"I will be free at the end of a year under certain contingencies—perhaps a good deal sooner."
"Well, I wish it was to-morrow," cried Clippers. "I want you to take this case; but we'll have to see the others and let Tom or Pappy reap new fame."
Half an hour later the two detectives named Hargraves and Irwin knew all there was to know at the time of the death of Jason Marrow.
It was not much, for the slayer had done his work with great secrecy and had left no clews behind.
The matter was destined to become a mystery to the department, a deep puzzle to the best men on the force for months.
Old Broadbrim went back to his room after the find in the house near the mouth of the alley.
"Confound it all! why did I bind myself for a year to play Cerberus for Custer Kipp?" he mused. "Here's the very sort of case I've been looking for, but my hands are tied, and I can't get out of the matter unless I go to his house and absolutely back out of the bargain. In that case I would lose the twenty-five thousand dollars and—— No, I'll stick!"
For long into the night there was a light in the detective's room, and he might have been found at the table at work.
It was near midnight when a footstep came to the door and stopped there.
Old Broadbrim heard the noise and waited for the rap.
When it sounded he crossed the room and opened the door.
A young man with a very white face and a figure that trembled a little stepped forward.
"You're the gentleman, I guess? You're Josiah Broadbrim?"
"I am."
"You are wanted at once at Custer Kipp's home on Fifth Avenue. Miss Nora sent me and I didn't go in to look at him."
"To look at whom?" asked the detective.
"Why, at Mr. Kipp. He was found dead in the library an hour ago."
The detective started violently and looked at the man in his chair.
"Is it murder?" he asked.
"I can't say. Miss Nora didn't tell me, but from the aspects of the case I think it's serious."
"I'll come."
The young man arose and hastened from the room.
"Not so soon, I hope?" said the detective to himself. "Can it be that my espionage ends almost before the bargain is cold? Dead in the library? It's marvelous."
Old Broadbrim soon appeared at the Kipp door and was admitted.
He found the parlor well filled with strange people, for the most part neighbors in the upper circles of city life, but here and there was a representative of the lower classes who had edged their way into the mansion.
The moment the detective crossed the threshold he was approached by a young girl, with clear blue eyes and a good carriage, who instantly addressed him.
"You are Josiah Broadbrim?" she said questioningly. "Yes, you are the detective whom I sent for?"
Old Broadbrim nodded.
"Then, come with me. He is in the library and I have locked the door."
The detective was conducted from the parlor and the nabob's ward opened the door of the library.
In another instant she had closed it and they stood in the large chamber, elegantly furnished, and containing rows of books magnificently bound, for Custer Kipp had spared no pains with his tastes.
"There he is," said the girl with lowered voice, as she pointed toward a figure in the armchair. "No one has touched him, for I forbade it, and you are the first person to see him dead beside myself and the person who did the deed."
The detective stepped forward, and the hand of Nora Doon turned the gas a little higher.
Custer Kipp was leaning back in the chair with his white face turned toward the ceiling.
The arms hung downward as if they had slipped over the sides of the seat, and the face showed traces of the death agony.
"I heard but little," said Nora, while the detective looked at the dead. "I go upstairs early when I am not at the opera or elsewhere. I remained at home to-night for I had letters to write, and he came home from a ride about seven.
"I heard him in the library bustling about for an hour while I read in my room, and then everywhere silence seemed to come down over the house. When I arose to retire I thought I would look downstairs, as is my wont, and see if all was snug. As I came down the stairs I peeped over the transom of the library, as one can do from the head of the flight, and to my horror I saw him in the position you see him now.
"There was something so unnatural in the pose, something suggestive of sickness if not death—for I must own that the thought of sudden death interposed itself—that I bounded to the foot of the stair and opened the door, which was not locked.
"In another moment I knew all. I saw that he was dead, and, what is more, I saw that he had been killed. You will notice the dark marks which linger still at the throat, as if he had been strangled like the thugs serve their victims. Isn't it terrible? To have him taken away in this manner, and to-morrow was to be his birthday."
She ceased and glanced at the man in the chair, while a shadow of fear and inward dread seemed to take possession of her soul.
"I don't know just where Foster is," she went on. "He went away nearly a week ago, and I never heard papa say where he is. However, he will see the news in the papers, and will be here in a short time. I told Simpson, the servant, as soon as I recovered, for I lost all control of myself under the terrible discovery, and there's no telling how long I lay in a swoon on the carpet here. As soon as I could I sent him after you."
"But," smiled Old Broadbrim, "how did you know where to find me?"
"I found your card in the desk. I remember seeing you in the house to-day, though I knew nothing of the nature of your mission. He has been in fear of something for some time. I have noticed this, and think it has not escaped Foster's eye. But we'll know about this when he returns."
"My card was all you found, miss?"
"Yes; but I'll admit that I did not look thoroughly. The front door was unlocked when I went thither after the discovery in this room, but—— What is it, Simpson?"
The servant had entered the room and stood near the door with his eyes riveted upon the young girl.
When she spoke his name he came forward and extended his hand.
"I picked this up in the hall just now. It's a curious bit of paper, part of a letter."
Nora took the find and glanced at it, then handed it to the Quaker man-hunter.
Old Broadbrim looked at it, going over to the desk where the droplight swung.
"Tell the people in the parlor that they can go now, Simpson," said Nora. "The police will be here in a little while. The detective is already here."
Old Broadbrim looked up at Nora as Simpson left the room, and his look drew her toward him.
"Is it anything?" she asked.
The detective still held the bit of paper in his hand.
"It may not be of any use," said he, slightly elevating the paper. "Some one of the people out there may have dropped it."
The gaze of the young girl fell upon the paper, and Old Broadbrim continued:
"Did Mr. Kipp ever have any correspondents in Australia?" he asked.
Nora shook her head, but the next instant she lost some color.
"Stay!" she cried. "I remember now that he received a letter some months ago, which seemed