Secretary is beyond me.”

“Let me think.” Eleanor pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. “I remember now; it must have been when Uncle Dana was using the desk telephone. He was leaning forward across the desk, and I recall that I noticed he had his right hand in a drawer; I couldn’t see very distinctly, as his body was between us and the drawer and his overcoat was also thrown on the desk. Mrs. Wyndham was looking at a book, and the Secretary was coughing his head off by the further window, with his back toward us.”

Brett struck the table a resounding blow with his clenched fist.

“By George, but he was slick! The smartest criminal I’ve run across in years.”

A discreet tap sounded on the library door, and a muffled voice asked: “’Scuse me, but am Miss Eleanor in dar?”

“Come in, Nicodemus,” called Eleanor. The old darky entered and, circling the table, handed her a note on the silver salver. She hastily tore it open and read its contents. “I must consult Cousin Kate,” she announced, rising hastily, “before I can answer this.”

“We must all be going,” said Brett, following her into the hall, while Nicodemus paused to put out the lights. “One moment, Miss Thornton, will you please give me the ruby necklace.”

“Why, I handed it to you,” ejaculated Eleanor, in surprise, turning back from the staircase.

“I beg your pardon,” said Brett, with positiveness. “I saw Mr. Hunter drop it on the table in front of you.” Douglas and the young officer joined them.

“So he did,” declared Lane, and with the others followed Eleanor as she hastily reËntered the library.

“Why, it’s not anywhere on the table.” Eleanor felt among the table ornaments. “Douglas, do light the gas,” in growing alarm.

“Where in thunder are the matches?” growled Douglas, overturning a vase on the secretary in his endeavors to find a matchbox. “Got any, Nicodemus?” as a figure brushed by him in the darkness and approached the chimney. The other men were busy searching vainly in their pockets for a match.

“Good for you, Nicodemus,” called Douglas, as a tiny flame appeared in the direction of the chimney. “Bring it over here and light this chandelier.” His order was not obeyed.

The flickering light grew stronger, and then Douglas realized that it was burning some distance from the servant. The flame became stronger, and by its rays a face grew out of the surrounding darkness. A strong, handsome face, whose pallor was enhanced by the heavy black beard and dark shaggy eyebrows. The eyes were fixed on Nicodemus, who stood in the shadow with his back to the rest, and the two stared unblinkingly at each other. The silence was intolerable. Eleanor and the three men stood transfixed, too astounded to move. Suddenly a choking sob burst from Nicodemus. He threw out his arms as if to ward off some overmastering horror, swayed forward, and fell heavily to the floor.

The candle flickered suddenly as it was raised and applied to a wall gas jet. The sudden light caused the spellbound spectators of the scene to blink violently; then, as their eyes grew accustomed to the illumination, they made out the figure of a tall man in nondescript clothes standing near the chimney.

“Who—who are you, and where in hell did you come from?” gasped Brett.

“I am Barry Thornton, formerly of the United States Navy.” The newcomer caught sight of Eleanor, and stretched out his arms pleadingly. “My dear, dear daughter.”

Eleanor, grown deadly white, clutched the table for support. “I don’t understand,” she stammered.

“I forgot.” The newcomer’s arms dropped to his side. “You were too young to remember me when I last saw you. Fortunately,” meeting Brett’s incredulous stare, “Nicodemus knows me.”

“Your spectacular appearance seems to have knocked him silly,” exclaimed Captain Lane, regaining his voice. “I reckon we’ll have to bring him around before he can identify you properly.”

“Nicodemus, tell these gentlemen who I am,” commanded the newcomer.

“Yo’ is my marse, Cap’n Barry Thornton, suh.” The voice came from behind Douglas, and all in the room wheeled in that direction. There stood Nicodemus, his eyes starting from his head, his face gray with fright. He had entered unnoticed a second before.

Eleanor’s senses were reeling. With desperate effort she controlled herself. “Then who is that?” she cried, frantically, pointing to the motionless figure which was partly hidden from their view by the divan.

For answer the newcomer stepped forward and thrust the sofa to one side, then stooped and rolled the figure over, disclosing the white hair and well-known features of Colonel Dana Thornton.