"Did Mary Billings, the servant, see anybody?"
"She thinks she saw somebody near the river, but she is not sure; in fact, she is so scared that she is all mixed up. She has told the police a thousand times that she had nothing to do with the crime."
"Did Miss Langmore see anybody?"
"She saw a Doctor Bird pass in his buggy and a farmer named Carboy go by on foot."
"When was this?"
"While she was at the piano. She doesn't know the exact time."
There was a pause and the detective gave a faraway look out of the window and down the bustling thoroughfare.
"So far as you are aware, Mr. Case, did Mr. Langmore have any personal enemies?"
"I never heard of any."
"He was rich?"
"Yes."
"What was his business?"
"He was a dealer in patents and a promoter. Some thought he was rather eccentric, but I never found him so. He used to have an office here in New York but gave that up a year ago."
"Well, what is your idea of this crime?"
"I haven't any. But I know Margaret Langmore is not guilty."
"Evidently if they suspect her they have concluded that Mrs. Langmore was killed first."
"That is their idea, but it looks to me as if both were killed at about the same time, although I know that couldn't very well be."
"No, not if one was upstairs and the other down. Do you think it possible that one killed the other and then committed suicide?"
At this Raymond Case started back.
"I had not thought of that!" he cried. "If it is true then that clears Margaret." Evidently he was thinking only of the girl he loved—everything else concerning the mystery was of secondary consideration.
"Such a thing is possible, although not probable, unless the two had a bitter quarrel between themselves. Every crime must have a motive. People do not commit murder unless there is a reason for it or unless they are insane. Motives may be divided into three classes—jealousy, revenge, or gain. In this instance I think we can throw out jealousy—"
"Mrs. Langmore was jealous of Margaret."
"And wasn't the young lady jealous of her stepmother in a way?"
"But she is not guilty—I'll stake my life on her innocence."
"Then let us come down to revenge or gain. You say nothing was stolen.
Was there a safe in the house?"
"Yes, and it is closed, and will remain so until the experts open it."
"Nobody knew the combination but Mr. Langmore?"
"That's it. Margaret did know, but her stepmother had her father change the combination and keep it to himself."
"Had he much money in the house?"
"I think not. Margaret says her father was in the habit of depositing cash in the bank as soon as he received it."
"What sort of promoting did he do?"
"He organized companies to manufacture his patents. He also speculated in real estate and in mortgages. He owned two buildings in this city and several in the country."
"Who are the other members of the family?"
"Margaret's married sister, Mrs. Andrew Wetherby, of Sanhope, and Mrs.
Langmore's two sons, Tom and Dick Ostrello."
"Where are these people located?"
"Mrs. Wetherby is traveling with her husband in South America. The
Ostrello brothers are commercial travelers and somewhere on the road."
"Then the Ostrellos are not rich?"
"No, they are poor, and Mrs. Ostrello was poor, too, before she married
Mr. Langmore."
There was another pause.
"Can you tell me anything else?" asked Adam Adams.
"Nothing of much importance. It's a deep mystery, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's very simplicity makes it deep." The detective drew a long breath. "I was thinking of taking a vacation. My doctor says I need it."
"Oh!" There was a world of disappointment in the word. "Don't say that! You must take hold of this. I planned it all out as I came to town. I know you can clear Margaret if you will only try. Think of her position—the disgrace—my position—Oh, you can't refuse me, Mr. Adams!" The young man came closer and caught the detective by the shoulder. "If it's money, set your price."
"If I take hold, I'll charge you only what is fair, Mr. Case. But I never take a case, unless—"
"Any request you have to make is already granted."
"Unless I can first interview the person who stands accused of the crime."
"You can see Miss Langmore at any time. I told her that I was coming to town to interview you, and that I would bring you back with me, if you would come. I told her what a wonderful man you were and what you had done for others. I think it cheered her a little, although she was terribly cast down."
"You must not promise too much on my account, young man. I am no wizard, and I cannot perform the impossible, much as I might wish to do so."
"But you will come?"
"Yes, I will come."
"At once?" cried Raymond Case impatiently.
"At once."
CHAPTER III
MARGARET LANGMORE
As Raymond Case had said, the Langmore mansion was a large one, setting in the midst of an extensive lawn, sprinkled here and there with maples and oaks and fine flowering bushes. The hedge in front was well kept and the side fences were also in good repair. In the rear was a stable and also an automobile shed, for the late master of this estate had been fond of a dash in his runabout when time permitted. Down by the brook, back of the stable, was a tiny wharf, where a boat was tied up, a craft which Margaret Langmore had occasionally taken down to the river for a row.
The mansion now looked dark and lonesome, although many folks passed on the highway and whispered to each other that there was the spot where the gruesome tragedy had been committed. "And to think that the man's own daughter did it," they would generally add. "Beats all how bloodthirsty some folks can get. He must have cut her short on money or something and she was too high-strung to stand it."
"No, it ain't that," another would answer. "She's been flirting around with a certain young man, a Wall Street gambler, and her mother wouldn't have it and told her so. That's the real trouble, my way of thinking."
Inside of the house all was as quiet as a tomb save for the ticking of the long clock in the lower hall. Below, a single policeman was on guard, in company with a woman, who had been sent in to help: Upstairs another woman was stationed, to see that Margaret Langmore might not take it upon herself to leave for parts unknown.
Margaret sat in her own room, in the wing on the second floor, a dainty apartment, trimmed in blue and containing all her girlish treasures. On the walls were numerous photographs of her old schoolmates and the flag of the seminary she had attended. And on the mantel rested the picture of Raymond Case, the high polish of the surface marred in one spot where