The facts were told them, when, some hours later, they sat, alone with Maurice Trask in the room where John Waring breathed his last.
“I’m a plain man,” Trask said, for he didn’t care to pose unduly before an astute detective. “I’ve come into this estate of my cousin’s—my second cousin, he was, and I started out with a firm determination to find the villain who killed him. But, there is some cause for suspicion of the young lady I expect to marry. And here’s the situation. If you can solve the mystery of Doctor Waring’s death, and free that girl from any taint of blame, go ahead. But if your investigation leads to her—stop it. I want to marry her just the same, whether she killed anybody or not. But if she didn’t do it, I want to know it.”
“Can’t you learn the truth from the young lady herself—if she is your fiancee?” asked Stone.
“Oh, she says she didn’t do it, of course. But there’s such an overwhelming mass of evidence—or, apparent evidence against her, that it’s the deepest sort of a mystery.”
“Main facts first. Where was the body found?”
“In that desk chair, seated at his desk, as he often was evenings. Reading in a Latin book, so you see, he wasn’t looking for trouble.”
“Found dead in the morning? Been dead all night?”
“Yes, to both those questions. And locked in his room. Had to break in.”
“And no weapon about?”
“Not a sign of any—”