“Now,” said he, “it would be a hard thing for us to follow Moor with only the mud on his shoes as a clue to guide us, but to my thinking he himself gave us a better hint than this, by one word too much that he spoke. He told the help girl that he was going to see Henry Sharpley, and this he told her on the spur of the moment, with hardly a second thought. It isn’t likely that he would have mentioned Henry Sharpley’s name without Henry was in his mind at the time. If this wasn’t so, why should he mention that special name? Now, he was either going to see Henry, as he said, or he was going in the direction where he knew Henry was to be found.
“He did not go to see Henry, because it would have taken more than half an hour to talk over business concerning a whole carpet-bag full of papers, so I think we may take it for granted that he went in the direction of Henry Sharpley’s house. Now, if we can find that his actions fit perfectly with this idea, we can feel pretty certain that we are right. Let’s try to think how we would do if we were in Mr. Moor’s place. Let’s say that I’m going to hide these clothes. I have thought of a place not very far distant. That place is out of town, but not far. I quit the town just beyond Henry Sharpley’s house. I say to myself, if I can slip out quietly and hide these things, I’ll be back in a little while, and I’ll just mention that I went out on a little matter of business. I go down stairs with this on my mind, and come suddenly face to face with the help. She catches me in the act of going out of the house with the carpet-bag in my hand. What will she think of it? She says something about supper—a little thing to speak of in my present state of mind. Without thinking, I speak sharply to her. The next minute it strikes me that her suspicions will be increased by the strangeness of my speech and actions. I am anxious to set myself right with her, and, not knowing of anything better to say at the moment, I tell her what I had already planned to do—that I was going out on business. In the flurry of the moment I say one word too much. I am going in the direction of Henry Sharpley’s house; my mind is full of where I am going; so, without a second thought, I tell her that I am going to see Henry Sharpley on business. Then it flashes across me that the girl will wonder what I am doing with my carpet-bag at that time of the night. I can think of no other explanation to give than that it is full of papers. Does all that sound reasonable?”
Will drew a deep breath. “Reasonable?” said he; “of course it sounds reasonable.”
“Of course, I may be all at sea in what I fancy. At the same I may be right, and it’s worth having a try for. Now, we’ll take for granted that Mr. Moor did go down Beaver street toward Sharpley’s house. Of course, he wouldn’t go out aimlessly into the night; he had some place already fixed in his mind where to hide his clothes, and he went straight to that place with as few steps aside as possible. Now, it would seem at first as though he had thought of some place to hide his clothes near Sharpley’s house or the blacksmith shop opposite; but two reasons stand in the way of this. In the first place, his mind would be in too much confusion to think deliberately of any cunning plan. If he had waited until the next day, it might have been different. I think he had a place fixed in his mind when he came home; he certainly doesn’t seem to have spent much time in laying plans. In the second place, he was gone half an hour. It wouldn’t have taken him five minutes to walk to Sharpley’s and back, and I don’t believe he would tarry anywhere in the dark after he had hidden his clothes. Beside all this, he told the servant girl that he would be back inside of an hour. He told her this at the moment of meeting her, and it isn’t likely that he would have said it if he hadn’t a longish distance in his mind at the time. He would have to walk along the street while he was in town, for he wouldn’t go cutting across people’s gardens and climbing fences. So he wouldn’t leave the sidewalk till he had come to Sharpley’s house or the blacksmith shop, which are the last houses before you come to open lots. As soon as he was out of town, he would strike a straight line for the place that he had in his mind—and now, let’s see how far he went.
“We’ll say it took him three minutes to walk to Sharpley’s house; that leaves twelve minutes of the quarter of an hour. Say it took him four minutes to hide his clothes when he had come to the spot that he had in his mind. The half of four is two; that leaves ten minutes for him to walk after he had left the town. If he’d kept to the road he might have walked three quarters of a mile in that time; but he didn’t do that, for he got his shoes muddy somewhere. Beside, it isn’t likely that he would walk along the highroad at night with a carpet bag in his hand. It’ld look mighty strange to any one who’d meet him. If he had to walk across lots and climb fences, he couldn’t have covered over half a mile in ten minutes; nor is it likely he would walk less than a quarter of a mile. Now, imagine a pair of big compasses. Open them till they measure a half a mile from point to point; put one point of them on the road between the blacksmith shop and Sharpley’s house and draw a circle. Now draw another circle of a quarter of a mile from point to point. You now have a belt a quarter of a mile wide running in a circle a quarter of a mile distant from the blacksmith shop. If I’ve argued the matter right, you’ll find his clothes hidden somewhere in that belt.”
Will heaved a deep sigh. “Tom,” said he, “you ought to be the lawyer, and I the accused. You’d make a better fist out of my case than I’ll ever be able to do out of yours. I’ll put Daly on the track right away, and see what he makes of it.”
“Hold hard, Will,” said Tom; “as we’ve gone this far, we might as well see whether we can’t go a little farther. Let’s see in what kind of a place Mr. Moor would be likely to hide those clothes. He’d think of only very simple plans in his state of mind, I take it. He might bury them, or burn them, or sink them in the water somewhere. He didn’t bury them, for he took no tools with him, and he couldn’t very well have done it without. Woolen clothes, such as a man wears at this time of the year, don’t burn very easily, and he’d have to go a long distance before he dared build a fire, and, beside, he hadn’t time to do it in the half of an hour that he was gone. Of the three the most likely thing for him to do would be to throw his clothes in the water. Another point is that his shoes were muddy, and so he must have been where it was wet. We have seen that the place he hid his clothes was about a half a mile out of town, and that it was a place such as would occur to him at this time.” Tom stopped abruptly, and rose to his feet. “Will,” cried he, “can’t you guess where he sunk his clothes?”
“Tom—you—you mean the old quarry, don’t you?”
Tom nodded his head. Will sat looking at him for a time, without speaking.
“Will,” said Tom, presently, “that place was in my mind almost from the very first. I wasn’t arguing to find it, but to prove to myself that I was right. Now, the whole thing amounts to this—if we drag the quarry, and find the clothes there, I’ve made a good guess.”