He lighted one, watching his hand curiously meanwhile. How steady it was! Not a tremor to reveal the excitement mounting within him. He had pulled off the greatest, grimmest scheme in the world, and yet not the flicker of an eyelash betrayed him!
Dr. Bellowes blew out a cloud of smoke.
“Yes, Mr. Storm,” he resumed, “it was unquestionably an accident; a most unusual and unfortunate one. Unofficially, I should like to tender to you my most sincere sympathy.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Storm bowed and stood quite still as George showed them out.
If anyone had told him that such a plan could have been conceived and carried out successfully without a single hitch, he would have laughed him to scorn. He would not have believed anyone capable of such combined ingenuity and self-control, least of all himself!
The position of the body, the smear upon the brass knob of the fender, the blood-stained driver cleaned, the handkerchief and its ashes eliminated, the hair pin, the single golden hair, the light left burning—he mentally reviewed each clue in the case, recalled each step of the investigation, and realized that there had been no flaw.
It had been a supreme battle of wits, his against all the rest, and he had beaten them! He had won!
Chapter VII.
The Letter
Despite his sense of victory the day was a long-drawn-out period of torture for Storm.