“He was that and more—the Secretary of State and I took him back home in the former’s motor, and when we had done grilling him we had cleared up many details in regard to this international intrigue. Through Senator Carew’s letter and Winthrop’s disclosures the intrigue has been nipped in the bud before more serious results can happen.”
“Thank God for that!” exclaimed Douglas devoutly.
“It seems that Philip Winthrop has been a go-between for a wealthy Colombian, whose name he obstinately withholds, and some person whom the conspirators called ‘our mutual friend.’ Strange to say, Philip declares he never knew until Carew’s letter was read that the mysterious individual was Colonel Dana Thornton. He says he gave all communications for the ‘mutual friend’ to Annette, and Annette, if you please, made him believe that the spy was—Miss Thornton.”
“Well, upon my word!” cried Eleanor, her eyes blazing with indignation. “I was a nice cat’s-paw for her. Do you know, I believe she, and not my uncle, killed Senator Carew.”
“I’m sorry,”—Brett hesitated, then went slowly on. “I’m sorry to say there’s no doubt but that Colonel Thornton did murder the Senator. I don’t want to inflict any more pain than necessary, Miss Thornton, but you will hear the details from others if not from me. I have seen Soto, your Japanese cook, and he swore that Colonel Thornton called at your house on Monday night, just after the Senator’s arrival, and Fugi admitted him. On being informed that Senator Carew was with you, your uncle told the butler not to announce him, but that he would wait in the writing room until the Senator left. Soto showed me an umbrella which Fugi had carried to the kitchen to dry for the Colonel. It has your uncle’s initials engraved on the handle, and Nicodemus positively identified it as belonging to the Colonel when I showed it to him on my arrival here just now.
“On being pressed, Soto also admitted that late Monday night he left your house to post a letter. As he came up the area steps to the terraced walk, which was covered by the awning, leading from the house to the sidewalk, he almost collided with Senator Carew, who seemed buried in thought and did not notice his approach. Soto drew back respectfully toward the area steps to let him pass. As the Senator entered his carriage another man sped down your high front steps, and, on reaching the carriage, pulled open the door and entered the vehicle, which then moved on. Soto swears solemnly that this last man was Colonel Thornton.”
Eleanor drew a long, sobbing breath, and glanced helplessly at the others. Her uncle was not only a traitor but a murderer. Her worst fears were realized. None cared to break the pause, and, after waiting a moment, Brett took up his narrative where he had left off.
“It must be, Miss Thornton, that your uncle overheard all or part of your conversation with the Senator. He probably waited in the writing room until the Senator left the house, picked up the letter file, as he had no other weapon handy, and stole after him. Hamilton was too drunk to notice anything. The horses probably moved up the street of their own accord when the preceding carriages made room for them to advance. It was unpremeditated murder, and yet chance concealed Colonel Thornton’s tracks most successfully.”
“You are right,” agreed Douglas. “If Annette had found Carew’s letter to the Secretary of State instead of Mrs. Truxton, Thornton would have escaped detection.”
“Annette was always complaining of Mrs. Truxton’s early rising,” Eleanor laughed hysterically, then cried a little.