The Obvious Clew

TOPPING abruptly, as he caught sight of the policeman on the corner ahead, Calderton sucked in his breath. Fear smote him, and his heart hammered at his ribs.

In the next instant he realized what he had down and almost laughed aloud. Why should George Calderton, well-known young man about town, feel fear of a policeman who probably did not know him either by sight or name, when a few hours before he would have faced the entire police force with no emotion whatever?

Calderton knew the answer, of course. But he forced himself to be calm, and stepped forward briskly, even going as far as to hum the air of a popular song under his breath. As he passed the policeman he looked at him frankly, and the policeman smiled. So much for that!

It was almost eight o'clock in the evening. Calderton was in a district where wealthy men had their homes, where the big houses sat far back from the street, and the spacious lawns were landscaped with trees and shrubs.

Calderton was due at the residence of Garland Moberg at eight. That was the hour which Moberg's secretary had telephoned, and when Moberg said eight o'clock, he did not mean fifteen minutes after. When he reached there and was admitted to the familiar library—then would come the crucial moment.

“Maybe he doesn't know,” Calderton said to himself. “Maybe it is something else.”

But he was feeling genuine fear for the first time in his life. He was fashionably dressed, had money in his pocket, and a position in society. Yet the bare thought that he had been found out had been enough to make him forget himself.

“I'm acting like a low crook, a thug!” Calderton told himself. “I'm George Calderton, and that makes a difference. Maybe he hasn't found out—maybe it is something else—something confidential he wishes me to undertake.”

He came to the corner nearest the Moberg residence, and unconsciously he slackened his pace. He could not explain to himself why he had walked rather than take a taxi from the club where he had lived. It was not a particularly fine night for walking, and there was not even a moon. Once more he licked at his dry lips, and once more he realized that he was acting like a man afraid.

“Never do in the world!” he muttered to himself. “I've got to carry this thing through in the proper spirit. Suppose he has found out? He'll only give me a lecture and make me pay the money back. It isn't as though I were some unknown, penniless clerk. I am George Calderton!”

As he walked up the street and turned in at the gate before the Moberg residence, he fought to get control of himself, and he hummed the song again and tried to walk in his usual manner, that of a man who enjoyed life and did not have a care in the world.

He hurried up to the steps, went up on the veranda, and touched the bell button. Renkin, Moberg's old butler, answered the ring. Calderton glanced at him shrewdly, but Renkin showed nothing in his manner to lead a man to believe that anything was wrong.

“Mr. Moberg expects you, sir,” Renkin said.

“I trust Mr. Moberg is in his usual good health, Renkin?”

Renkin lifted his eyebrows slightly and made reply. He was the perfect servant, but Mr. George Calderton was almost like one of the family, and that made quite a difference.

“I am afraid that he is in a fearful temper, sir,” Renkin said in a very soft voice. “He had quite an argument with Miss Margaret, sir, and sent her out to the country place.”

“Um!” Calderton felt his anxiety was growing.

“You are to go right to the library, sir,” the butler continued.

Calderton walked down the long hall toward the door of the library. He braced himself for trouble. Mr. Moberg's temper, which was a well-known quantity to his associates, might have been directed solely at his fair daughter, Margaret, because of some infraction of household rules such as the magnate always was making. Possibly Calderton was not concerned in it at all. He certainly hoped not!

Yet he hesitated before the library door, and he realized once more that he was afraid. He tried to tell himself that he was man enough to face the situation, even if the worst came to pass. He forced the usual smile to his face and knocked.

“Come in!” Moberg's voice was not reassuring.

Calderton recognized that Moberg still was in his fit of temper. Yet he opened the door instantly and stepped into the library, carefully closing the door after him. Rekin [sic] was an old and perfect servant, but even old and perfect servants can be curious at times.

“You sent for me, sir,” Calderton said. “The appointment was for eight, I believe.”

“Yes, and you are on time!” Moberg returned grudgingly. “Whatever else I may say of you, I'll always admit you are a stickler for punctuality. Sit down!”

Moberg indicated a chair at the end of the library table, and Calderton crossed the room slowly and sat down.

He glanced furtively at Moberg as he moved across the room. There could be no denial of the fact that Garland Moberg was in an awful rag But Calderton hoped that he was not the cause of it.

“Punctual!” Moberg grunted. “George, your father was an associate of mine, and I loved him. Because of a foolish investment he died poor. Then I decided to take you into my office, give you a chance to do what your father had failed to do—make a fortune.”

“Yes, sir,” Calderton said.

“I told you several things that day when you entered my office—things I demanded. One of them was punctuality. You have remembered that—and have forgotten all the others!”

“Sir!” Calderton exclaimed in simulated surprise.

“You are a thief!” Moberg said. He did not thunder the sentence, rather he spoke it in a low tone, as though it was something that he could not understand.

“Sir!” George Calderton repeated.

“Oh don't be an ass!” Moberg continued. “Don't try that indignation stuff on me! I was judging men before you were born. You've been found out!”

Calderton hung his head and clasped and unclasped his hands nervously, ashamed to look at his employer and his father's friend.

“What in the name of Heaven is the matter with the present generation?” asked Moberg thunderingly. “Have all of you gone insane? You, my old friend's boy, betray the trust I put in you. My daughter defies me. And Morgan Snade”

He ceased speaking, as if his anger choked him. He got up and took a turn around the room and sat down again.

“Well, George, what have you to say for yourself?” he demanded. “There can be no question. You have been under suspicion for some time. Your have been examined. You have been stealing systematically for more than a year. You did it cleverly, but you have been found out. A thief always is found out sooner or later. He cannot escape forever. The law of retribution doesn't work that way.”

The young man made no reply. He sighed deeply once, and then he looked across library toward the French windows that opened to the veranda. One of them was open a few inches, and the soft breeze was fluttering the curtains. Calderton wondered that he could notice such a trivial thing at such a time.

