“I know it,” was all the prisoner said.
“Why did you murder him?” asked Walton.
“I did not murder him,” he said firmly. “When I reached the office on the night of the murder Mr. Marchburn was lying dead on his desk. I was stunned and horrified. I know now I should have given the alarm; but there were so many strange things in connection with my being there at that hour that I foolishly imagined my safety lay in flight. Some of Mr. Marchburn’s blood was on my hand, and I bound my handkerchief around it to escape observation. To avoid meeting any one I started to walk down the stairs; then I was afraid the janitor might see me and think it strange I was walking, so I called the elevator on the floor below our office and rode down.”
“What brought you back to the office that evening?” Walton asked.
“That I cannot tell you.”
Walton ordered the young man to a cell.
Next day the papers told of the arrest. They also added something about the man who stood charged with the crime. Richald was the son of a once former wealthy New York merchant, whom every one respected. At his death it was found that his estate was badly involved, and all that was left to his widow and his two children was a small estate. On the interest of this Mrs. Richald lived, her son contributing generously of his wages to her support. Two years before the murder Frank had secured a position with the Bank Note Company as Mr. Marchburn’s stenographer.
Walton now bent all his energies to securing a fuller confession from his prisoner, to ascertaining what had become of the pistol, and the motive for the crime. His best men were set to work raking over nearly every hour of Richald’s past life. Meanwhile, at the earnest request of Brixton, Walton had decided to hold onto Marsh. Walton was pretty well convinced that, while Marsh did not commit the murder, he had some connection with it, and was not going to let that elusive individual get out of his clutches so long as there was a possibility of proving it. Brixton, on his side, was certain that Marsh was in some way implicated in the counterfeiting, and proposed to keep his eye upon him until he could charge him with the crime or bring it home to some one else. The capture of Marsh seemed like a lucky find.
On the morning of the second day after Richald’s appearance in court a carriage drew up in front of the police headquarters, from which a stately looking elderly gentleman and a tall young woman alighted. The gentleman asked to see the superintendent. Walton did not need to look at the card to know his caller, Phineas Yarrow, one of the noted lawyers of the city.
The woman was dressed all in black, and was so slight that she seemed unusually tall when standing alone. She remained closely veiled.