“I am not under oath. I have stated that I did not do what you accuse me of, and I have nothing further to say on the subject.”
Lockwood drew himself up and leaned with folded arms against the mantelpiece.
Cray dropped the subject, but his snapping eyes and compressed lips seemed to show he had not finally dismissed it.
“At what time,” he said, abruptly, “did Doctor Waring lock his study door?”
“About ten o’clock,” the secretary replied.
“And you heard nothing from the room after that? No sound of voices? Nobody coming in at the French window?”
“No,” replied Lockwood.
“Then we are forced to the conclusion that whoever entered did so very quietly, that it was with the knowledge and permission of Doctor Waring himself, that the visitor was the person whose footprints lead straight to the door, and whose finger prints are on the chair that stood near the Doctor’s own chair. We are borne out in this view by the fact that the same person now possesses the money and the ruby pin which we know Doctor Waring had in his room with him, and we know that the person is here in Corinth for unexplained reasons, and is, in fact, so peculiar that she is known as—Miss Mystery. Just why, Mr. Lockwood, are you arguing against these obvious inferences, and why do you undertake to free from suspicion one against whom everything is so definitely black?”
“Because,” Lockwood spoke very quietly, but his jaw was set in a stubborn way, “the lady you call Miss Mystery, is a young and defenseless girl, without, so far as I know, a friend in this town. It is unfair to accuse her on the strength of this fantastic story and it is unfair to condemn her unheard.”
“Not unheard,” said the attorney, “but what she says only incriminates her more deeply.”