The Sport of the Gods | Page 6

Paul Laurence Dunbar
now."
"I shall not condemn any one until I have proof positive of his guilt or
such clear circumstantial evidence that my reason is satisfied."
"I do not believe that you will ever have that against old Hamilton."
"This spirit of trust does you credit, Frank, and I very much hope that
you may be right. But as soon as a negro like Hamilton learns the value
of money and begins to earn it, at the same time he begins to covet
some easy and rapid way of securing it. The old negro knew nothing of
the value of money. When he stole, he stole hams and bacon and
chickens. These were his immediate necessities and the things he
valued. The present laughs at this tendency without knowing the cause.
The present negro resents the laugh, and he has learned to value other
things than those which satisfy his belly."

Frank looked bored.
"But pardon me for boring you. I know you want to go to bed. Go and
leave everything to me."
The young man reluctantly withdrew, and Maurice went to the
telephone and rung up the police station.
As Maurice had said, he was a plain, hard-headed business man, and it
took very few words for him to put the Chief of Police in possession of
the principal facts of the case. A detective was detailed to take charge
of the case, and was started immediately, so that he might be upon the
ground as soon after the commission of the crime as possible.
When he came he insisted that if he was to do anything he must
question the robbed man and search his room at once. Oakley protested,
but the detective was adamant. Even now the presence in the room of a
man uninitiated into the mysteries of criminal methods might be
destroying the last vestige of a really important clue. The master of the
house had no alternative save to yield. Together they went to the artist's
room. A light shone out through the crack under the door.
"I am sorry to disturb you again, Frank, but may we come in?"
"Who is with you?"
"The detective."
"I did not know he was to come to-night."
"The chief thought it better."
"All right in a moment."
There was a sound of moving around, and in a short time the young
fellow, partly undressed, opened the door.
To the detective's questions he answered in substance what he had told
before. He also brought out the cabinet. It was a strong oak box,

uncarven, but bound at the edges with brass. The key was still in the
lock, where Frank had left it on discovering his loss. They raised the lid.
The cabinet contained two compartments, one for letters and a smaller
one for jewels and trinkets.
"When you opened this cabinet, your money was gone?"
"Yes."
"Were any of your papers touched?"
"No."
"How about your jewels?"
"I have but few and they were elsewhere."
The detective examined the room carefully, its approaches, and the
hall-ways without. He paused knowingly at a window that overlooked
the flat top of a porch.
"Do you ever leave this window open?"
"It is almost always so."
"Is this porch on the front of the house?"
"No, on the side."
"What else is out that way?"
Frank and Maurice looked at each other. The younger man hesitated
and put his hand to his head. Maurice answered grimly, "My butler's
cottage is on that side and a little way back."
"Uh huh! and your butler is, I believe, the Hamilton whom the young
gentleman mentioned some time ago."
"Yes."

Frank's face was really very white now. The detective nodded again.
"I think I have a clue," he said simply. "I will be here again to-morrow
morning."
"But I shall be gone," said Frank.
"You will hardly be needed, anyway."
The artist gave a sigh of relief. He hated to be involved in unpleasant
things. He went as far as the outer door with his brother and the
detective. As he bade the officer good-night and hurried up the hall,
Frank put his hand to his head again with a convulsive gesture, as if
struck by a sudden pain.
"Come, come, Frank, you must take a drink now and go to bed," said
Oakley.
"I am completely unnerved."
"I know it, and I am no less shocked than you. But we 've got to face it
like men."
They passed into the dining-room, where Maurice poured out some
brandy for his brother and himself. "Who would have thought it?" he
asked, as he tossed his own down.
"Not I. I had hoped against hope up until the last that it would turn out
to be a mistake."
"Nothing angers me so much as being deceived
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