He’s the villain, I told myself. He is so sure of his diabolical cleverness, that he thinks he has left no clue and has completely covered his tracks! God help him, when Keeley Moore gets on his trail!
We went into Mr. Tracy’s office, a pleasant room off the library.
There were three fine desks, Tracy’s own, and those of the secretaries.
Moore had told me to come along, and as Ames made no objection, I did so. The three of us, behind closed doors, ran over the salient details.
“I can offer no sort of explanation of the absurd decorations on the bed,” Ames said, “that is your province.”
He spoke in a quick, jerky way, as if anxious to delegate the whole matter to Moore and be rid of it once for all.
“Once get the main issues of the affair, and those things will explain themselves,” Keeley said, nonchalantly. “Whom do you suspect, Mr. Ames?”
Harper Ames gave a start, and looked up as if he had not heard aright.
“Suspect? I? Oh, nobody. I can’t conceive of a human being brutal enough to commit this crime as it was committed. But somebody did, and so, I hope you can bring about his arrest and conviction. Spare no expense——”
“This is not going to be an expensive case, Mr. Ames,” Moore told him. “It must be solved by clever work, not by buying up evidence. I admit that sounds rather boastful on my part, but I confess that I am taking up the matter principally because of its unusual features and its bizarre elements. I mean to do my best, and while I shall rely on having your help when and where it may be available, yet I think the most of my work will be done by myself alone.”