“Ah,” I remarked. “You own to the memorandum then. It was made on the spot, but without the benefit of the talisman.”
“I own to nothing,” he snapped. Then, realizing that denial in this regard was fatal, he added more genially: “What do you mean by memorandum? If you mean that recapitulation of old-time mysteries and their accompanying features with which I once whiled away an idle hour, I own to it, of course. Why shouldn’t I? It is only a proof of my curiosity in regard to this old mystery which every member of my family must feel. That curiosity has not been appeased. If it would not be indiscreet on your part, may I now ask if you have found out what that little golden ball of mine which you sport so freely before my eyes is to be used in connection with?”
“Read the papers,” I said; “read tomorrow’s papers, Mr. Moore; or, better still, tonight’s. Perhaps they will inform you.”
He was as angry as I had expected him to be, but as this ire proved conclusively that his strongest emotion had been curiosity rather than fear, I felt assured of my ground, and turned to reenter the house. Mr. Moore did not accompany me.
The major was standing in the hall. The others had evidently retreated to the parlor.
“The man opposite knows what he knows,” said I; “but this does not include the facts concerning the picture in the southwest chamber or the devilish mechanism.”
“You are sure?”
“As positive as one of my inexperience can be. But, Major, I am equally positive that he knows more than he should of Mrs. Jeffrey’s death. I am even ready to state that in my belief he was in the house when it occurred.”
“Has he acknowledged this?”
“Not at all.”