“I did,” said the colonel, quietly.

“You did?”

“Yes, when I tested them with an instrument I secured from an electrician here in town the wires were dead.  There was not the slightest current in them.  Either they have been changed lately, or some sudden jar or misplacement brought them in contact with a live circuit.”

“What were the wires for?” asked Mr. Kettridge.

“That’s what I’ve been wanting to find out.  Originally I think they were for some system of burglar alarm installed by Mrs. Darcy.  But now those wires run to the work bench that was used by James Darcy.”

“To his work bench?” The manager was obviously startled.

“Yes.  But don’t jump at conclusions.  You know he was working on an electric lathe he hoped to patent.  Those wires may be merely part of his equipment,”

“Yes, and they may—­wait a minute!” suddenly exclaimed the manager.  “I wonder—­”

From his private office, into which he had ushered the colonel, he looked down the store.  It was almost deserted now, save for a few customers and the clerks.

“It’s the same place!” murmured the manager,

“What is?” asked the detective.

“Miss Brill was shocked, and fell at the very spot where the dead body of Mrs. Darcy was found!” said Mr. Kettridge in a low, intense voice.  “Except for the fact that she fell behind the showcase and Mrs. Darcy in front of it, the place is the same!”

With a muttered exclamation the colonel got to his feet and also looked out from the private office.

“You’re right,” he admitted.  “I wonder if that is a coincidence or—­something else.  I must go to see Darcy.”

The prisoner was measurably startled when the detective told him the latest development at the jewelry store.

“Those were never my wires in the showcase!” cried the young man.  “I knew some were there, for we did have an antiquated burglar alarm system when I first came to work for my cousin.  I had another one put in, and I supposed they had ripped out the old wires.  But the wires I used for my lathe experiments had no connection with those, I’m sure.  What is your theory?”

“I have so many I don’t know at which one to begin,” admitted Colonel Ashley.  “But I was wondering if it was possible that the showcase wires, which when I tested them were dead, could have, in some manner, become charged, and have given Mrs. Darcy a shock that might have sent her reeling to the floor, toppling the heavy statue over on her head, and so killing her.”

“By accident do you mean?” asked Darcy, his face lighting up with hope.

“Yes.  This young lady received a severe blow on her head by her fall, and your cousin—­”

“You forget the stab wound, Colonel.”

“No, I didn’t exactly forget it.  I was wondering how we could account for that if we accepted the shock theory.  I guess we can’t.  I’m still up against it.  I’ve struck a snag—­maybe a stone wall, Darcy!”