“You see,” volunteered Hardy, “she was sitting here, admiring herself, and happily smiling, when the villain sneaked up behind her and gave her that crack over the head.”
“But she was already dead when she was hit on the head.”
“So the doctors think, but I believe they’re mistaken. Why, there’s no theory that would account for hitting a dead person!”
“And yet, that is what happened. No, Hardy, the doctors are not mistaken about the hour of death, and about the poison in her system and all that. But the most obvious and most important clue, for the moment, is that black-jack. Just where was it found?”
“Right here, Mr. Stone, under the edge of this couch. Hidden on purpose, of course.”
“No, I think not. Dropped by the burglar, rather, when he was startled by something unexpected. You see, he doubtless stood here, where the powder is dusted about, and to drop the thing quickly, it would fall or be flung just there where it was found.”
“Yes, but what scared him, if he didn’t hear anything?”
“Something that frightened him so terribly that he fled without taking the jewels he had come for! Something that made him make quick, straight tracks for the door and downstairs and out, by the way he had entered.”
“Good lord! Say, Mr. Stone, you think it was that make-believe Count, don’t you?”
“Why make-believe?”