“You have stolen more than nine thousand dollars!” Moberg said, and his voice grew even sterner. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“I—I am sorry, sir.”

“Sorry! The criminal is always sorry when he is found out, when he faces punishment for his crime. And it is not alone the money, George. There remains the fact that you have betrayed my trust in you. Where would you be to-day, but for me? Working in some firm's shipping room, possibly. But, for your dead father's sake I gave you every chance. I paid you more than you were worth. I prepared to give you a chance, a little later, to stand on your own feet. I even looked with delight upon the growing friendship between you and my daughter. I even hoped that you would marry Margaret and be my son.”

“And you have thrown all this aside by being a thief. Why did you, George?”

“A—a man can't live on air—not the way I live.”

“I grant you that it was necessary and right for you to live like a gentleman. You had the right to have decent quarters, to dress properly, to have your clubs, to take your place at social affairs, despite the fact that your father had lost all his money.”

“And I couldn't do it, sir, on my salary,” Calderton said. “I began taking small amounts and they grew larger. I—I am sorry, sir. I'll try to do better—to make amends in some way.”

“I know of nothing you can do that will wipe from my mind the knowledge that you are a thief,” Moberg said. “And you have added to your infamy now by being a liar as well!”

“Sir!” Calderton exclaimed.

“Had you stolen to maintain the position of a gentleman, I might be inclined to try to save you,” Moberg declared. “But you did nothing of the sort. I have ascertained that you could have maintained your position properly on your salary. It would have paid all legitimate bills and left a few dollars over. I say legitimate bills.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean that you spent money recklessly—stolen money You are a gambler. You have posed, not as a gentleman, but as a cheap sport! You have tried to make men believe that you have a fortune. You wasted money on unworthy companions. You stole for vicious reasons.”

“Are you sure of that, sir?” “It would not surprise me to learn that an enemy of mine has been getting misinformation around to you. I wouldn't put it past Morgan Snade, for instance. He thinks, with me out of the way, that he would have a chance with Margaret”

“That's enough!” Moberg replied. “I am receiving revelations this evening regarding your character. Now you would attempt to blacken Snade, whose only fault is that he looks higher than he should. At least, he is honest. I have not been listening to stories about you or any other man. My time is entirely too valuable for that. What I have told you are facts that have been given to me by two different private-detective agencies.”

“Those fellows are the greatest liars on earth!” Calderton said. “They gave you those reports because they supposed that was the sort you wanted.”

“Pardon me, but they knew distinctly I would be gratified to find myself wrong,” Moberg declared. “I almost begged them to show me that there was some mistake, that you were the right sort of man. And the investigation has been going on for more than two months. You have been watched during that time. I discovered two months ago that you were a thief, I made sure of my facts before I called you before me.”

“Perhaps I can explain”

“You cannot explain the money you have wasted over the gambling table.”

“I was mad, sir—I gambled in an effort to win and pay back what I had taken.”

“What you had stolen, you mean. Do not come to me with that old story and explanation. Did you expect to get the money to pay me back by giving a dinner for cheap sports? Don't lie again, George. Try to be a man in part, at least.”

“I—I do not know what made me do it,” Calderton said. “After I started, it was easy to keep on stealing. But I'll straighten up. I'll work hard and pay you back.”

“I hope you do straighten up, George, for you [sic] dead father's sake. This has been a terrible blow to me. I did not want Margaret to know—and so I sent her out to the country place for a few days. I did not want her to share your disgrace. I do not know how far things have gone between you”

“There is no understanding, sir. I was waiting until my financial condition was better.”

“I am glad of that. It is the first thing that has pleased me to-day. She will not be heartbroken, then.”

“Is it necessary for her to know at all, sir—for anybody to know? I'll straighten up, pay you back”

“Do you think things can be as they have been?” Moberg interrupted. “Certainly not! Do you think I'd overlook this, let you marry my daughter—a thief marry a Moberg?”

“But”

“Can't you understand that you must be punished for this? I do not intend to compound a felony.”

“You—you mean that you are going to prosecute me?” Calderton asked.

“That is for the district attorney to do. I merely make the complaint.”

“Don't do that, sir! Give me a chance!”

“No! You're vicious—bad, and you must be punished. Theft is never pardonable, to my way of thinking, and certainly theft for an unworthy purpose is not.”

“You'd send me to prison?” Calderton demanded.

“You have sent yourself there, if you go. I have had nothing to do with it. I gave you every chance in the world, and you threw everything aside for a riot of what you call fun. You have danced—the piper remains to be paid!”

Calderton began to beg. Moberg turned from him in disgust.

“Don't be a coward, too,” Moberg said. “Take your medicine like a man. Pay the bill! Now get out! I'll give you twenty-four hours to put your affairs in order. But do not try to leave the city. You are to be watched, commencing with to-morrow morning. If you run away to-night, I'll have them catch you, if it takes years, and I'll punish you the more because of your cowardice! Twenty-four hours to get ready, Calderton! The bail will be heavy, and you'll never be able to raise it. Your freedom will end with your arrest. So take one day to part with your friends, have one last good time, if that is your idea. Get out!”

“If you will listen

“No!”

George Calderton knew that further argument would be futile, He knew Moberg well, and he realized that there would be no change of heart. He was doomed! As Moberg had said, he had danced, and the piper remained to be paid.

He got up, straightened his shoulders, sighed, and looked once more at his employer. Moberg was not even looking at him now—he was staring across the room.

“At least, I'll show you that I can take my medicine like a man,” Calderton said. “If you wish to send to prison your old friend's son”

“Ah!” Moberg exclaimed. “So you have to make that last whine, do you? You cannot stand on your own feet. You play on my friendship for your dead father!”

“Pardon me, sir, but I play on nothing,” Calderton said. “I can take my medicine—and I can remember you when I come out.”

“Threats now, eh?”

“Call it what you like,” said Calderton. “I can go down laughing, at least!”

