Barclay listened to him with eyes almost starting from his head. “You fooled me completely,” he stammered. “Why did you draw the design of my flask on the table cloth in the dining car?”
“Because I desired to test you and find out if you had a guilty knowledge of Tilghman’s death,” was the answer. “I had seen you loan him your flask at the time he slipped the miniature in your pocket. I was also behind you when you started from the station and saw you bolt back to the train at sight of James Patterson, but believing Tilghman was watchful and would be on guard, I went to the public library, and thus gave you, Professor, a chance to poison him,” and the Secret Service operative glared at Norcross.
“In avoiding James Patterson I acted on impulse,” explained Barclay, breaking the pause. “I had not seen him for years. I have never outgrown the horror of having accidentally killed Paul Patterson, and the sight of his cousin brought back the whole tragedy, and not feeling like meeting people, I went back to my car,” he stopped and again addressed the man called Ito. “I saw a flask I mistook for mine on the desk in the library at the Japanese Embassy the night of the reception.”
“I watched you take the flask, and realized that you had made a mistake,” said the Secret Service operative. “I was detailed with several plain clothes policemen to watch the cloaks and wraps, as is frequently done at large semi-public receptions, and went in my Japanese disguise. When you saw me, I disappeared into the library, and on your entrance slipped into the conservatory and watched you from there.”
“Why in the world didn’t you come and ask me for the miniature, if you knew I had it?” demanded Barclay.
“Because I was aware that Norcross, whom I strongly suspected, did not know you had the miniature. By bribing Charles, the butler, I had the run of the house, and on the night of your dinner, Ogden, I was busy searching Norcross’ bedroom for incriminating papers when I detected smoke and rushed downstairs to warn you and your guests that the house was on fire.”
“But why did you close and lock the drawing room doors after shouting ‘Fire’?” asked McLane, before Ogden could speak.
“I slammed the doors shut to avoid meeting Barclay and being arrested on the charge of murdering Tilghman,” retorted Ito dryly. “I did not know there was a snap lock on the drawing room doors until afterward. The fire had gained headway, as I stopped to turn in a fire alarm before warning you; and not wishing to be known then under my rightful name of Jack Gilmore, United States Secret Service operative, I disappeared. Investigation has proved that the fire started from defective electric wires, and was not connived by you, Norcross”—Gilmore, alias Ito, faced the professor directly. “I was morally certain that you had murdered Tilghman, but had not real proof against you, as you were apparently with Shively while the train was at Atlanta; so I decided to use the miniature as a decoy to trap you into a confession of guilt. But that even would have failed had not Colonel Calhoun proved you an accomplished ventriloquist.”
Barclay felt his throat tenderly. “Norcross stole the miniature from me just now——”
“And I have it.” The Secret Service operative laid the miniature in Calhoun’s hand.