“The time is now, Mr. Cray. And your history must be put in a nutshell. The circumstances of John Waring’s death, I know. Also, I know whom I suspect as the murderer. So tell me your decisions to date.”
“I fear we have made no decision, Mr. Trask. As a matter of fact the evidence to date points in a most painful direction.”
“What! You’re deterred from justice because evidence points in a painful direction! My stars, Cray! is that the way you detect in New England!”
“But evidence may be false, and it is unwise to accuse without certainty—”
“I have some certain evidence,” said Helen Peyton, and all turned to look at the girl, who spoke hesitatingly and in a low tone.
“Yes, I wouldn’t tell it—but—I think I ought to. I just found it out today.”
“Of course you must tell it, Miss Peyton,” Trask said, dictatorially. “Out with it!”
“Well,” Helen spoke to Cray, “you know Mr. Lockwood rubbed off some marks from this chair the morning after—after we found Doctor Waring.”
“Yes, they were without doubt indicative marks. What do you know about them?” Cray looked at her earnestly, for he had great interest in that act of the secretary’s.
“They were the marks made by the buttons on the back of the dress Miss Austin wore today.”