In a spirit of bravado Calderton stalked across the room and opened the hall door. He turned and smiled peculiarly at the older man, who still sat beside the table. He bowed ironically, and the white left his face, and the red flooded it.

“Good evening, Mr. Moberg!” he said. “I hope that you get a good night's rest!”

That moment of bravado almost sent an innocent man to the electric chair.

ITH that smile still upon his face, as though it had been frozen there, Calderton stepped briskly along the hall and came face to face with old Renkin. The butler glanced at him questioningly.

“He's all right,” Calderton said. “Just a bit huffy at something that has happened.”

“I hate to see him excited, sir,” said the butler. “His heart isn't any too good, I am afraid, sir.”

“Bosh! I don't believe that he has a heart!” Calderton replied, with a nervous laugh. He did not know why he acted in this manner, unless it was to make everything appear ordinary—to prevent an inkling that there was trouble.

Calderton went on toward the front to get his hat and coat, and the old butler kept at his heels. In a little reception room near the front door another man was waiting. Calderton saw, with surprise, that he was Morgan Snade.

Snade was a young man of promise who had come up from nothing and was idly making a name for himself in the financial district and in Moberg's employ. Calderton always had hated him, because he recognized Snade's superiority as a man of business, realized cleverness and ability. He had presumed to make an attempt to patronize Snade, to look down upon him because of his humble birth. Snade had about as much money as Calderton, but he had not had a distinguished father, did not have the entrée to exclusive clubs, and was a mere beginner in the social game.

And then Morgan Snade had met Margaret Moberg and fallen in love with her. Nor was he to be easily thrust aside. Even Margaret resented Calderton's slurring remarks about Snade. She seemed to think that he was honest, sincere, hard-working, and possessed of those qualities for which men of fashion seldom take the trouble to look.

Accordingly, Snade and Calderton were always at swords' points, though Calderton tried to tell himself that it was ridiculous to think of Snade as a suitor for Margaret Moberg's hand. As they met face to face in Moberg's home, each wondered what had brought the other there. There was quick suspicion between them.

Snade was in the act of lighting a cigarette. He put his gold cigarette case down upon the table at his elbow as Calderton stopped to get his hat and coat, crumpled the cigarette in his fingers, and bowed courteously, but frigidly.

“Evening!” Calderton remarked with bad grace.

Old Renkin feared a scene, and he detested scenes. “Mr. Moberg will see you now, Mr. Snade,” he said. “Just step into the library, please.”

Snade glared at Calderton and brushed past him to go down the hall. He had forgotten the cigarette case. Calderton sneered at his back and allowed old Renkin to help him on with his coat. Then Renkin turned to get the hat.

Calderton found the cigarette case at the tips of his fingers. He picked it up quickly and slipped it into his overcoat pocket. Then Renkin let him out.

Why he had taken that cigarette case Calderton could not tell himself. It was as if his mind and muscles were being guided by somebody other than himself. His brain was in a turmoil, He was making an attempt to appear natural, and all the time he was thinking that he had but twenty-four hours, that, at the end of that time, he would be behind bars. Moberg had spoken truly—he would be unable to give bail. He would have to remain in jail until his trial, then go to prison to serve his term.

He shivered as he walked down the steps and started toward the distant street. Prison seemed near to him then. He knew nothing of prisons, but he had a horror of them. It was the fear of incarceration that bothered him more than the disgrace. How did a man in prison bear up under the dull routine. Did he cease to be a man, and turn into a mere human machine?

His thoughts changed. What was Snade doing at the Moberg house? Had his visit been at Moberg's command? Did it have something to do with Calderton's affairs.

Calderton remembered the open window on the veranda. He circled across the dark lawn and made for it. A thousand intangible ideas seemed to be galloping through his brain. He was not Calderton now—he was a man over whom a prison sentence was hanging.

At the end of the veranda he was glad to find that it was dark. He drew on his gloves and then crept over the railing carefully, so as to make no noise. Along the wall of the house he slipped until he came to the open French window.

There, he found, he could remain in the darkness and yet see into the room. He could hear well, too. Morgan Snade was just seating himself in the chair at the end of the table, the one in which Calderton had been sitting when he had heard his doom.

It was evident from Snade's actions that he had been summoned to the house, but he did not seem to be at all nervous about it. Moberg often called his clerks there to given them confidential orders or to ask them to carry out confidential missions.

“I was on time, Mr. Moberg, but I was kept waiting,” Snade said. “You had another visitor.”

“That's all right!” Moberg replied. He still was angry and unable to conceal his anger, or else he did not care to do so.

Snade was waiting for his employer to speak. He picked up a heavy, sharp paper knife from the table and toyed with it he while waited. Moberg suddenly bent forward, and, though he spoke in a moderate tone, Calderton, out on the veranda, could hear every word that was said.

“Snade, possibly you may not like what I am going to say to you,” the financier began, “but you've got to hear it, whether you like it or not. You're a good man in the office. I've been watching you for some time. You work hard, you have a natural ability, and there is no reason, so far as I know, why you should not succeed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Snade said.

“I'm having quite a time to-day. I'm straightening out a few little affairs that I find need straightening. I'm making a clean sweep. I've dealt with a few persons already—and you are the next and the last!”

“I hope that I have done nothing to merit rebuke, sir,” Snade said, a note of alarm in his voice.

“Not a thing—in the office,” Moberg said. “I am glad, Snade, to pick up a young man of no family or position, let him enter my employ, and prove that I am a good judge of men, and that a man can succeed by his own merits alone. If he makes good, I'm very much pleased. But, whereas I am willing to take a man in that manner into my office, I might not be willing to take him into my family.”

“Sir?” Snade visibly paled.

Moberg bent across the table again. “I don't mix business and family affairs,” he said. “I'll be glad to have you continue with the firm, and I hope you'll win a managership some day, with all that implies, but I want you to discontinue your attempts to interest my daughter!”

Snade's face went livid, and he seemed about to choke. He gripped the sharp paper knife until his fingers bled.

