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"I cannot identify it," he said, in a low voice; "but I will say this: when Miss Vaughan found that my wrist was bleeding, she insisted upon tying her handkerchief around it. This may be the handkerchief." Again a little shiver ran through the crowd, and Goldberger's eyes were gleaming.
As he spoke, he touched his forehead with the fingers of his left hand. There was a moment's silence. Goldberger's moustache, I noted with a smile, was beginning to suffer again. "You are what is called an adept?" he asked, at last. "Some may call me that," said Silva, "but incorrectly. Among my fellow Saivas, I am known as a White Priest, a yogi, a teacher of the law." "Mr.
"Goldberger's theory is plain enough," said Godfrey, turning to me; "and I must say that it's a good one. He realises that there wasn't provocation enough to cause a man like Swain to commit murder, with all his senses about him; but his presumption is that the crime was committed while Swain was in a dazed condition and not wholly self-controlled. Such a thing is possible."
"It will, at least, be a great help to us," said Goldberger gently, and I saw how deeply the girl's delicate beauty appealed to him. It was a beauty which no pallor could disguise, and Goldberger's temperament was an impressionable one. "I shall be glad to tell you all I know," said Miss Vaughan, "but I fear it will not help you much."
Goldberger's stenographer was having his difficulties; the pencils of the reporters were racing wildly in unison; everyone was listening with strained attention; there was, somehow, a feeling in the air that something was about to happen. I saw Godfrey write a line upon a sheet of paper, fold it, and toss it on the table in front of Goldberger.
Then she sat upright, her clenched hands against her breast, staring at us with starting eyes. "I remember now!" she gasped. "I remember now! I saw it a blotch of red lying on the floor beside my father's chair! How did it get there, Mr. Lester? Had he been there? Did he follow us?" She stopped again, as she saw the look in Goldberger's eyes, and then the look in mine.
"That was three or four hours ago! You don't suppose he's sitting there yet!" "Yes," said Godfrey drily, "I think he is." Goldberger's face flushed, and he sprang to his feet impatiently. "Show me the room," he commanded. "Glad to," said Godfrey laconically, and led the way out into the hall. The whole crowd tailed along after him.
"A man doesn't usually commit suicide by sticking himself in the hand with a fork," he said. "No," agreed Godfrey, blandly; "but I would point out that we don't know as yet that it is a case of suicide; and I'm quite sure that, whatever it may be, it isn't usual." Goldberger's sneer deepened. "Did any reporter for the Record ever find a case that was usual?" he queried.
"Tell me, Lester," and he looked at me earnestly, "do you think that poor devil came in here just to get a chance to kill himself quietly?" "No, I don't," I said. "Then what did he come in for?" "I think Goldberger's theory a pretty good one that he had heard of you as a generous fellow and came in here to ask help; and while he was waiting, suddenly gave it up " "And killed himself?"
"It will take more than that to convict him, anyway," assented Goldberger, quickly. "That is all for the present, professor." I bit back a smile at the title which came so unconsciously from Goldberger's lips. Silva bowed and walked slowly away toward the house, Mahbub following close behind. At a look from Simmonds, two of his men strolled after the strange couple.
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