“Where’s the man, Stryker?” asked Groot, in lowered tones. “Is he in?”
“I think so,” said Avice, “he always is, at this hour. Do you want to see him?”
“Yes, mighty bad, he’s the murderer!”
“What!” exclaimed both his hearers together.
“Yes, no doubt about it,” and Groot told the story of the handkerchief.
Avice looked simply amazed, but Judge Hoyt said, “I’ve looked for this all along.”
“Whyn’t you give us a hint, Judge?”
“I hadn’t enough to base my idea on, to call it a suspicion. I never thought of the handkerchief being his. As a matter of fact, I rather thought it was Mr. Trowbridge’s own, and that the murderer, whoever he was, had used it and left it without fear of its incriminating himself. Surely no one would leave his own handkerchief on the scene of his crime! Are you sure it’s Stryker’s?”
“Positive. But all that can be proved and investigated later. Now we want to nail our bird and jail him. Will you send for him, Miss Trowbridge?”
“Certainly,” and Avice rang a bell, a sorrowful look coming into her eyes at thought of suspecting the old servant.