“Pardon me, sir,” Snade said, restraining himself with difficulty, “but I am sincerely interested in your daughter. I do not mind confessing to her father that I love her deeply, that I'd be the happiest man in the world if I could win her for my wife. Surely, sir, you did not think that I was trying to arouse your daughter's interest merely to use her for getting into society?”

“No, sir!” Moberg fairly thundered. “I give you credit for your sincerity, young man. I realize that you love her and want to marry her. That is why I have sent for you to come here to-night. I sent her away this afternoon, and things are going to be settled before she returns. Understand, Snade, now and forever—you are to stop seeing my daughter!'

“You mean”

“I mean that she is not to marry a nobody!”

“You are insulting!” Snade sprang to his feet.

“Possibly. I'm talking straight and hard, as I always do. I want you to understand this thing.”

“You mean that I am not worthy of her? My folks were poor, but they were honest”

“Never mind that talk!” Moberg said. “No argument, now! I have decided, and I'm boss in this! Go ahead at the office if you wish, but stay away from Margaret! As an employee you're all right, but not as a son-in-law. Matter of fact, you'd never win her. But I don't intend to let you try. I don't want it said all over town that I'm letting a clerk try to marry my girl and get his fingers into the business!”

Calderton, on the veranda, started at Moberg's words and the tone he used. Moberg was more insulting than usual. Calderton supposed it was because of the series of events that had troubled him during the day, his own affairs among them,

Morgan Snade had sprung to his feet, unconscious of the sharp knife that was still cutting into his fingers. In a towering rage he tossed the knife to the table and shook his fist in Moberg's face.

“Take your job!” he said. “I wouldn't work for you another day for half a million dollars! You're not human! You're an insulting brute! I'm more worthy to be your daughter's husband than you are to be her father.”

“Snade!”

“I've had my say, and I'll take no more abuse from you. I don't care if you are Garland Moberg!”

Snade's outburst subsided, and a moment of quiet ensued. The two men glared at each other. Then Snade hurried out into the hall, slammed the door after him, and almost collided with old Renkin.

“My hat and coat! I want to get away from this accursed house!”

Like a maniac he grasped the hat and coat which Renkin offered, jerked open the front door, and hurried toward the street, where his taxicab was waiting.

On the veranda, in the darkness, Calderton grinned evilly. He had rather enjoyed the scene he had witnessed. Somebody besides himself was getting a tirade from Moberg. His rival was a rival no longer.

Then Calderton remembered that it would avail him nothing. Twenty-four hours he had, and then he would be in prison and in disgrace. The fat financier who sat in the chair a short distance from him would see to that.

Calderton guessed that the shortage was known only to Moberg. The books which he had doctored had been those that dealt with some of Moberg's private investments—not those of the firm. If Moberg failed to act, nobody but Moberg could prove the shortage. Detectives might say that they had been watching Calderton at Moberg's orders, but that in itself would be nothing. There was scarcely a clerk in the office who was not watched at one time or another.

But there was no hope. Moberg had said that he would make the complaint, and undoubtedly the complaint would be made. Inside twenty-four hours Calderton, who liked and abused freedom, would be a jailbird. He had expected to marry Margaret Moberg and inherit through her the wealth Moberg would leave. He had anticipated a life of abundance, with money to gratify every whim. Now he was doomed to a life of ruin. If only Moberg would die to-night!

His heart almost stood still at the mere thought of it. All the evil impulses of his nature had surged to the foreground in his hour of peril. If Moberg should die he would not go to prison, and possibly he could marry Margaret by playing on her sympathies.

Through the window he could see that Moberg was sitting with his back to him, his head bent on his breast. The two scenes had almost exhausted him.

Then the diabolical plan surged into Calderton's brain. He told himself that some evil power must be guiding and guarding him. In his pocket he had Morgan Snade's cigarette case. On the table was the heavy, sharp paper knife, undoubtedly with Snade's finger prints all over it. Snade had rushed from the room after hurling maledictions at old Garland Moberg!

Calderton was like a beast now. His eyes were burning, his face felt hot, his mouth was dry. He made sure that his gloves were on, and he felt in the pocket of his light overcoat to make certain that the cigarette case was there.

Like a shadow he slipped still nearer to the window, reached out, and opened it wider. Moberg made not the slightest move. Like a cat he crept through the window onto the thick rug. If Moberg turned Calderton could say that he had returned to beg mercy.

But Moberg did not turn. Calderton reached the table and grasped the knife by the handle careful not to soil his gloves with the stain that had come from Snade's fingers.

Another swift step he took. His left arm went around Moberg's neck, and his right hand drove the knife into Moberg's heart.

Panic seized him as the knife went home. He sprang backward and reached the window. He tossed Snade's cigarette case to the floor. Outside he darted, and there crouched in the darkness for a moment.

Moberg had slumped forward in the chair, and he had ceased breathing. The deed was done! Moberg could not have Calderton arrested now. And, if the detectives who had been watching him made a move, Calderton could say that it was the usual espionage.

He hurried to the end of the veranda and dropped to the ground. He started across the lawn, keeping to the shadows, until he reached the side street. Here the darkness of the giant trees cut off the light from the arc lamps.

As the first drops of rain hit his face Calderton almost laughed aloud. Even the elements were working for him. If he had left footprints at the end of the veranda or on the soft places in the lawn, the storm would obliterate them.

END Noggins!” said the chief of detectives.

Detective Peter Noggins asked for and obtained the services of a man from the finger-print department, engaged a taxicab, and started for the residence of Garland Moberg.

When he came to the detective department three years before, Noggins had created a sensation on the day of his arrival. The sensation was not because he solved some deep mystery, but because he looked more like an overworked bookkeeper than a detective.

But Peter Noggins for all of his quaint appearance and mild ways, had proved his worth. Now he was admitted to be the best man on the homicide squad.

“Garland Moberg—think of that!” said the finger-print man said.

