When I reached home Lawrence had left, Miss Pembroke had retired, and Laura was in the library, waiting for me.

"It doesn't seem possible," she said, as I flung off my coat and threw myself into an easy chair, "that so much could have happened in one day. Only think, Otis, when we arose this morning we didn't know Miss Pembroke to speak to, and now she is asleep in our guest room!"

"Where is Charlotte?" I said.

"She wanted to go to spend the night with some friends, so I let her go. We are responsible, you know, for her appearance if called for, and I know the girl well enough to know she'll never get very far away from her beloved Miss Janet."

"Have you questioned Charlotte at all?"

"Yes; and what do you think Otis? She believes that Miss Pembroke killed her uncle!"

"Did she say so?"

"Not in so many words; indeed, she scarcely owned up to it. But you know colored people are as transparent as children, and by talking in a roundabout way I discovered that she suspects Janet, only because she can't see any other solution of the mystery. She doesn't seem to blame her at all, and even seems to think Janet justified in putting the old man out of the way."

"Of course she has no intelligence in the matter," I said; "but don't you see, Laura, that if she suspects Janet, but really knows nothing about it, that proves Charlotte herself absolutely innocent even of complicity?"

"So it does, Otis. How clever you are to see that!"

"Clever!" I said, somewhat bitterly. "I'm not clever at all. I may be a lawyer, but I'm no detective."

"Why don't you employ a detective, then?"

"It isn't my place to do so. But I feel sure that a professional detective, from the clues we have, could find the murderer at once."

"Well, it wouldn't be Janet Pembroke," said Laura, with conviction. "I've been alone with that girl most of the evening, and she's no more guilty than I am. But, Otis, she does know more than she has told. She either knows something or suspects something that she is keeping secret."

"I have thought that, too. And, as her counsel, she ought to be perfectly frank with me."

"But isn't there a law or something," asked Laura, "that people are not obliged to say anything that may incriminate themselves?"

"But you don't think her a criminal," I said quickly.

"No," said Laura, with some hesitation; "but she is so queer in some ways, I can't make her out. Mr. Lawrence stayed here chatting some time after you left, and once or twice I thought Janet suspected him; and then, again, she said something that showed me positively that she didn't."

"There it is again, Laura: if Janet suspects George, she can't be guilty herself."

"That's so," said Laura, her face brightening. "But then," she added, "they both may know something about it."

Ah, this was my own fear! "Laura," I said suddenly, "do you think those two cousins are in love with each other?"

"Not a bit of it," said Laura decidedly. "Mr. Lawrence is very much interested in Miss Millicent Waring, though I don't know that he is really in love with her. But I think he is rather piqued by her indifference. He seems to have a loyal fondness for Janet, but nothing more than would be expected from a good first-class cousin."

"And she?" I asked, trying hard not to appear self-conscious.

"Oh, she cares for George in the same way. He's her only relative now, you know. But she told me herself she had never cared especially for any man. She's peculiar, you know, Otis; but I do think she shows a great deal of interest in you."

"Do you really?" I exclaimed, looking up to find my sister smiling at me in a mischievous fashion.

"Oh, you dear old goose!" she cried. "Do you suppose I can't see that you're already over head and ears in love with Janet Pembroke, and have been ever since the first day we came into the Hammersleigh?"

"By Jove! that's so," I cried. "Laura, you know more about my affairs than I do. I thought my affection for that girl dated from this morning, but I see now you are right. I have loved her from the first moment I saw her."

"And you can win her, if you go about it right," said my sister, with her little air of worldly wisdom that always amused me.

"I hope so," I said fervently. "As soon as this dreadful affair is finished up, and Janet has decided upon her temporary home, I think we too want to get away from this place."

"Yes," said Laura, with a sigh; "I hate to move, but I'd hate worse to stay here."

In response to the urgent summons Leroy came back to New York the next morning.

From his office he telephoned to Janet immediately upon his return, saying that he would come up to see her in the afternoon, and asking that George Lawrence should also be present.

As Janet was now staying with us, the interview was held in our apartment. Although Mr. Pembroke's body had been removed to a mortuary establishment, Janet could not bear the thought of going back to her own rooms, and moreover, the girl was very glad to remain under the cheering influences of Laura's kindness and friendliness. And so, as Laura insisted upon it, Janet directed Mr. Leroy to come up that afternoon.

This being arranged, Laura also telephoned me at my office, and I went home in ample time to receive our caller.

As Miss Pembroke's lawyer I had, of course, a right to be present, and as George Lawrence was there too, it seemed more like an official interview than a social call.

Leroy came in, looking exceedingly handsome and attractive. Indeed, I had forgotten what an unusually good-looking man he was. He had that combination of dark eyes and hair slightly silvered at the temples, which is so effective in middle age.

Though not at all effusive in his manner, he seemed deeply moved, and greeted Janet with an air of gentle sympathy. His manner, however, did not meet a response in kind. Janet's air was cold and haughty and she merely gave him her finger tips, as if the very touch of his hand were distasteful to her.

George Lawrence was a little more cordial in his reception of the lawyer, but it was plain to be seen that neither of the cousins felt very friendly toward him.

Mr. Leroy acknowledged courteously his introduction to Laura and myself, and then he requested to be told the details of the tragedy.

He listened attentively while we told him all about it, now and then asking a question, but expressing no opinions. His face grew very grave, indeed to me it seemed almost sinister, and a little mysterious.

We had not yet finished relating the case, when our door-bell rang and Mr. Buckner was announced.

Buckner was the District Attorney, and after receiving the Coroner's report he had come to make some further inquiries.

I had never seen the man before, as I rarely had to do with a criminal case, but I liked his attitude and manner at once. He was exceedingly straightforward and business-like. He asked questions and conducted his inquiries as if it were merely a continuation of the inquest.

