The Hemlock Avenue Mystery

by Lily A. Long

"Lawrence? No, he never left a cane here. These are all mine. Here, take this one. You'll find it light and tough."

"Thank you," said Lyon, taking it perforce. "I thought someone spoke of a cane belonging to Lawrence,--"

"He never left it here," said the old gentleman definitely, and Lyon had to let himself out of the house without further satisfaction. He crossed the yard to Broughton's house, let himself in, and while he waited for his romantic landlord to escape, like a concealed Romeo, from his lady's bower, he mentally reviewed the situation.

Mrs. Broughton had cleared up her own connection with Fullerton. Whatever of mystery there had been in her movements, and whatever of rashness, it touched her personal history only. She had not killed Fullerton, nor had she witnessed his murder. The fleeing woman whom he had seen on the fatal night was not she. He had been entirely wrong in his suspicion, and his pursuit of that clue had done no good except to assist in bringing Broughton and his wife together. That was a good thing in itself, but it would not affect Lawrence's case.

Was it then possible that Lawrence had been right in his first suspicion that the fleeing woman was Edith Wolcott? She had told her story so clearly and with so much apparent frankness that Lyon found it very hard to believe she could really be concealing so vital a point in her account of that evening. However, whether innocent or guilty, her whole connection with the affair and her relation to the two principals was bound to come out, now that Bede had got on her trail. That was bad. The publicity of such a trial would be as bitter as death to such a woman. It was the very thing Lawrence had risked everything to avoid.

And Lawrence himself? His case looked darker than ever to his brooding friend. Unless he could explain away the evidence of the broken cane, the implication was against him. Apparently he could not explain that away. He had certainly implied to Lyon that the cane had been left at Miss Wolcott's, and that this was the reason he could say nothing on the subject. But since Miss Wolcott, who certainly was interested in his acquittal, and her grandfather, who certainly was innocent of all complicity, both were positive he had not left it there, what could one think? Lyon felt utterly and completely at sea.

His brooding was cut short by the entrance of Broughton.

"I had to wait until the old gentleman had gone back upstairs and the house was quiet," he said, as he lit a cigar. His face was glowing, and he looked twenty years younger than the "Olden" who had spoken with Lyon in that room two nights before. "Then Grace let me out. Miss Wolcott had left the door unbolted. Grace is bearing up wonderfully. I say, isn't she a wonderful woman?"

"Miss Wolcott?" asked Lyon perversely.

"I meant Grace. But Miss Wolcott is all right. She has stood by her like a trump. I won't soon forget that. Well, it has been pretty hard on all of us, but it is all right now."