"You're right," he admitted. "I wonder if that is a coincidence or—something else. I must go to see Darcy."
The prisoner was measurably startled when the detective told him the latest development at the jewelry store.
"Those were never my wires in the showcase!" cried the young man. "I knew some were there, for we did have an antiquated burglar alarm system when I first came to work for my cousin. I had another one put in, and I supposed they had ripped out the old wires. But the wires I used for my lathe experiments had no connection with those, I'm sure. What is your theory?"
"I have so many I don't know at which one to begin," admitted Colonel Ashley. "But I was wondering if it was possible that the showcase wires, which when I tested them were dead, could have, in some manner, become charged, and have given Mrs. Darcy a shock that might have sent her reeling to the floor, toppling the heavy statue over on her head, and so killing her."
"By accident do you mean?" asked Darcy, his face lighting up with hope.
"Yes. This young lady received a severe blow on her head by her fall, and your cousin—"
"You forget the stab wound, Colonel."
"No, I didn't exactly forget it. I was wondering how we could
account for that if we accepted the shock theory. I guess we can't.
I'm still up against it. I've struck a snag—maybe a stone wall,
Darcy!"
"Do you—do you think you can get over it, Colonel?"
"By gad, sir! I will! That's all there is to it! I will!"