The Winning Clue | Page 7

with facts, not story-book romances."
Just then a young man sprang up the steps of No. 9 and knocked on the door. It was Henry Morley, come to give weight to Bristow's "hunch."
CHAPTER III
THE RUBY RING
Although it was Chief Greenleaf who opened the door, it was to Bristow that Morley turned, as if he instinctively recognized the superiority of the lame man's personality. Greenleaf, of average height and weight, had nothing of command or domination about him. With his red, weatherbeaten face and mild, expressionless blue eyes, he looked like a well-to-do farmer. He was suggestive of no acquaintance with Tarde, Lombroso or any other authorities on crime and criminals.
"Won't you sit down?" invited Bristow.
The new-comer was tall and slender. In spite of a straight, high-bridged nose and thin lips, his face indicated weakness. His dark-gray eyes had in them either a great deal of worry or undisguised fear. As he took the chair pointed out to him, he was being catalogued by Bristow as showing too much uncertainty, even a womanish timidity. Bristow noticed also that his thick, soft blond hair was carefully parted and brushed, and that his fingers were much manicured.
He breathed in short, quick gasps.
"What is it? How--how did it happen?" he asked, his gaze still on Bristow.
Greenleaf took a seat so that Morley sat between him and Bristow.
"We don't know how it happened," said the chief. "We wanted to know if you could tell us anything."
"I didn't see Mrs. Withers late last night," Morley replied, a nervous tremor in his voice.
"Nobody said you did," commented Bristow.
"No; I know that," Morley agreed in a queer, high voice.
"But you were in the house, Number Five, last evening, weren't you?" Bristow inquired.
"Yes."
"Well, tell us about it."
"I came down here from Washington Saturday," the young man began. "I didn't come to see Mrs. Withers. I came to see Miss Fulton, her sister. Of course, I've seen Mrs. Withers since I've been here; I saw her early last night. You see, last night she went up to the Maplewood Inn for the dinner dance, and, when I called, she was just leaving with a Mr. Campbell. Miss Fulton and I sat on the front porch and in the parlour talking until a little after eleven."
"We understood," put in Bristow, "that Miss Fulton was confined to her bed."
"She was, that is--er--she was supposed to be; but she got up last evening and dressed to receive me."
"I beg your pardon," again interrupted his questioner, "but everything is important here now, and we need information. We have so little of it as yet. I really apologize, but may I ask what your relations with Miss Fulton are?"
Morley hesitated a full minute before he answered.
"If it is to go no further than you gentlemen," he began.
"Of course," the other two agreed.
"Well, then, Miss Fulton and I are engaged to be married."
"Ah! Go ahead." This from the lame man.
"As I said, we talked until a little after eleven. Then I had to leave to catch the midnight train back to Washington."
"But you didn't catch it."
"No. You see, I was stopping at the Maplewood. That's more than a mile from Manniston Road, and it's fully two miles from the railroad station. Somehow, I didn't allow myself enough time, and I missed the train by a bare two minutes."
"What did you do then?"
"What did I do then?"
"Yes--what then?"
"I didn't go back to Maplewood Inn. I took a room for the night at the Brevord Hotel. It's near the station, you know, and I intended to catch the midday train today. Besides, it was late, and I didn't want to take the trouble of walking back or getting a machine to take me back to Maplewood."
He drew out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead, which, as a matter of fact, was perfectly dry. He was tremendously unstrung. Bristow realized this and saw that now, more than at any subsequent time, he would be able to make the young man talk.
"That," he said easily, "accounts for you, doesn't it? Now, I'll tell you. Chief Greenleaf and I are anxious to get some information about the Fulton family. As you know, we people here, being invalids, live pretty much to ourselves. We don't have the strength for much social life, and we don't know much about each other. What can you tell us?"
"Miss Fulton and Mrs. Withers are--were sisters," Morley responded. "Their father, William T. Fulton, is a real estate man in Washington. By the way, Mar--Miss Fulton expects him here this afternoon. She told me so yesterday. Last fall, just before Miss Fulton was taken sick with tuberculosis, he failed, failed for a very large amount of money."
"He was wealthy then?"
"Yes; quite. Mrs. Withers was twenty-five. She married Withers, George S. Withers, of Atlanta, Georgia, when she was twenty-one. But,