woman in the brick block which the widow owned, just back of this and fronting on York Street, looked from a rear window, last night, and saw a light burning here until nearly eleven o'clock."
"The quartet probably kept it up pretty late."
"Then Mrs. John Newstrum, who lives directly over this room, just told me that she heard persons down here as late as ten o'clock, and after."
"Did she hear anything like a quarrel?"
"Nobody in the house heard any quarreling or loud words during the night."
"Is it thought the murderers got away with much wealth?"
"When we searched the house, a little while ago, and talked with Mr. Zunder here, we concluded that they probably got away with between four and five hundred dollars. She was known to have about that amount by her, as she was intending to pay certain bills that were due."
"Not a very big haul, if that's all they got."
"I am confident they got no more than five hundred dollars at the most," said Mr. Zunder, emphatically.
"I'll bet they had good reasons for believing that they were going to get more," observed Detective Reilly, confidently.
"There's no doubt about that," said the chief, quickly; "they supposed the old woman kept her pile right here in this basement."
"My theory," remarked Brewer, "is that the murderer or murderers were very familiar with the premises, and that they came here with the intention of robbing the old woman of a big stake. In order to carry out their villainous work, they first bound and gagged her, and then got her onto the sofa there."
"You don't think, then, Phil, that they intended to murder her?" said Old Spicer, inquiringly.
"I do not," was the reply. "You see, after they got that gag in her mouth, they probably began to go through the several rooms, and left her tied where she is now lying. The fact that she was such a sufferer from asthma may not have been known to the criminals. With a handkerchief stuck in her mouth, and her asthmatic difficulty, you can readily see that an old woman like her could not live long."
"I believe you're right, Phil," said one of the other detectives. "I don't believe they intended to kill her."
"Have you questioned everybody in the house?" asked Old Spicer of the chief.
"Yes," was the answer, "we have had something to say to every one who lives here."
"You learned nothing more, I suppose?"
"Nothing more of any consequence."
"Have you heard what this young man has to say, chief?" asked Officer Cannon, indicating a person of about twenty-five who was standing by his side.
"No," answered the chief; "what is it?"
"Speak up for yourself, young man," said the officer, encouragingly.
The young man, thus admonished, advanced and said:
"I was returning from a whist party with a friend about one o'clock this morning. Just before we reached Spruce Street, on Oak, we heard the loud talk of three men in a buggy. They acted as if they might be partially intoxicated. The team was going as rapidly as it could. Just before they came up to where we were they spied us, and we heard one of them say, 'hush!' Not a word more came from their lips until long after they had passed us, then we could hear them talking again."
"Hum! Did they come from this way?" asked the chief.
"Yes, sir; they were not far from this house when we first saw them."
"Which way did they go after they had passed you?"
"Toward Howe Street."
"Did you notice anything in the buggy?"
"Yes, sir; we both noticed it."
"What was it?"
"An ordinary packing box."
"In front?"
"No, sir; fastened in the rear, behind the seat."
"You are sure they didn't drive out Oak Street?"
"I am not quite sure; but I think they turned into Howe."
"I have heard something of this story before," said the chief, aside to Old Spicer.
"It may be worth while looking those fellows up," returned the old detective.
"I think so."
"What was it you had heard before?"
"Why, one of the women in the house here peered from her front window down on the sidewalk, somewhere about midnight, she thinks, and saw three suspicious-looking characters talking in subdued tones, near the steps leading to the saloon below."
"Ah, I see; and joining our young friend's story of the three men dashing toward Howe Street at one o'clock, or through Oak Street, as you think, with the woman's story of the whispering trio on the sidewalk, you think there may be a clew that will lead to important revelations?"
"It seems so to me – Well, what is it, Woodford?"
"I've just found this handkerchief, sir," and Officer Woodford handed a very fine embroidered handkerchief to the chief.
"Where did you find it?" asked Bollmann, curiously, as he carefully examined the delicate piece of cambric.
"By the side of a chair in the next room. I fancy it may have belonged to some one who was with the murderer or murderers."
"'S. S.'" mused the chief, as he caught sight of those initials in one corner of the handkerchief; "I'd give something handsome to know what those two letters stand for."
Old Spicer took the handkerchief from him, and after a moment's inspection, said:
"Yes, this may prove a valuable clew. It may be well to cultivate the acquaintance of S. S."
Chief Bollmann seized the cambric clew and hurried away.
The old detective turned to Maier Zunder and abruptly said:
"You have had charge of the dead woman's financial affairs for a long time, I believe, sir?"
"Yes," was the reply, "for a good many years. In fact, I have looked after her money matters and kept charge of her bank books of deposit ever since she came to this city."
"You think she did not have a very large sum by her last night?"
"I am pretty sure she did not."
"Not more than four or five hundred dollars, I think you said?"
"Last Sunday she had one hundred and fifty dollars by her. She wanted to paint her several houses, and I let her have four hundred more."
"Had she paid the painters, do you think?"
"I don't know. If she had, she must still have had some two or three hundred dollars left."
"Has any money been found here by the police?"
"Not
