Barnes acted with characteristic energy and promptness. His first call was at police headquarters. Captain Campbell, who was in charge, received him quite cordially, but frowned when he learned his purpose.

  "That girl's been whimpering to you," he said, with nasty savageness.

  "That has nothing to do with the case," retorted Barnes. "I came here for information."

  "Well," was the insolent response, "we'll probably give you information that you don't want."

  Barnes smiled cheerfully.

  "It may be hard to get what I want here--since I'm after the truth."

  The captain's eyes bulged and his face swelled until it looked as if he were about to have an attack of apoplexy. The other checked the incipient outburst of profanity by raising his right hand in that impressive manner of his.

  "I'm not going to trifle, Campbell; if you don't answer me civilly, I'll go to your superior."

  "What do you want to know?" he cried doggedly.

  "I'd like to know what became of the pistol?"

  "We couldn't find the pistol."

  "Don't you think that strange?"

  "Not at all; the kid's hid it somewhere. It will come to light in due time."

  Barnes ignored the sneering tone.

  "It has been said that no one was in the house except Jack Winslow. Wouldn't it have been possible for some thief to have gotten in by the front door?"

  The captain shook his head.

  "No; everything was found locked tight. No signs of a jimmy. The front door had one of those patent appliances which made it shut automatically. The thief theory don't go either, because nothing was stolen. There's no use trying to apply any of your fantastic theories to this case, Mr. Bromley Barnes! The thing's as plain as the nose on my face. The kid got into a fight with the old man and killed him. That's all there is to it!"

  After that unsatisfactory interview, Barnes hurried to the Winslow house. He found Mrs. O'Brien and Adam Goodrich, Winslow's faithful old friend, in charge. The good-hearted Irish woman had been weeping and the old chess player looked forlorn.

  "Glad to meet you, Mr. Barnes," he said with a break in his voice, "but nothing you can do can bring my dear old chum back to me again." He pointed to a table nearby. "Look there; there's the unfinished game of chess just as we left it that night. It will never be finished now. No one could play chess like 'Rash Winslow. He was a man worth playing with."

  Barnes made a sweeping survey of the room.

  "Was everything left undisturbed?"

  "As far as we know," replied Goodrich, "unless the police mussed things up."

  The detective tried the door. It was a big, old-fashioned affair, controlled by a patent device that made it close of its own accord. He next made a careful examination of the big hallway leading to the door. There was a narrow mantelpiece against the wall. The plush drapery attached to this had been partly torn off. A small, nickel-plated alarm clock was on the floor, one side dented. The Chief examined these things carefully.

  He was on his hands and knees, carefully examining the threadbare carpet.

  "Did Winslow smoke?" he asked.

  "Yes," replied Goodrich, "it was one of his consolations. Every night, before retiring, he smoked a pipeful."

  "I thought so," murmured Barnes, as he gathered up a handful of the fine stuff from the floor.

  "Now," he said, "if you will, I wish you would hold the door open while I examine the outside steps."

  He wandered around for some moments, but presently found what he had been looking for. He arose with a grunt of satisfaction. They reentered the house.

  "I suppose," said Barnes, "they have probed for the bullet?"

  "Yes," said Goodrich, "the coroner's physician did that. He took it away with him."

  "I'll have to see it, but I don't suppose that's possible until morning. Did he have any reason for taking his life?"

  "None whatever. He was a bit eccentric, but I think he was perfectly happy. He loved books and it cost him very little to live. He was in the midst of his beloved volumes all day, and had his game of chess with me at night. What more could a man wish? I don't suppose I'll ever play chess again. My nerves are all shaken. Two shocks in succession are too much for a man of my age."

  "Two shocks?"

  "Yes; early on the morning of this affair a thief tried to break in my house. I think he got away with some old clothes, but that was all. I discovered him."

  "And you frightened him off?"

  "You bet I frightened him off!" chuckled Goodrich. "I gave him a scare that he's not likely to forget. He won't try that game on me again!"

