Isabel Ostrander

“ There isn't one of the three of you who wouldn't want to be back in harness with a chance to clap his hand on the shoulder of the murderer!—Mac's only poking around on his own account, but Clancy, this looks bad for you; a prominent citizen shot to death in his own house on your beat with an army .44 that could be heard a mile off, and it took a cheap crook to discover the crime!"
Clancy turned a rich crimson.
"Everything was quiet and the house dark when I went my rounds up to near midnight, sir," he said with dignity. ”

“ There's many a night I don't see him."
"You say that the house was dark up to nearly twelve o'clock," repeated Inspector Druet. "When did you notice first that it was lighted?"
"At about a quarter before; I rang in at the box on the next corner ten minutes afterwards, more or less." Clancy's tone was cautious. "The faint little stream of light coming from the window here on the first floor meant nothing to me, for I'd often seen it till near dawn, and lots of the ground floor windows are left open the night long in all the residences on my beat this mild spring weather. ”

“ It is pretty obvious that nobody has been in here, either, for some time. The whole thing looks funny to me, Mac. Of course, the three servants whose rooms have been occupied at least lately may have been left as caretakers while the family were away, but why did Creveling come back here just to give that little supper and get himself murdered after it—what in the world are you doing now?"
For McCarty was lifting the desk carefully, first from one side and then from the other and shaking it tentatively when he had raised an end from the floor. ”

“ When they opened the door of the study they found that its only occupants were the dead man and the wretched youth who still cringed in his chair, to one arm of which he had now been securely handcuffed. ”