"Well," replied Mat, "there is one circumstance you gentlemen ought to know. Up to this time nobody has mentioned it; and I hate to be the first to speak of it."
Everybody's interest was aroused. After a pause Mat continued:
"When the robber was going over the baggage he came to Mr. Cummins' valise, and asked, 'Whose is this?' One of the passengers spoke up and said, 'That belongs to Mr. Cummins.' Then the row began."
"Who is the guilty man?" cried Francis.
Mat looked embarrassed: "It wasn't a man. It was Miss Slocum."
There was a moment of silence. Everybody was shocked, and trying to work out in his own mind some logical connection between the school-teacher and the crime.
"That's where you've got us guessing, Mat," said one. "What can a crowd of bachelors do if you drag a woman into the case?"
"And yet," said another, "what else ought we to expect? A woman's at the bottom of everything, you know."
"Yes, we would none of us be here in this wicked world except for our mothers," remarked the doctor sarcastically. "How has Miss Slocum been acting since the tragedy, Mat? I must confess I can't think ill of that girl."
"Well, Doctor," replied Mat, "she has acted just as you would expect an innocent girl to act. She's been all broken up—down sick a good part of the time. And I don't believe there's a man, woman, or child in Nevada City who mourns Will Cummins more than she does. That's why I hate to mention her name. And that's why I haven't said anything up to this time. But some of those cowards who looked on while Cummins was murdered have begun to talk; so you would have heard the story sooner or later anyhow. Still, I hate to mention the girl's name."