  "Did you report the robbery to the police?"

  "Yes; but I haven't heard anything from them."

  "What did the fellow look like?"

  "He was tall. I didn't get a good look at his face--he was climbing into one of the second story windows when I discovered him. You know there is a little porch or balcony around the upper part of my house."

  "How did he get away?"

  "He hung on to the ledge of the porch and dropped to the street and ran. I gave him a parting salute just to scare him. After that I went to bed and slept in peace until morning."

  "What do you think of the charge against Jack Winslow?"

  "I don't believe it," was the emphatic reply. "He was a decent boy and he loved his father as his father loved him. They were not demonstrative, but I know the affection was there. I don't know anything about their differences. That was a family matter that didn't concern me. But blood is thicker than water, and the boy wouldn't harm a hair of his father's head."

  "But the police believe him guilty."

  "You mean they say he is guilty. That relieves them of any further responsibility."

  "Probably you're right, Goodrich. At any rate, it's up to me to locate the thief. You say you scared him off, but how do you know that he didn't come back and try to get into Winslow's house?"

  "That might be," said the other. "I'm sure I don't know."

  Early next morning Barnes was in consultation with Captain Campbell.

  "Well," said the policeman tauntingly, "I suppose you found things as I told you?"

  "Precisely, Captain," was the suave reply, "but there's one little point I want you to clear up if you will."

  "All right," was the modified reply, "what is it?"

  "I'd like to see your book of robberies or attempted robberies reported for Monday morning."

  Campbell grinned.

  "It's a long list."

  "I suppose so, but I've plenty of spare time."

  The book was produced and Barnes began his weary search. Finally he located an item which told of the attempt to break in the house of Adam Goodrich on Walnut Street.

  "Did you notice this?" he asked the captain.

  "Yes; what about it?"

  "Well, it's just opposite the house where Horatio Winslow was killed."

  "I don't see anything in that."

  "Probably not. Have you made any arrests?"

  "No."

  "Whom have you in the cells now?"

  "Oh, a couple of drunks, and a darkey caught with a suit of clothes. We arrested him on suspicion. Like to see him?" he asked with a challenging air.

  "Why, yes," was the prompt reply, "I think I would."

  A few minutes later Barnes was in conversation with James Madison, colored.

  "James," said the detective, without any preliminaries, "why did you steal that suit of clothes from poor old Adam Goodrich?"

  "Adam Goodrich," was the puzzled reply.

  "Yes, you know, the house on Walnut Street, where you broke in on Monday morning."

  A gleam of recognition brightened the shining face.

  "Oh, yes, Ah know now. Well, boss, Ah needed the money. But--"with, a grin that extended from ear to ear, "he ain't no pooh man. He's able to take care of hisself."

  "Why did you kill Winslow?" asked the Chief suddenly.

  The ruse failed to work. Madison only smiled.

  "Ah didn't kill nobody. Ah come neah bein' killed muhself."

  After that retort he was as dumb as a clam. He positively refused to answer any more questions. He said he knew enough about law to know that if he talked too much he might incriminate himself.

  But when Barnes left the station-house there was an air of confidence about him that puzzled Captain Campbell mightily. The Chief called in the coroner's physician next and obtained the bullet that had killed Winslow. From there he went to the Winslow house, where he made another and more careful examination of the hallway and the spot where the old chess player had been found dead.

  Finally, that night, he obtained permission from Adam Goodrich to sleep in his room in the latter's house. Similarly, he arranged that Forward should spend the night at the Winslow home. And last of all, Clancy, in the role of a burglar attempting to rob the Goodrich home.

  The following morning, Barnes, sitting in state in his Washington Square apartment, sent for Police Captain Campbell and Deputy Coroner Nordean. Campbell and Nordean were autocrats in their way and they had little love for Barnes, but they felt that his message meant business. They arrived at the apartment together.

  "I want you both to release Jack Winslow," said the old man quietly.

  Campbell laughed, but in an uneasy way.

