“I’m sure I’m right,” went on Mitchell, showing more than his usual animation as he warmed to the subject. “I was about to question Murray when Miss Dorothy Deane appeared and ordered me off the place—a message from Mrs. Porter, she said, and as Murray looked as if he was ready to back up his employer’s orders, I retreated—until tomorrow. Now, doctor, you are aware of the ingenious steel and wooden limbs invented to take the place of arms and legs; they are marvels of mechanical skill, and one-armed surgeons using a false arm and hand have been known to perform the most delicate operations.” Thorne nodded agreement. “Well, why couldn’t Noyes have, with the aid of a false hand, cut Brainard’s throat?”
“It is within possibility,” admitted Thorne. “But the motive for the crime?”
The detective chuckled grimly. “In moments of stress or excitement men give themselves away. Did you observe Noyes’ expression when Miss Porter fainted? You did; then there’s the answer to your question.”
“You mean—” Thorne tossed away his cigar stub. “You mean Noyes is in love with Millicent Porter?”
“I do,” emphatically. “There’s your motive, doctor—jealousy. Now, consider all the facts,” catching sight of Thorne’s dubious expression. “Miss Porter’s engagement to Brainard was to be announced on Tuesday, but it leaked out at the dinner Monday night. Noyes may have had no idea that she was engaged to another man, and the news awakened a desire to be revenged on Brainard. It is possible that Miss Porter encouraged Noyes’ attentions, and he lived in a fool’s paradise. It’s said, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Well, my profession has taught me that men evince the same strong dislike to such treatment—and such motives frequently lead to murder.”
“You are building up a specious case against Noyes,” remarked Thorne. “But whether your conclusions rest on a firm foundation remains to be seen. Frankly, I was prepossessed in Noyes’ favor this afternoon; he is a man evidently of deep feeling, and, judging by appearances, living under great strain.” Thorne spoke more slowly. “Noyes is not the type of man to commit cold-blooded murder.”
“Tut, doctor, murder is not confined to a type!” retorted Mitchell. “If it were we would have an easy time detecting criminals. And they don’t go around labeled ‘criminals’ in real life any more than they do in fiction. It’s generally the least suspected person who is guilty in everyday life, and the clues are to be found in the victim’s past.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Thorne. “Why not inquire into Brainard’s past?”
“Jones has that in charge and I’m expecting a report daily,” answered Mitchell. “I’ve learned everything there is to know concerning Brainard in Washington. He stood well in his profession, had some private means, and was counted a good fellow at the club, and was a great ‘dinner man.’”
“The latter means nothing,” commented Thorne cynically. “A suit of respectable evening clothes often covers a family skeleton in Washington society.”