style="font-size:15px;"> Kitty shivered a little as she went into the room that had been the scene of the tragedy, but she was really anxious to assist Fessenden, and also she wanted to do anything, however insignificant, that would help in the least toward avenging poof Maddy's death.
And yet it was seemingly a hopeless task. Though she carefully and systematically scrutinized walls, rugs and furniture, not a clue could she find.
She was on her hands and knees under a table when Tom Willard came into the room.
"What are you doing?" he said, unable to repress a smile as Kitty, with her curly hair a bit dishevelled, came scrambling out.
"Hunting for clues," she said briefly.
"There are no clues," said Tom gravely. "It's the most inexplicable affair all 'round."
"Then you have no suspicion of any one?"
"My dear Miss French," said Tom, looking at her kindly, as one might at a child, but speaking decidedly; "don't let the amusement of amateur detective work lead you into making unnecessary trouble for people. If detective work is to be done, leave it to experienced and professional hands. A girl hunting for broken sleeve-links or shreds of clothing is foolishly theatrical."
Willard's grave but gentle voice made Kitty think that she and Fessenden were acting childishly, but after Tom, who had come on an errand, had left the room, Kitty confided to herself that she would rather act foolishly at Rob Fessenden's bidding than to follow the wise advice of any other man.
This was saying a good deal, but as she said it only to herself, she felt sure her confidence would not be betrayed.
Not half an hour had elapsed when Kitty appeared at the drawing-room door with a discontented face, and said, "There's positively nothing in the library that doesn't belong there. It has been thoroughly swept, and though there may have been many clues, they've all been swept and dusted away."
"Same here," said Fessenden dejectedly. "However, let's change rooms, so we can both feel sure." Then Kitty searched the drawing-room, and Rob the library, and they both scrutinized every inch of the hall.
"I didn't find so much as a thread," said Kitty, as they sat down on a great carved seat in the hall to compare notes.
"I didn't either," said Rob, "with one insignificant exception; in the drawing-room I found this, but it doesn't mean anything."
As he spoke he drew from his pocket a tiny globule of a silver color.
"What is it?" asked Kitty, taking it with her finger-tips from the palm of his hand.
"It's a cachou."
"And what in the world is a cachou? What is it for?"
"Why, it's a little confection filled with a sort of spice. Some men use them after smoking, to eradicate the odor of tobacco."
"Eat them, do you mean? Are they good to eat?" and impulsive Kitty was about to pop the tiny thing into her mouth, when Rob caught her hand.
"Don't!" he cried. "That's my only clue, after all this search, and it may be of importance." He rescued the cachou from Kitty's fingers, and then, slipping it into his pocket, he continued to hold the hand from which he had taken it.
And then, somehow, detective work seemed for a moment to lose its intense interest, and Rob and Kitty talked of other things.
Suddenly Kitty said: "Tom Willard thinks we're foolish to hunt for clues."
"I think he's right," said Fessenden, smiling, "since we didn't find anything."
"Oh, he didn't exactly say you were foolish, but he said I was. He said it was silly for a girl to hunt around under tables and chairs."
"He had no right to say so. It isn't silly for you to do anything you want to do. But I know what Willard meant. He thinks, as lots of people do, that there's no sense in expecting to find material evidences of crime—or, rather, of the criminal. And I suppose he's right. Whoever murdered Miss Van Norman certainly left no tangible traces. But I'm glad we hunted for them, for now I feel certain there were none left; otherwise, I should always have thought there might have been."
"How much more sensible you are than Mr. Willard," said Kitty, with an admiring glance that went straight to the young man's heart, and stayed there. "And, too, you always make use of 'clues' if you do find them. Look how cleverly you deduced about the soft and hard lead pencils."
"Oh, that was nothing," said Fessenden modestly, though her praise was ecstasy to his soul.
"Indeed it was something! It was great work. And I truly believe you'll make as great a deduction from that little thing you found this morning. What do you call it?"
"A cachou."
"Yes, a cachou. The whole discovery of the murderer may hinge on that tiny clue we found."
"It may, but I can hardly hope so."
"I hope so,—for I do want to prove to Tom Willard that our search for clues wasn't silly, after all."
And Fessenden's foolish heart was so joyed at Kitty's use of "we" and "our" that he cared not a rap for Willard's opinion of his detective methods.
Chapter XVII.
Miss Morton's Statements
That afternoon another session of the inquest was held.
Fessenden had told Coroner Benson of Marie's disclosures concerning Miss Morton, and in consequence that lady was the first witness called.
The summons was a complete surprise to her. Turning deathly white, she endeavored to answer to her name, but only gave voice to an unintelligible stammer.
The coroner spoke gently, realizing that his feminine cloud of witnesses really gave him a great deal of trouble.
"Please tell us, Miss Morton," he said, "what was your errand when you left the library and went upstairs, remaining there nearly half an hour, on the night of Miss Van Norman's death?"
"I didn't do any such thing!" snapped Miss Morton, and though her tone was defiant now, her expression still showed fear and dismay.
"You must have forgotten. Think a moment. You were seen to leave the library, and you were also seen after you reached the upper floors. So try to recollect clearly, and state your errand upstairs at that time."
"I—I was overcome at the tragedy of the occasion, and I went to my own room to be alone for a time."
"Did you go directly from the library to your own room?"
"Yes."
"Without stopping in any other room on the way?"
"Yes."
"Think again, please. Perhaps I had better tell you, a witness has already told of your stopping on the way
