“Why, that this rascal Fabriani has concocted this scheme in his own head and is using your wife’s tragic death in hopes to check your actions against his merger. Of course, he may be a member of the Black Hand. But in the numerous accounts of murders attributed to that society some token of the Black Hand has always been found by the body of the victim. Besides, I really do not think they would perpetrate so wanton a crime on so slight a provocation.”
“That would not stop them,” declared Trevor. “They are a bloodthirsty crew, and when lust and hate lure them on will commit any crime.”
“But in this instance they had neither of those motives,” said Dick, obstinately.
Trevor moved restlessly in his chair. “I would give much to believe in your theory.”
“What makes you doubt its truth?” asked Dick, quickly, and he looked searchingly at his companion.
Trevor’s face flushed darkly, and he considered a moment before replying.
“I have had a long talk with my friend, Secretary Bowers,” he said finally. “He advised me to do all in my power to have the real murderer apprehended; and to that end thought I should offer a large reward for his detection. I cannot believe that Mr. Gordon murdered my wife—cannot, cannot believe there was a—a—” he stumbled in his speech—“an affair between them. Whatever her faults, my wife,” proudly, “was faithful to me. Nothing will make me believe otherwise. I am convinced there is an innocent explanation of their meeting that night.”
“I am sure there is,” exclaimed Dick, heartily. “And, Mr. Attorney General, I honor you for the stand you are taking.”
“Thanks, Tillinghast, thanks,” said Trevor, huskily. “I have been searching vainly for a clew. This letter,” taking it from Dick, “puzzles me greatly. On thinking the matter over I decided to send for you and ask your advice. Publicity is hateful to me, and I find it easier to discuss these details with you, as you already know so much about my family affairs.”
“I shall be delighted to be of any service, sir.”