He had of course learned from the coroner all that he knew about the case, and now he seemed to hope and expect that he would get new evidence from Leroy.

However, Graham Leroy was not a satisfactory person to get evidence from. He answered the District Attorney's questions, directly and concisely, but he gave little or no information of any importance.

Leroy had not seemed especially interested in hearing of the clues which I had collected from Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, but after a time I concluded to try the effect of showing him the key which I had in my pocket.

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, with a start, "where did you get that?"

The result of my sudden move was all I could have desired. Leroy's calm was shaken at last; his interest was aroused, and the strange expression that showed on his saturnine face proved that he was greatly agitated at the sight of that key. It seemed to me that fear possessed him, or that at any rate he was startled by some unpleasant thought.

The District Attorney, who had been apprised by the Coroner of my tracing of the key, turned to Leroy with a hint of accusation in his manner.

"You recognize that key, Mr. Leroy?" he said.

"I do," returned Leroy, and though he spoke in quiet tones, he had difficulty in concealing his agitation.

"Is it yours?"

"It is not mine, but it was in my possession."

"Whose is it?"

"It belongs to Mrs. Altonstall, a client of mine. She gave it to me, to get some papers for her from a safety deposit box."

"And you lost it?"

"I did."

"When did you have it last, to your knowledge?"

"I had it on Wednesday. I went to Utica, Wednesday night, and next morning I missed the key. I concluded that I must have left it at my office, but when I returned there I could not find it, and I felt considerable alarm, for one does not like to lose the key of a client's box."

"No," said Mr. Buckner, grimly; "it is not a good thing to do. And where do you think you lost it?"

"I've no idea; but as it was in my pocket, and I must have pulled it out unintentionally, and dropped it unknowingly, it may have happened in the train or on the street or anywhere. Where was it found?"

"This is the key of which we told you; the key that was found in Mr. Pembroke's bed yesterday morning."

"What! Impossible!" cried Leroy and his face turned white and his dark eyes fairly glared. "How could Robert Pembroke have come into possession of that key?"

"We don't assume, Mr. Leroy, that Mr. Pembroke ever had this key in his possession. As it was found in the bed, not under the pillow, but beside the body of the dead man, we think it seems to indicate at least a possibility that it was dropped there by the murderer as he leaned over his victim."

This came so near to being a direct accusation, that I fully expected Leroy to exclaim with anger. But instead, though his face grew even whiter than before, he said very quietly: "Am I to understand that as an implication that I may be guilty of this crime?"

Though uttered in low even tones, the words expressed horror at the thought.

"You are to understand," replied Mr. Buckner, "that we ask you for a frank and honest explanation of how your key, or rather your client's key, happened to be where it was found."

"I cannot explain it," said Leroy, and now he had entirely controlled his agitation, and his face was like an impassive marble mask.

"You cannot or you will not?"

"I cannot. I have not the remotest idea where I lost that key, but by no possibility could I have lost it in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom, because I was not there."

"When were you last in Mr. Pembroke's room?"

"I was there Tuesday evening, and I may possibly have dropped the key there then."

"But you said you remembered having it Wednesday morning."

"I might be mistaken about that; perhaps it was Tuesday morning that I positively remember having it."

Clearly Leroy was floundering. His words were hesitating, and though it was evident that his brain was working quickly, I felt sure he was trying to conceal his thoughts, and not express them.

"Supposing then that you may have dropped this key in Mr. Pembroke's bedroom when you were calling on him Tuesday evening, you would not be likely to have dropped it in the bed, would you?"

"Certainly not. I saw Mr. Pembroke in his room only a few moments, after having already made a longer call in the drawing-room."

The involuntary glance which Leroy shot at Janet and the color which flamed suddenly in the girl's face, left me in no doubt as to the purport of the call he had made in the drawing-room on Tuesday evening. I knew as well as if I had been told, that he had been asking Janet to marry him; I knew that his interview with Mr. Pembroke afterward had probably related to the same subject; and though I was glad that his suit had not been successful, yet I felt jealous of the whole episode. However, I had no time then to indulge in thoughts of romance, for the District Attorney was mercilessly pinning Leroy down to an exact account of himself.

"Had the bed been turned down for the night, when you were in Mr. Pembroke's room on Tuesday evening?"

"I didn't notice especially, but I have an indistinct impression that the covers had been turned back."

"In that case it would have been possible for you to drop the key in the bed without knowing it, but very far from probable. Did you lean over the bed for any purpose?"

"No; of course I did not. But perhaps if I did drop the key in the room, and Mr. Pembroke found it, knowing it to be a valuable key, he may have put it under his pillow, for safety's sake."

"That again is possible; but improbable that he would have done it two nights, both Tuesday and Wednesday nights! Moreover, Mr. Leroy, you said at first that you were sure you had the key Wednesday morning. And not until you inferred that you were suspected of implication in this affair, did you say that it might have been Tuesday morning you had it. Now, can you not speak positively on that point?"

Leroy hesitated. Though his face rarely showed what was passing in his mind, yet though at this moment no one who saw him could doubt that the man was going through a fearful mental struggle. Indeed, he sat silent for so long, that I began to wonder whether he intended to answer the question or not. Lines formed across his brow and his stern lips fastened themselves in a straight line. He looked first at Janet and then at George, with a piercing gaze. Finally he shook his head with a sudden quick gesture, as if flinging off a temptation to prevaricate, which was almost too strong to be resisted.

"I can speak positively," he said, and the words seemed to be fairly forced from him. "I had that key last to my knowledge on Wednesday morning, when I made use of it at the Sterling Safety Deposit Company."