“No use thinking of it,” Peter Noggins said. “When we get there we'll find out all about it. If he's been murdered, it will be up to us to find the murderer. That's all there is to it.”

Peter Noggins yawned and looked through a window at the wet streets. The rain had ceased, but everything was dripping.

“It's a bit cooler,” Noggins observed.

“Say, do you realize who it is that's been shuffled off?” the finger-print man wanted to know. “Garland Moberg! One of the richest men in town.”

“What about it?” Noggins asked. “Probably easier to find the murderer of a rich man than of some poor devil nobody knows. Stop fussing about it. Wait until we get there.”

The finger-print man grunted and clasped closer to his breast the box he held. If you asked him, Peter Noggins wasn't human. He never got a bit excited. You couldn't impress the man. They called him “the common-sense detective.”

That nickname had been given him a year or more before when he had solved a particularly puzzling murder case and had declared to the newspaper boys that there had been nothing to his work except the application of common sense to the knowledge he had acquired concerning the crime.

Noggins' method of work was canny, according to the other men in the department. He waited until all the fuss was over, and then he pointed out some little thing that nailed his man. The little clews that other men overlooked were the ones upon which Peter Noggins built his success and his reputation.

The taxicab reached the Moberg residence, and Noggins and the finger-print man entered quickly. They found a doctor there and a man from the coroner's office and old Renkin, with a white face. Noggins looked at the doctor and the coroner's man and raised his eyebrows.

“Stabbed through the heart,” the doctor reported. “Death was instantaneous. Nothing has been touched. A glance was enough to assure me that Mr. Moberg was beyond all help.”

Noggins followed them to the door of the library, and the others stood in the hallway and allowed him to enter alone. Watching Peter Noggins at work was nothing to give a person a thrill. He approached the body, looked at it from a distance of four feet away, then glanced around the room. He noticed the open window and walked over to it. He leaned out and flashed his electric torch on the floor of the veranda, and came back into the room again.

Once more he looked at the body, once more he glanced around the big room. Then he took a glove from his pocket, put it upon his right hand, grasped the hilt of the knife, and withdrew it from the wound.

He grunted to the finger-print man, and the finger-print man understood, He approached the table, opened his box, and began working on the knife. Peter Noggins looked around the room again. On the floor, some six feet from the body, at the edge of the rug, was a gold cigarette case.

Noggins carefully picked up the cigarette case and carried it to the table. Engraved across the face of it was a name—Morgan Snade!

Then he went back to the hall entrance and explained that he wished to talk in the small reception room at the front, and that they would leave the finger-print expert to do his work. The doctor, the coroner's man, and old Renkin followed him.

“What has been done?” Noggins asked.

“I sent the servants to their quarters, sir, called the doctor, and sent word to the country place, where Miss Margaret went this afternoon, This is terrible, sir!” Renkin replied. “I have been in his service for more than twenty years. He”

“Softly!” Noggins instructed. “Let us get at this thing right. Who discovered the crime?”

“I did, sir,” said Renkin. “Mr. Moberg had two visitors this evening. After the last visitor left he did not call for me, and that was unusual. He generally had me prepare medicine for him at a certain hour.”

“Medicine?” Noggins asked.

“He had a bad heart,” the doctor explained quickly.

“No question but what that knife caused death?” Noggins asked.

“None whatever,” the doctor replied.

Noggins grunted again and motioned Renkin to be seated. The old butler sank into the nearest chair, and Noggins looked him over carefully.

“Now, we'll get at it,” he said. “Go ahead with your tale.”

“Why, I went to the library, sir, and knocked. There was no answer, and that surprised me. I opened the door and peered in, and I—I saw him, sir.”

“Just as he is now?”

“Yes, sir,” said Renkin. “I rushed inside, and I saw the knife in his breast, and that he was dead. I—I must have screamed, sir, for some of the servants came running from the rear of the house. Then I sent them back, telephoned the doctor, and sent word to the country place.”

Noggins glanced at the doctor.

“I notified the coroner and the police,” the physician said, in answer to that glance. “Nothing has been touched.”

“As far as I am concerned, the body may be removed at any time,” Noggins told the coroner's man. “But be careful that nothing else is disturbed. Now, butler ”

“Renkin, sir. ”

“Thank you. Now, Renkin, we'll go back a bit. You say that Mr. Moberg had two visitors this evening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who were they?”

“The first was Mr. George Calderton, sir, and the second Mr. Morgan Snade.”

“Who are they?”

“Both have positions in Mr. Moberg's office, sir. Mr. George Calderton is of an old family. I believe that his father and Mr. Moberg were great friends. His father died poor, and Mr. Moberg looked after Mr. Calderton.”

“And this man Snade?”

“An employee of some sort at the office. I believe that Mr. Moberg thought a great deal of his ability.”

“Mr. Calderton called first?”

"Yes, Sir.”

“Mr. Moberg was all right before he called?”

“Yes, sir,” said Renkin. “But he had been in a temper, sir, all day. He went to the office at nine o'clock, but he returned about noon. Miss Margaret was here then, sir, and they had a scene about something. He ordered Miss Margaret to go to the country place, and she went by motor.”

“Know what the trouble was about?”

“No, sir. If I may say so, sir—thought [sic] it seems dreadful to say it now—Mr. Moberg was something of a tyrant in the house, and often rebuked Miss Margaret for breaking some little rule he had made, though he loved her deeply.”

“Very well. What time did Mr. Calderton call?”

“At eight, sir,” Renkin answered. “Mr. Moberg had told me that he was to call, and for me to show him to the library immediately. And Mr. Snade would call a little later, he said, and he gave me the same instructions regarding Mr. Snade.”

“That's all he told you about it?'

“Yes, sir, When Mr. Calderton called, I admitted him myself. The second man is ill, and I had excused him for the evening. I directed Mr. Calderton to the library.”

“Anything said?”

