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"That note," he added, "proved two things. One was that the writer was deeply interested in Miss Holladay's welfare; the other was that he or she knew Rogers, the clerk, intimately more than intimately almost as well as a physician knows an old patient." "I admit the first," I said. "You'll have to explain the second." "The second is self-evident.
Arrangements were made for the transportation of my new colleagues across the plains at government expense; but I took Ben Holladay's coach at Kansas City, and crossed the continent to Sacramento, and thence by river steamer to San Francisco. The Indian goods had been shipped to Yuma.
I don't doubt that it would have come, at last, to Miss Holladay's death by some subtle means; to the substitution of her sister for her after a year or two abroad, who could have detected it? And then oh, then, she would have married Fajolle again, and they would have settled down to the enjoyment of her fortune. And he would have been a great man oh, a very great man.
At last the coroner and district attorney came in together, and the former rapped for order. "The inquest will continue," he said, "with the examination of John Brooks, Miss Holladay's coachman." I can give his evidence in two words. His mistress had driven directly down the avenue to Washington Square.
True, she had said only a few words the hoarseness might have been affected to conceal a difference in voice but how explain the elder woman's resemblance to Hiram Holladay's daughter? Could they both be illegitimate? But that was nonsense, for Mrs. Holladay had taken her into her life, had loved her And Martigny? Who was he? What was his connection with these women?
And then shall I admit it? I was lonely, too, sometimes, as I suppose every bachelor must be; and I welcomed a companion. It was Monday, the fourteenth day of April, and we had just opened the office, when a clerk hurried in with a message for Mr. Royce. "There's a man out here who wants to see you at once, sir," he said. "He says his name's Thompson, and that he's Miss Frances Holladay's butler."
He sank back into his chair again, and breathed a long sigh. "I knew you would," he said. "Get the story from Thompson, will you?" I brought a chair, and sat down by the old butler. "You have been in Mr. Holladay's family a great many years, haven't you, Mr. Thompson?" I asked, to give him opportunity to compose himself. "Yes, a great many years, sir nearly forty, I should say."
"It seems a pretty strong theory," said our senior. "I'm inclined to believe it myself." I pointed out how it explained Miss Holladay's reticence her refusal to assist us in proving an alibi. Mr. Royce nodded. "Precisely. As Godfrey said, the theory touches every point of the case. According to the old police axiom, that proves it's the right one." Miss Holladay Becomes Capricious
"Why, sir," she answered slowly, "I wouldn't exactly say she was ill, but she seemed troubled about something. I think she'd been crying. She's been crying a good deal, off and on, since her father died, poor thing," she added. That would explain it, certainly; and yet grief for her father might not be the only cause of Frances Holladay's tears. "But she didn't seem vexed with you?"
I finished arranging my notes, and then entered Mr. Holladay's office to ask if he had any further instructions for me, and I found him lying forward on his desk, with a knife sticking in his neck and the blood spurting out. I summoned aid, but he died without regaining consciousness I should say he was practically dead when I found him."
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