can't see that any of this could affect the final result—but for the fact that something might have come up to embarrass you," Withers explained, still with the unpleasant, rattling whisper. "It might have led you to think I hadn't been frank with you."
He had his foot on the first step of the car. The porter was evidently anxious to get aboard and close the vestibule door.
"What do you mean?" Braceway caught him by the sleeve.
"Somehow," Withers leaned down to whisper, "in the struggle, I think, I dropped—I lost my watch. Somebody must have picked it up, you know."
"Damn!" exploded Braceway angrily. "Why didn't——"
The train began to move. The porter put his hand to Withers' elbow and hurried him up the steps.
Chapter XVI.
A Message From Miss Fulton
It was a little after three o'clock when Chief Greenleaf and Lawrence Bristow finished their "celebration dinner" and took their seats on the porch of No. 9. The host, accomplishing the impossible in a prohibition state, had produced a bottle of champagne, explaining: "Just for you, chief; I never touch it;" and the chief had enjoyed it, unmistakably.
At Bristow's suggestion they refrained from discussing any phase of the murder during the meal.
"All we have to do now," he said, "is to see that the knot in Perry's rope is artistically tied—and that's not appetizing."
"I've got something new," Greenleaf contributed; "but you're right. We'll wait until after dinner."
They were greatly pleased with what they had accomplished; and each one, without giving it voice, knew the other's pleasure was increased by the thought that they had got the better of Braceway.
They saw from the porch that an automobile was standing in front of No. 5. As they settled back in their chairs, Fulton and George Withers left the bungalow and got into the machine.
"They're going to take the body to Atlanta on the four o'clock," said Greenleaf.
For a moment they watched the receding automobile. Then Bristow inquired, "What's the new thing you've dug up?"
"The report from the Charlotte laboratories."
"Oh, you got that—by wire?"
The lame man seemed indifferent about it.
"Yes; by wire," Greenleaf paused, as if he enjoyed whetting the other's curiosity.
Bristow made no comment. He gave the impression of being confident that the report could contain nothing of value.
"You ain't very anxious to know what it is," the chief complained. "I nearly had a fit until it came."
"Oh, it doesn't matter much, one way or the other," Bristow said, conscious of Greenleaf's petulance. "The thing's settled anyway."
"That may be true; but it don't do any harm to get everything we can. The laboratory reported what you thought they'd report. Nothing under Miss Fulton's nails; particles of a white person's skin, epidermis, under Perry's."
Bristow laughed pleasantly, his eyes suddenly more alight.
"I beg your pardon, chief; I was having a little fun with you—by pretending indifference. But it's great—better than I'd really dared expect. It's the only direct, first-hand evidence we can offer showing that the negro, beyond any dispute, did attack her."
He laughed again. "Let's see the wire."
"I guess it settles the whole business," Greenleaf exulted, passing him the telegram.
He read it and handed it back.
"After that," he commented, "I'm almost tempted to throw away what I had to show you; its importance dwindles."
"What is it?"
"A confession by Lucy Thomas that Perry went to Number Five the night, rather the morning, of the murder."
"You got that—from her!" exclaimed Greenleaf.
"Yes—signed."
"Mr. Bristow, you're a wonder! By cripes, you are! My men couldn't get anything out of her. Neither could I."
"Here it is. I wrote out her story and read it back to her, and she signed it."
Greenleaf took the paper and read it:
"I know Perry Carpenter went to Mrs. Withers' house Monday night. He and I had been drinking together, and I was nearly drunk, but he was only about half-drunk. He told me he knew where he could get a lot of money, or 'something just as good as money,' because he had seen 'that white woman' with it. He and I had a fight because he wanted me to give him the key to Mrs. Withers' house, to her kitchen door.
"He broke the ribbon on which I used to hang the key around my neck, and he went out. That was pretty late in the night. Before daylight, he came back and flung the key on the floor, and he cursed me and hit me. I had two keys on the ribbon, one to Number Five, Manniston Road, and one to the house where I worked before I went to Mrs. Withers. He had taken the wrong one. When he hit me, he said: 'You think you're damn smart, giving me the wrong key; but that didn't stop me.' He seemed to be drunker then than he was when he went out earlier in the night.
(Signed) "Lucy Thomas."
The chief whistled. "How in thunder did you get this out of the woman?"
"Sent for her and had a talk with her. She told so many stories and contradicted herself so much that, at last, she broke down and let me have the real facts."
"Will she stick to what she says in this paper?"
"Oh, yes. There won't be any trouble about that."
Greenleaf offered him the signed confession.
"No; keep it," he said. "It's your property, not mine."
The chief folded it and put it carefully into his breast pocket.
"I wonder," he speculated, "what Mr. Braceway will say to this."
"He'll realize that the case is settled. But I don't think he'll quit work."
"Why won't he, if he sees we've got the guilty man?"
"That's what I'd like to know. I believe—this is between you and me—I believe he's working more for George Withers now than he is for the state. You see, as I've already told you, there may be some family scandal in this, something the husband wants to keep quiet. Braceway will be satisfied as soon as we show him that the only thing we want is to present the evidence against the negro; that we take no interest in private scandals. But there's one thing, however, chief, I wish you'd do: let Morley go to Washington on the midnight train tonight instead of making him wait until tomorrow."
"Why?"
