"I think," said he, "that I now understand why Spatola grew so uncommunicative and suspicious toward the end of our interview at City Hall. We both thought it was because I spoke of shorthand. But it was perhaps because I mentioned an invention in the way of writing music. He feared that I was trying to incriminate Mr. Morris in some way."
Pendleton nodded.
"That," said he, "I think explains it."
"As you no doubt know," went on Morris, after the investigator had once more given him his attention, "Spatola liked Hume none too well. And he had reason for his hatred, poor fellow. Well, he became interested in what I told him; and when he learned that I believed my father's papers were in all probability somewhere in Hume's apartments, he suggested that I come to live in Christie Place under an assumed name. He thought that in time an opportunity would present itself to cross the roofs some night, enter Hume's place by the scuttle and so possess myself of the plans.
"On the day preceding the murder, I had made up my mind to have one more try with Hume; and if that failed I intended to follow Spatola's advice, break in and take the plans by force. I was so full of this resolution that I could not contain myself; I hinted at it to Miss Vale; and the result of that hint, you know."
He leaned his face forward in his hands and seemed to give way to a bitter train of thought. He was evidently despondent.
"It was also some such hint upon your part that induced her to visit Locke at Dr. Mercer's place, wasn't it?"
Morris raised his head and nodded.
"Yes," he said. "After the murder I suspected Locke at once of having something to do with it. I told Miss Vale; she went there without my knowledge—seeing that I had not the courage to go myself," he added bitterly—"and demanded the plans."
"And she learned that they were still at Hume's—behind the portrait?"