The fear subsisting, they accepted the footpad theory, glad to find it ready-made, declining to consider any other, desisting from further effort, hushing the matter as well as they could, refusing, though urged, to offer a reward.
Yet, though the theory suited them it did not satisfy the public. It was too tame. They demanded something else. That demand the press, as was its duty, attempted to supply. Through methods unfathomably vidocqesque, the young gentleman connected with the Chronicle—one of the most enterprising sheets—discovered more about Loftus dead than Loftus living could himself have known. They discovered that in the panic he had dropped a bagatelle of five millions, and announced that he had committed suicide. But while at the autopsy it was not demonstrated that Loftus could not have shot himself, at the inquest it was shown that the obligatory instrument had not been found. Even to vidocqesque young gentlemen the suicide theory ceased then to appeal.
But that only deepened the mystery. To dissipate it and, at the same time, to display an endearing pro bono publicanism, the Chronicle offered a reward of five thousand dollars for such information as would lead to the arrest and conviction of the assassin.
Immediately there was a clue.
It was Harris who produced it. Under the guidance of a reporter he was led to the office of the Chronicle, where the young gentleman turned him over to the managing editor quite as though the clue were his own.
"Here, Mr. Digby, is a party that knows who shot Loftus."
Mr. Digby was a small man with a big beard, very well dressed, remarkably civil.
"Yes," he said. "And who did?"
"Mr. Arthur Annandale."
Mr. Digby smiled. He did not believe it. But it stirred him pleasurably. The Chronicle stood for the people. Annandale represented the predatory rich. Besides, it was in front of Annandale's house that Loftus had been found. At once he saw scoops, extras, headlines. Also the possible libel. Meanwhile at a glance he had taken Harris in.