  "I must say," he said, "that you dispose of that momentous affair in a light and airy fashion."

  "I do it in a direct way," replied Barnes, unruffled. "I will produce the real culprit."

  "What?" gasped Campbell. "When?'

  Barnes looked at his watch.

  "In a few moments."

  "He's coming here?"

  "Yes."

  "Under arrest?"

  "No; voluntarily."

  The officers merely grunted their skepticism.

  A slight tap on the door was heard. Every one sat upright. The knob turned and in walked Adam Goodrich, with a smile on his benevolent countenance. He seemed a bit surprised at seeing so many men in the room, but he nodded pleasantly to them.

  "Did you bring it with you?" asked Barnes.

  "Yes," was the reply, and the aged chess player handed a pistol to the detective. It was done with the innocence of a babe. The detective produced a bullet. It fitted in the muzzle of the weapon.

  Every one gasped with horror.

  Before their emotion had died away, Barnes led Goodrich to an arm-chair and seated him in it comfortably.

  "My old friend," he said gently, "can you stand a shock?"

  "Why--er--yes," he stammered in wonder.

  The Chief paused a moment as if unable to proceed.

  "What is it?" insisted the other, impatiently.

  "You must not feel too badly about it," replied Barnes, "but unfortunately you are the man who killed Horatio Winslow!"

  "Impossible!" gasped Goodrich.

  "That's what I said first, but I've demonstrated the truth to a mathematical certainty. Clancy, Forward and I reenacted the whole tragedy last night."

  While Goodrich lay panting in the chair, the Chief told his story:

  "The moment I heard that Mr. Goodrich had shot at a burglar I felt that the incident was connected with the tragic death of Winslow. Every step in the investigation strengthened that belief until the final proof has come just now. After Mr. Goodrich left that night, Winslow had the wordy altercation with his son Jack.

  "It was disagreeable, but not at all sensational. The boy has told me all that occurred. Presently Jack went to bed and slept soundly until morning. Winslow remained up, studying the unfinished chess game. Finally he lit his pipe for his good-night smoke. It was quite late, but he went to the front door, probably to take a look at the weather."

  "I see," said the Deputy Coroner, nodding his head comprehendingly.

  "The clocks were striking two," continued Barnes, "and at that identical moment James Madison, the colored thief, who had robbed the house of Adam Goodrich, was fleeing down the street. Goodrich, confused, came to the window and fired his pistol. Winslow, as I said, was standing in the doorway. The ball struck him in the temple. He staggered back, releasing his hold on the heavy door, which was slammed shut and dead-latched by means of the patent spring. Inside the hall, the wounded man grabbed the plush cover of the mantelpiece for support. Part of it was pulled to the floor, together with an alarm clock. Winslow died almost immediately."

  "How do you know Winslow was at the front door?" asked Captain Campbell.

  "Because the spilled tobacco from his pipe was not only in the hallway but on the front step."

  "But the time? How do you fix that?"

  "By three witnesses," was the reply.

  "Who are they?"

  "First, the colored thief, Madison. He says he heard the clock in a nearby steeple striking the hour. Second, Adam Goodrich. He admits that it was at that precise hour that he fired the shot."

  "And the third witness?"

  "The third witness," retorted Barnes, "is the inanimate nickel-plated alarm clock that I found by the body. The hands of that clock pointed to two o'clock. Naturally it stopped the moment it was pulled from the mantelpiece."

  Adam Goodrich had his head in his hands and was sobbing with the intensity of a broken-hearted man. The Chief touched him on the shoulder and said softly:

  "Never mind, Mr. Goodrich. You'll go free, of course, and you have the melancholy satisfaction of having cleared Winslow's son from a false accusation."

  Finally the old chess player controlled his emotion. He looked up with a tear-stained face. But the ruling passion was strong.

  "Poor Winslow," he said, "that game will never be finished!" Then he added hastily, with a look of defiance:

  "If it had been, I'd have won!"

