Hale unlocked his desk drawer, took out a crumpled sheet of typewriting, and, still retaining a firm hold on the sheet, extended it so that his brother could read the words. “This is a page copied from my manuscript,” he explained. “Polly spoiled the sheet by reversing the carbon,”—he turned it over and showed the impression on the other side—“but before she did so she indicated where her thoughts were straying by this”—and his finger pointed to the typed lines, repeated several times at the bottom of the sheet:
“Saw Austin 10-t-b-53-76c.”
“What gibberish is that?” asked John scornfully.
“Not gibberish,” calmly, “but the combination of my safe.”
The striking of the clock as the hands registered three sounded like a knell in John Hale’s ears. His brother was the first to speak.
“These links in the chain of evidence considered separately are weak,” he admitted candidly, “but taken together, they are strong.”
“I don’t believe it,” protested John. “It is all circumstantial evidence—”
“To which Polly has lent substance by her disappearance,” retorted Hale: “Had she stayed here and continued as my secretary, attention would not have been attracted to her.”
John did not reply at once and Hale, watching him, noted his changed expression with bated interest.
“To sum up,”—Hale’s voice cut the silence and scraped afresh John’s raw nerves—“Polly was engaged to Austin—can you deny it?” Receiving no reply, he went on, “Polly knew he would be here Tuesday night, witness her presence in the house at midnight; she supplied him with the combination of my safe; she was seen leaving the library at the very time he must have been murdered, and his body was found lying near the open safe—”