“Well, Dr. Hajek,” said O’Leary. “It is too bad it has turned out this way. I thought better of you.”
Dr. Hajek lifted his lip in something very like a snarl but said nothing. Corole made a sudden movement which she checked under O’Leary’s regard.
“Are you sure it was Dr. Hajek? Tell me about it, O’Leary.” The ring of authority was manifest in Dr. Balman’s weary tones.
“In my own way,” promised O’Leary with an apologetic glance toward Dr. Balman. “In the first place, the superstition which so unpleasantly impressed you, Miss Keate, has been fulfilled again.” He paused dramatically, and from somewhere in the room came a sharp sigh of suspense. “The murderer of Jackson was near by when you saw blood flowing from that small wound. But he was in—that closet.” He pointed. The silence breathed a question that none of us dared speak.
“Yes,” said O’Leary, answering the unspoken inquiry. “Yes. It was Dr. Letheny.”
“Dr. Letheny!” cried Jim Gainsay.
“Not—not Dr. Letheny,” faltered Dr. Balman.
“It was Dr. Letheny,” repeated O’Leary quietly.
“I knew it!” cried Corole. “I knew it!”
No one looked at her. Our eyes were without exception fastened upon O’Leary’s face.