"That, gentlemen, is my explanation of what happened in the house today. Of course, it is largely theory, but I believe it fits the case uncommonly well."
"I'll say you're there!" cried Tierney.
"Yes," Morgan agreed. "You talk as if you had been a spectator of the whole occurrence. I doubt if a clearer explanation could be made, and I think you came pretty near the truth when you said a little while ago that we actually had uncovered something today. There is still a mystery of some kind, but thanks to you, we are now in a position to take some definite steps toward solving it."
"Still, there is one illogical point in your surmise. The letter from St. Louis arrived sometime this morning. If Atwood was in Chicago Tuesday morning, how did he get that letter off, so quickly?"
"The trouble with an analysis based chiefly on speculation, Morgan, is that many points may seem illogical and unexplained. We can only rely definitely upon the outstanding features. However, I never adopt any explanation unless it has a basis in possibility. You remember that a while ago I told you I thought that shot was a mistake—that it was never intended a shot should be fired. Whoever was engaged in that occurrence knew that the shot would lead to a police investigation, and once the police start, there is no telling where the matter may end. To head them off quickly, is it not possible that someone left immediately for St. Louis to post that letter?"
Morgan nodded. "It's straining a point, but it's quite possible, Marsh. At least, we have no better explanation."
They had finished their meal, and after Marsh settled the bill, parted on the sidewalk; Marsh to return to his apartment and await developments there, while Morgan and Tierney undertook some investigations which Morgan had in mind.
On his return to the house, Marsh noted with satisfaction that a policeman in uniform was already on duty. However, he wanted to make sure that the girl was all right, so instead of going directly to his apartment, he continued on up the stairs to the Atwood apartment and rang the bell. After a slight pause, Miss Atwood opened the door. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she held her handkerchief so as to partly conceal her face.
"I called to see if everything was all right," explained Marsh. "Why, what has happened?"
He knew perfectly well the cause of the girl's trouble, and he had to struggle hard to assume an air of ignorance. It tore his heart to see this girl, for whom he felt a growing affection, in such distress, knowing that all the time he possessed the knowledge to sweep away her grief. And yet would it? Was it not probable that a girl like her would feel even greater grief at the knowledge that her father was a hunted criminal instead of merely dead? She presented a most pitiable figure standing there, absolutely alone in the world. She had gone through experiences that day which would have made the average woman collapse, and to cap it all she had received the final blow in the news of her father's death.