“Mr. Calderton asked after Mr. Moberg's health, and I remarked that he was having a fit of temper.”

“Wasn't that rather an impertinent remark for a servant to make to an outsider?”

“Pardon me, sir, but Mr. Calderton is almost like one of the family—like a son. It is my impression, sir, that a marriage was intended between Calderton and Miss Margaret.”

“All right! Go ahead with your story,” said Noggins. “Mr. Calderton remained about twenty minutes, I should judge, sir. Then he came out. I heard him wish Mr. Moberg a good night's rest, sir. In the meantime, Mr. Snade had called and was waiting. Mr. Calderton and Mr. Snade met at this doorway, sir. I—I was a bit afraid of a scene, and so I hurried to get Mr. Calderton's coat. But Mr. Snade hurried down the hall to the door of the library.”

“Why were you afraid of a scene?” Noggins asked.

“Mr, Calderton and Mr. Snade do not like each other, sir, I have observed. I believe, too, that Mr. Snade has been paying a great deal of attention to Miss Margaret, and Mr. Calderton did not like it.”

“So Snade went to the library?”

“Yes, sir. And Mr. Calderton left the house.”

“How did Calderton act?”

“Why, about as usual, sir. He seemed a bit huffy to find Mr. Snade calling, but he greeted him respectfully.”

“He didn't seem excited, or anything like that?”

“No, sir.”

“Renkin, you didn't accidentally happen to overhear any of the conversation between Mr. Moberg and Calderton, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Haven't any idea what Calderton was here about?”

“Not the slightest, sir. He often calls of an evening. But this was business, I am sure, sir. Mr. Moberg used to have one of his young men up here, now and then, in the evening, and outline special work he wished them to do, I believe.”

“I understand. Get ahead with your story.”

“As Mr. Calderton prepared to leave the house, sir, Mr. Snade went directly to the library, entered, and closed the door. I walked along the hall a few minutes later, and I heard high words, sir.”

“From whom?”

“From both of them, sir. I hope that you will not think I'd eavesdrop on my employer, sir. They were talking so loudly that I could not help hearing.”

“Talking about what?” Noggins snapped.

“I gathered, sir, that Mr. Moberg was telling Mr. Snade that he did not wish Mr. Snade to pay further attentions to Miss Margaret. He—he used some harsh language, sir. And then Mr. Snade grew angry. I heard him declare that he had been insulted, and that he would not work for Mr. Moberg any longer. And I heard him say distinctly, sir, that he would endure no more abuse, even from Garland Moberg!”

“He said that, eh?”

“He did, sir. And a moment later he came tearing into the hall, sir, slamming the door of the library behind him. He shouted for me to get him his hat and coat. 'I want to get away from this accursed house!' he exclaimed. He grasped his hat and coat, jerked the front door open himself, and hurried out to the curb, where a taxi-cab was waiting for him.”

“Exactly! And he was in such a confounded hurry,” said Detective Peter Noggins, “that he left his cigarette case behind! Where is the telephone?”

“There is one right here, sir,” Renkin said.

A moment later Detective Peter Noggins was using it. He was telephoning headquarters to have George Calderton and Morgan Snade picked up as soon as possible and brought under police escort to the Moberg residence. Then he went to the library and held a whispered conversation with the finger-print man.

THERE was no doubt that Calderton was a finished actor. Detective Peter Noggins watched him carefully from behind the portières as Renkin told him of the tragedy. Calderton appeared to be horrified. He said just the right things, and he did not overdo his excitement or horror.

Then he was ushered into the reception room and told to wait a moment, that an officer wished to question him, and Noggins stepped out and consulted the detective who had picked Calderton up and conducted him to the house,

“Where did you find him?” Noggins asked.

“At his club. He was playing billiards with some of his friends. He expressed surprise, but came willingly enough.”

“Act peculiar?”

“Not a bit,” said the detective. “He seemed to be puzzled, but that was all.”

“All right!” Peter Noggins said.

He went to the reception room and introduced himself to Calderton and sat down before him, while the other detective stood in the doorway. Renkin and the doctor were excluded from this interview.

“This is terrible!' Calderton was saying. “I do not seem to be able to realize it. Poor Mr. Moberg! He has been like a father to me. This will almost kill Margaret.”

“Sudden death always is terrible,” Noggins said softly. “I must ask you some questions, Mr. Calderton. In a case like this we try to get at the facts as quickly as possible.”

“I understand,” Calderton “I'll gladly answer your questions, sir, if I can aid in bringing Mr. Moberg's murderer to justice. But I do not know that I can be of much help.”

“You called here this evening?”

“At eight o'clock, sir.”

“And remained?”

“About twenty or thirty minutes—not longer than half an hour. I saw Mr. Moberg in his library.”

“Then you left?”

“Yes, sir, and returned to my club. It was there that the other officer found me.”

“You went directly to the club?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Taxicab?”

“No,” said Calderton. “I walked from the club to the house and walked back after my interview with Mr. Moberg. I believe the doorman at the club could tell you what time I returned there, sir.”

“I see. When you left Mr. Moberg he was all right?”

“Yes, sir. He—he was in a bit of a temper, if you'll pardon me for saying so.”

“How do you mean?”

“He was angry when I came,” said Calderton. “Something had displeased him. Renkin, the butler, whispered to me that his master was having a fit of temper.”

“Angry at you?”

“I must confess,” Calderton replied, “that he was displeased with me. But he must have been angry at something else, too. As soon as he had finished with me, I left, telling him I hoped he would get a good night's rest and be himself again. It was just a mild rebuke, sir, for which I am sorry now. It was the last word I spoke to him.”

“Care to tell me why he was angry at you, and what he wanted with you here?” Noggins asked.

“I suppose it would be best, sir, though I hope you will keep it confidential if it has no bearing on the murder.”

“You may be sure of that.”

