Tom Willard, of course, repeated his story, and it was publicly corroborated by witnesses from the hotel. Tom had changed some during these few days. The sudden accession of a large fortune seemed to burden him rather than to bring him joy. But no one wondered at this when they remembered the sad circumstances which gave him his wealth, and remembered, too, what was no secret to anybody, that he had deeply loved his cousin Madeleine. Of the other witnesses, Cicely Dupuy was the only one whose later evidence was not entirely in accordance with her earlier statements. She often contradicted herself, and when in the witness chair was subject to sudden fainting attacks, whether real or assumed no one was quite sure.
And so, after the most exhaustive inquiry and the most diligent sifting of evidence, the jury could return only the time-worn verdict, “Death at the hands of some person or persons unknown.”
But in addition to this it was recommended by the jury that Schuyler Carleton be kept under surveillance. There had not been enough evidence to warrant his arrest, but the district attorney was so convinced of the man’s guilt that he felt sure proofs of it would sooner or later be brought to light.
Carleton himself seemed apathetic in the matter. He quite realized that his guilt was strongly suspected by most of the community, but, instead of breaking down under this, he seemed rather to accept it sadly and without dispute.
But though the inquest itself was over, vigorous investigation was going on. A detective of some reputation had the case in hand officially, and, unlike many celebrated detectives, he was quite willing to confer with or to be advised by young Fessenden.
Spurred by the courtesy and confidence of his superior, Rob devoted himself with energy to the work of unravelling the mystery, but it was baffling work. As he confessed to Kitty French, who was in all things his confidante, every avenue of argument led up against a blank wall.
“Either Carleton did do or he did not,” he said reflectively. “If he did, there’s absolutely no way we can prove it; and if he didn’t, who did?”
Kitty agreed that this was a baffling situation.
“What about that cachou, or whatever you call it?” she said.
“It didn’t amount to anything as a clue,” returned Rob moodily. “I showed it to some of the servants, and they said they had never seen such a thing before. Harris was quite sure that none of the men who came here ever use them. I asked Carleton, just casually, for one the other day, and he said he didn’t have any and never had had any. I asked Willard for one at another time, and he said the same thing. It must have been dropped by some of the decorator’s men; they seemed a Frenchy crowd, and I’ve been told the French are addicted to these things.” Rob took the tiny silver sphere from his pocket and looked at it as he talked. “Besides, it wouldn’t mean a thing if it had belonged to anybody. I just picked it up because it was the only thing I could find in the drawing-room that wasn’t too heavy to lift.”