XVIII

MRS. DAVIS’ STRANGE LODGER

“If you will look carefully at this chart, and note where the various persons then in the museum were standing at the moment Correy shouted his alarm, you will see that of all upon whom suspicion can with any probability be attached there is but one who could have fulfilled the conditions of escape as just explained to you.”

Stretching forth an impressive finger, Mr. Gryce pointed to a certain number on the chart outspread between him and the Chief Inspector.

He looked—­saw the number “3” and glanced anxiously down at the name it prefigured.

“Roberts—­the director!  Impossible!  Not to be considered for a moment.  I’m afraid you’re getting old, Gryce.”  And he looked about to be sure that the door was quite shut.

Mr. Gryce smiled, a little drearily perhaps, as he acknowledged this self-evident fact.

“You are right, Chief:  I am getting old—­but not so old as to venture upon so shocking an insinuation against a man of Mr. Roberts’ repute and seeming honor, if I had not some very substantial proofs to offer in its support.”

“No doubt, no doubt; but it won’t do.  I tell you, Gryce, it won’t do.  There cannot be any such far-fetched and ridiculous explanation to the crime you talk about.  Why, he’s next to being the Republican nominee for Senator.  An attack upon him, especially of this monstrous character, would be looked upon as a clear case of political persecution.  And such it would be, and nothing less; and it would be all to no purpose, I am sure.  I hope you are alone in these conclusions—­that you have not seen fit to share your ideas on this subject with any of the boys?”

“Only with Sweetwater, who did some of the work for me.”

“And Joyce?  How about him?”

“He had the same opportunities as myself, but we have not reached the point of mentioning names.  I thought it best to consult with you first.”

“Good!  Then we’ll drop it.”

It was decisively said, but Gryce gave no signs of yielding.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said he.  Then with the dignity of long experience, he added with quiet impressiveness: 

“I have, as you know, faced crime these many years in all its aspects.  I have tracked the ignorant, almost imbecile, murderer of the slums, and laid my hand in arrest on the shoulder of so-called gentlemen hiding their criminal instincts under a show of culture and sometimes of wide education.  Human nature is not so very different in high and low; and what may lead an irresponsible dago into unsheathing his knife against his fellow may work a like effect upon his high-bred brother if circumstances lend their aid to make discovery appear impossible.