“Mitchell, you fool,” he gasped. “You’ve put the handcuffs on the wrong man.”
Carter Calhoun, standing in the background, advanced and laid his hand on Barclay’s swaying shoulder.
“The handcuffs are where they belong, Barclay—on the wrists of Richard Norcross, naturalist, murderer, and ventriloquist.”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS
Too thunderstruck to move or speak, the little group in the hall stared at Norcross, down whose white face great drops of perspiration were stealing, then their regard was transferred to the Japanese, Yoshida Ito, whose rough handling in the fight with the professor was attested by the closing of one eye and a bleeding lip. He looked far more the criminal than the learned professor, and a cry of protest broke from Ethel, who stood fully dressed behind Leonard McLane.
“You must be mistaken,” she stammered, addressing Colonel Calhoun. “Oh, say you have made some mistake.”
“That would be to defeat the ends of justice,” he said gravely. “Richard Norcross murdered Dwight Tilghman and James Patterson.”
“You have no proof to substantiate your charge,” retorted Norcross, speaking for the first time. “And I deny it absolutely.”
“Of course,” ironically, and Calhoun turned to Ito. “I have a witness here who saw you drop Barclay’s flask under the train at Atlanta, just after Tilghman drank the poisoned brandy from it. Speak up, Ito.”
The Japanese stepped forward into the center of the group.