“Did you meet any one with whom you are acquainted?”
“I don’t think so. I noticed no one. I hurried home and went directly to bed. Really, Nick, that is all I can tell you.”
“That will answer, then,” said the detective. “Are these the articles brought from your residence?”
“Yes.”
Nick had arisen abruptly and turned to a table near one of the walls. Lying on it were the disjointed sections of a burglar’s jimmy, one of which was stained with blood; also Gordon’s evening suit, his overcoat, and the disguise worn the previous night.
Nick examined all of them carefully, noting the spots of blood on the black suit, consisting of several scattered drops on the left sleeve and left pants leg, as if bespattered from a gushing wound.
There was only a single spot on the overcoat, however, and that was near the bloodstained pocket.
“It’s a mystery to me, Nick, a damnable mystery,” said Gordon, after waiting for the detective to express an opinion. “This is likely to ruin my chances of election, to say nothing of——”
“Say nothing is what you must do,” Nick interrupted. “I will try to ferret out the truth, Gordon, before the publication of the superficial facts can do you any harm.”
“A thousand thanks, Nick,” said Gordon gratefully. “I knew I could depend on you.”