XVIII
FLED!
The days went by, leaving the mystery unsolved. Count Charlier was released from custody, there not being sufficient evidence to hold him. Bates was in jail awaiting the action of the Grand Jury, but it was recognized that he was not the murderer of Miss Carrington.
Search for the poisoner had so far been fruitless, and the newspapers were clamoring for the arrest of somebody. But the Police Detectives were at their wits’ end, and even Fleming Stone was baffled.
For hours, Stone sat thinking over the many peculiar features of the case. It was not in embarrassment that he felt himself unable as yet to trace the criminal, it was rather with a sensation of curiosity that he wondered what point he had overlooked. There must be some clue, some definite indication of what way to look, but so far he had not perceived it.
So interested was he in the search that he took no note of the passing of time or the growing impatience of those who watched him.
“It’s this way, Hardy,” he would say to the younger detective, “the mystery centres about that paper snake. When we find out the reason for Miss Carrington’s sending for that thing, we’ve the whole story.”
“You believe, then, that she did send for it?”
“Of course; why not?”
“We’ve only Miss Stuart’s word for that; and it doesn’t seem as if Miss Carrington would——”
“Nonsense! It doesn’t seem, you mean, as if Miss Stuart would—Why, man, what possible sense could there be in Miss Stuart’s buying that snake on her own account? If she set out to poison her aunt,—which she didn’t,—she could have managed it in a dozen ways without lugging in that paper reptile. In fact, it never would have occurred to her to do so. Why would she do it?”