Carolyn Wells

“ Hutchins, I think I rather lost my head. I had never seen a dead person before—like that, I mean—and I don’t know what I did. I grabbed the glove——”
“Why?”
I think I had a half formed fear that it might belong to some one I knew—that crime might be suspected——”
“But it’s a woman’s glove——”
“I know. But is a woman never guilty of crime?”
“Murder?”
“It has been known, hasn’t it? And isn’t the weapon that was used—a heavy weight, more the thing a woman would use? Can you imagine a man throwing that at a woman?” ”

“ But Glenn persuaded Hutchins to take the wig with him when he went to see Miss Cutler—for, he said, she could tell whether it’s really like Locke’s hair or not.
“It’s a mighty fine wig,” Glenn went on, “and it was made in Paris—see, here’s the maker’s mark.”
“That’s nothing,” Hutchins scoffed, “all good wigs are made in Paris. It’s a very expensive affair, too, which proves that it never was made merely to look like Locke on a midnight marauding expedition. That wig was made for a special customer, and for a special purpose. ”

“ Away from Thomas Locke. You suspect him yourself—but you want to shield him. That is why you went to the dead woman. That is why you bent down over her—You thought you would remove incriminating evidence, if you could find any. You opened her hand—the dead woman’s hand, whether you found anything in it or not. What did you expect to find?”
“Nothing,” Pearl Jane was sullen now. She kept her eyes down, her head turned away.
But, during the conversation, Hutchins’s ever busy eyes had found something else.
“Miss Cutler,” he said, this time very suddenly, “was it the scarab?” ”

“ An ordinary burglar, disguised as——”
“No, by no means an ordinary burglar! Rather a most extraordinary one! One who was so bent on getting in here that he made up to look like a man for whom a reward is offered! That’s going some!”
“But it must have been Locke—for he came in with his own night key—that is, he must have done so, or how did he get in?”
“Well, a chap smart enough to make up like Locke is smart enough to get a key somewhere or somehow. But, why? why?—that’s what I can’t understand. It can only be that there is some incriminating evidence still here regarding that murder. ”

“ Hutchins said, gloomily. Things were getting beyond his ken.
“Where’s the girl’s picture?” Glenn cried, looking around. “Ha! It was Locke—he took the picture—the painting of the Cutler girl! That’s what he was after! Oh, these young lovers!”
“Bah, I don’t believe it. It’s too foolish. What was it. A photograph?”
“No; a little painting—pretty—almost like a miniature. I think Locke painted it himself——”
“I think he didn’t. He paints landscapes——”
“Some artists do both. ”

“ But skillful, clever wrestling—like a professional. Why, I hadn’t a show. He didn’t hurt me a bit, but he just, well, he just sort of set me on one side. Then, as you say, he did know, even in the dark, just where he wanted to get to—and he got there. ”