“Very well,” said Calderton. “I—I am like a lot of other young men, I suppose—want some fun now and then. My father and Mr. Moberg were great friends, and Mr. Moberg has done everything for me. It was rather understood—though nothing had been settled—that I was to marry Miss Moberg,”

“I understand.”

“And I—I have been a bit wild, I suppose. I believe that Mr. Moberg had some private detective watching me. He called me here last evening and remonstrated with me. He had learned that I had been gambling at the club. He rebuked me for my conduct, and I promised to behave myself in the future.”

“How did he take that?' Noggins asked.

“He seemed much pleased, sir,” said Calderton.

“You parted in a friendly manner?”

“Absolutely, sir. I gave him my word to do better, and that pleased him, Yet something else was troubling him, sir. I could tell by the way he acted. He was trying not to show it. It was something that had nothing to do with me, I presume, and naturally I did not question him.”

“Meet anybody as you were leaving?” Noggins asked.

“Mr. Morgan Snade was waiting to see Mr. Moberg. He went to the library as I left the house.”

“Speak to him?”

“I believe I wished him good evening. We—we are not on very good terms, sir.”

“How does that come?”

“We never did like each other, it seems,” Calderton admitted. “And Mr. Snade has been bothering Miss Margaret with his attentions, I believe. He seemed to dislike me because I am more prominent socially, and, I suppose, because he thought Mr. Moberg wished to see me married to Margaret.”

“Any idea what Snade was doing here?”

“No, sir. He works in the office, He might have been summoned on office business,” Calderton replied.

“Very good,” said Noggins. “You'll go to the room adjoining, please, and wait there for me. I expect to interview Mr. Snade. He has arrived, I think.”

Calderton arose and bowed and stepped into the next room. Peter Noggins looked after him. Calderton had carried himself well, and he knew it. He did not make the mistake now of grinning or looking relieved. He seemed to be shocked by his employer's death.

Noggins ascertained that Snade had arrived, and had him ushered into the reception room. He spoke with the man who had brought Snade in.

“Where did you get him?”

“At his rooms, Noggins. He seemed to be a bit dazed—nervous as the deuce. He scarcely could talk—either angry or scared, And his waistcoat and the bottom of his dress shirt are soiled with crimson stains.”

“'Um—thanks!” Noggins hurried into the reception room and sat down before Morgan Snade. Snade had been made acquainted with the tragedy, and he seemed to be shocked, also. He was nervous, as the officer had told Noggins, and his face was the color of ashes,

“This is a terrible business, Mr. Snade,” Noggins said. “I sent for you because I was informed you had called here this evening. In fact, I believe you are the last person known to have seen Mr. Moberg alive. Are you ready to answer my questions?”

“Yes,” Snade said.

“I believe that you reached the house a little after eight. Mr. Calderton was closeted with Mr. Moberg, and you were forced to wait a few minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you went into the library?”

“I did.”

“Tell me what happened there, please.”

“We—we had a scene,” Snade admitted.

“Do you care to tell me about it?”

“It is necessary, I suppose. Mr. Moberg was very angry with me—and unjustly so. I—I love Margaret Moberg. Mr. Moberg had noticed that I was paying her a great deal of attention. He told me that I was all right in his business, but that he did not care for me in his family.”

“That made you angry, I suppose?” Noggins asked.

“It made me furious,” Snade replied frankly. “He as good as called me a gutter pup! I tried to reason with him, but that could not be done. He would hear no argument. Both of us grew furious.”

“What was the result?”

“I told him that I would not continue in his employ. I told him that I had been insulted enough, that I would endure no more. Then I left him.”

“You did not kill him?”

“Good heavens, no! What would lead you to believe such a thing?”

“You quarreled with him,” said Noggins, “You were furious at him, you admit.”

“But I would not have harmed him for the world. Though he was unjust, he was Margaret's father, you see.”

“I see,” said Noggins. “This is yours, I believe?” He took the cigarette case from his pocket, handling it carefully. It had been wrapped in tissue paper by the finger-print man, and Noggins removed enough of the paper so that Snade could identify it.”

“Yes—it is mine.” Snade's face wore an expression of bewilderment.

“It was found in the library near your the body,” Noggins declared.

“Found in I—I never left it there!”

“It looks rather bad, Mr. Snade.”

“I—I remember now. I was lighting a cigarette when Mr. Calderton came from the library and Renkin said I could go in. I had put the cigarette case down on the table. I—I do not like Calderton, and I hurried down the hall to the library. I must have left the cigarette case on the table. I have not missed it.”

“Then you have not wanted a cigarette from that time until this? You do not smoke much?”

“It isn't that. I was terribly upset. I hurried back to my rooms and was pacing the floor. I never thought of smoking. So I never missed the case.”

“How do you suppose it came into the library?”

“I do not know,” Snade replied. “I am sure that I left it on the table.”

Detective Peter Noggins was silent for a moment. Then he stepped to the door, called the finger-print man, and summoned Calderton from the adjoining room. Calderton and Snade glared at each other.

“Gentlemen,” Noggins said, “the murder was committed with a heavy, sharp paper knife. On that knife finger prints have been developed. I am going to ask you gentlemen to let this man take your finger prints for the purpose of comparison,”

“Certainly!” Calderton said promptly.

“I—I” Snade began stammering.

“What is the trouble with you?” Noggins asked.

“I handled that knife,” Snade declared. “I was playing with it when Mr. Moberg began talking to me. My finger prints must be all over it.”

“Ah!” Noggins exclaimed.

“But I did not kill him!' Snade exclaimed.

“How about that crimson stain on your waistcoat and shirt?” Noggins asked suddenly, pointing accusingly.

Snade looked down aghast. He had not noticed it before. He wore a dark waistcoat and Tuxedo, and on the top of the waistcoat was a dried stain. On the edge of the shirt, just where the waistcoat covered it, was another tell-tale stain.

“I—I” Snade gasped in astonishment. “Snade, you murderer!” Calderton exclaimed.

“Don't you call me that!”