  VIII

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE

  LEATHER BAG

  Barnes lay back in a big arm-chair in his Washington Square apartment, reading the Sunday papers. He puffed at the beloved stogie, pausing at intervals to address a casual remark to Forward and Clancy.

  He went through this modern literature rapidly, albeit with all-seeing eyes. He read the headlines of the news pages. He skipped the editorials and woman's section altogether. But he lingered over the financial page and became absorbed in the personal and small "ad" section.

  Presently he reached for a pair of scissors and carefully cut a fragment from the personal column. It seemed to recall something, for he fished down among the discarded papers and, bringing up a news section, snipped a short article out of that. He calmly folded this clipping and put it away in his pocketbook. The personal he handed to Forward.

  "How does that strike you?" he asked.

  The lawyer read it carefully and was silent for some moments. The lines that made him stop to think were as follows:

  "One hundred dollars reward! Lost, between two and three o'clock yesterday afternoon, in a Twenty-Third cross-town car, a lady's black hand bag with monogram 'L. R.' on the outside. Contained twenty-five dollars in money, besides a number of personal articles of no value to any one except the owner. The above reward will be promptly paid and no questions asked if the bag and its contents are returned to its owner. Miss Richards, The Lafayette Apartments, West 69th Street, N. Y."

  "Well," exclaimed Barnes, cheerily, "I'm waiting. What do you think of it?"

  "It's too deep for me," replied Forward, scratching his head in a perplexed way. "Why should the young woman pay a hundred dollars for a bag containing only twenty-five?"

  Barnes laughed. "That's the meat in the cocoanut. If it were not for that, it might have gone, with ten thousand other personals, into the limbo of forgetfulness."

  "Still," persisted the lawyer, "I don't see that we have any interest in it."

  "Forward!" exclaimed the old man, with a note of playful censure, "you pretend to be eager for adventure and you won't grab it when it is whisked beneath your nose."

  "What are you going to do about it?" chimed in Clancy, ever ready to head off superfluous conversation.

  "Do," echoed the Chief, "I'm going to call on the lady and present her with a leather bag."

  "The leather bag," questioned the quick-witted Irishman.

  "I said a leather bag!"

  "Have you got one?"

  "I'll get one at a department store for a dollar."

  "And that--"

  "That," interrupted the old man, "will be the entering wedge into the mystery that lurks behind the queer personal."

  The next morning at nine o'clock Barnes tapped on a door in the Lafayette Apartments.

  "Come in," said a very musical voice.

  On being shown in, he was confronted by an exceedingly attractive young woman. She gave him a welcoming smile, but behind the smile there was an air of very evident perturbation.

  "Miss Richards, I believe?"

  She looked at him from a pair of winsome eyes.

  "Yes, sir; what can I do for you?"

  "I came to see about the advertisement of the leather bag."

  Her eyes sparkled.

  "Oh, you've got my bag!" she exclaimed.

  "I've got a bag," replied the Chief, feeling a bit sheepish at the role he was playing.

  "Let me see it," she cried. "I can tell you at once whether it belongs to me."

  The old man shook his head sadly.

  "I can't do that, Miss Richards, I'm afraid we'll have to reverse the method of procedure. I suggest that you describe in detail the articles that were in the leather bag."

  She fell into the trap without the shadow of a suspicion.

  "Why, yes, there was twenty-five dollars in bank notes."

  "I know about the notes. What else?"

  She puckered up her pretty mouth.

  "Well, there was a lace handkerchief, fifty visiting cards with my name and address. Surely that should be enough--"

  "Yes, yes, but what else?"

  "Two department store coins, a box of capsules and a latch key."

  "I see--how did you get the capsules?"

  "With a prescription, of course."

  "For yourself?"

  "Sir," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, which was not very high, "what do you mean by this cross-examination? If you have my bag, deliver it; if not--"

  Barnes held up his hand in that authoritative way which he knew so well how to employ. It had the desired effect. It halted the torrent of any words.

 

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