“Listen to me, sir. Her initialed handkerchief with blood stains upon it was found in the safe near the body.”
Dick stared with unbelieving eyes at the triumphant detective.
“You are crazy,” he said, tersely. “In the first place, Doctor Davis said no blood was visible on Mrs. Trevor’s outer garments. Then all the witnesses, including yourself, testified at the inquest that nothing had been found either in the safe or in the room.”
“I have just seen Doctor Davis,” explained Hardy, patiently. “He said that undoubtedly some blood must have spurted out on the murderer’s hand when the foul blow was struck. Secondly, we didn’t find the handkerchief. It was brought to me by a person who said his conscience would no longer permit him to keep the matter secret. He had held back the information to protect Miss Trevor; but now, convinced of her guilt, he could no longer shield her.”
“And may I ask the name of this—this shrimp?” asked Dick, boiling with rage.
“Certainly. Alfred Clark, the secretary!”
CHAPTER XXI
FORGING THE FETTERS
Dick sat back in his chair and glowered at Hardy.
“Do you know that your informant is at present a fugitive from justice?” he asked.
“What!” cried the detective, springing to his feet in his surprise.