“Quiet—both of you!” Peter Noggins commanded. “We'll take the finger prints now.”

Save for Snade's heavy breathing there was no sound in the little room. The finger-print man did his work swiftly and well and then went out into the hall again. Noggins followed him and handed him the cigarette case.

“Take care of all the evidence,” he directed. “Let me know as soon as you have made the comparison.”

Noggins stepped back into the room. Snade and Calderton were sitting opposite, their hatred of each other showing plainly in their faces.

“We seem to be getting down to the bottom of things,” Noggins said. “I always have said that no man can commit a murder and get away with it forever. There is always a clew left behind. Sometimes it is an obvious clew, such as that cigarette case. Sometimes it is a little thing that a man might overlook while making an investigation. The most careful criminal makes his little slip and is caught.”

“I never killed him!” Snade said again. “Why, I—I couldn't do such a thing!”

“Of course you never killed him, Morgan,” said a soft voice at the door.

The three men were upon their feet instantly. Margaret Moberg, just returned from her father's country place, stood there. Though they could see that she was suffering, yet she was calm. Noggins offered a chair, and she seated herself.

“I have been listening,” she said. “Mr. Noggins, do not make this terrible thing still more terrible by accusing an innocent man of my father's death.”

“My dear Miss Moberg, I have accused nobody yet,” Noggins said. “When I do accuse a man, he will be the guilty one. I have merely pointed out the obvious clew. Mr. Snade visited your father, had a quarrel with him, left the house unnerved. Your father was found dead, and beside the body was Mr. Snade's cigarette case.”

“Morgan Snade could not have done this,” she declared. “He is an honest, sincere man. I quarreled with my father this morning because he ordered me to see no more of Mr. Snade, and I declared that I would not obey him, He sent me to the country place, and said he would tell Mr. Snade that he must keep away from me. I obeyed my father and went to the country place, thinking that it would all come out right in the end.”

“And Snade killed your father, Margaret!” Calderton said. “That is the kind of man he is! The evidence”

The finger-print man came to the door and beckoned Noggins. The detective excused himself and hurried into the hall, and those in the reception room were quiet for a time. Then Detective Peter Noggins returned; he sat down and looked at all of them in turn, as though trying to read their thoughts,

“We have examined the knife, and we have examined the finger prints of Calderton and Snade,” he said. “We fail to find any finger prints on the knife except those of Morgan Snade.”

Margaret uttered a cry of horror.

“Of course you found my prints,” Snade said, “I was handling the knife, I remember, as Mr. Moberg talked to me. In my anger I gripped it and cut my fingers. You can see the cuts. That accounts for the stains on my shirt and waistcoat. I didn't kill him! Can't you believe me?”

“We have the obvious clew,” Noggins said. “Your finger prints are on the knife with which Mr. Moberg was slain, your cigarette case was found beside the body, you had quarreled bitterly with the victim. You had the motive, the opportunity!”

There was silence for a moment. Here was an innocent man caught in a web of evidence that might destroy him. Calderton would have smiled had he dared. Everything was perfect. He had left Mr. Moberg in peace, according to Renkin, and Snade had left him in anger—afterward. The finger prints on the knife, the cigarette case—they were enough to convict Snade!

“He never did it—never did it!” Margaret Moberg declared. “I would stake my life on his innocence.”

Noggins watched her carefully, and then he watched Snade again as the latter was comforting Margaret Moberg. Then he glanced at Calderton.

“While we are at it let's make the evidence as conclusive as possible,” Noggins said. He took from his pocket the cigarette case, which the finger-print man had returned to him.

“Snade, in the presence of witnesses you admit that this case belongs to you?” he asked.

“Yes. My name is engraved on it.”

“You can identify it, Miss Moberg?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I have seen it hundreds of times. But it means nothing to me. I know Morgan is innocent—I feel it.”

“I am afraid that a jury would ask for something more than that,” Noggins said quietly. “Now, Mr. Calderton”

“Sir?”

Can you identify the case also?”

“No,” Calderton said. “I don't believe I ever saw it before.”

“Take a good look at it,” Noggins said, putting it before his eyes.

Calderton pretended to look at it carefully. “It is an ordinary gold case,” he said, “with Morgan Snade's name engraved in script across the face of it. But, when you come right down to it, I can't declare that it is his. I never saw it before.”

Calderton imagined that he was showing a kind heart there. Margaret would think he was honest, would feel kindly toward him for this attempt to keep from piling up evidence against Snade. And, when it was over, when Snade had been executed, she would turn to George Calderton.

“Never saw it before?” Noggins questioned.

“I am sure of it, sir,” Calderton replied.

“Then how does it happen,” Detective Peter Noggins asked suddenly, “that your finger prints are on it?”

There was a moment of silent tension, and then Calderton sprang to his feet.

“What's that?” he demanded.

“Your finger prints are on it,” Noggins repeated. “Both yours and Mr. Snade's. It is natural that his should be upon it, but how could yours be there if you never saw the cigarette case before?”

“Some mistake” Calderton said, fear suddenly clutching at him.

“Finger prints do not lie!” Noggins replied. “The obvious clew: The cigarette case beside the body, where a detective would be sure to find it! But, as I said before, a crook always makes some little mistake. Well, Calderton!”

But Calderton, being made of weak stuff, collapsed now that the crisis had been reached. His brain seemed shocked. He muttered a few phrases that meant nothing, and then Noggins and the others caught some low, coherent sentences.

“I—I must have picked it up—before putting on my gloves,” Calderton said. “I remember now—I put on my gloves—after I got outside”

Noggins nodded to the detective in the doorway. Handcuffs snapped on the wrists of George Calderton. The sound, the feel of them completed his unnerving. A moment later he was babbling his confession.

And fifteen minutes later Noggins was going back to headquarters in the taxicab with the finger-print man

“A very simple case,” said Peter Noggins. “Very simple—nothing to it, in fact! Too many obvious clews, Always beware obvious clews!”