"I did," was the agitated answer. "There's a bloomin' mystery here. He couldn't get out! He was bound and the door was locked--I locked it myself."
Matlock Styles, for it was he, ran from the room and was gone several minutes. When he came back he was more disturbed than ever.
"You are right, he is gone!" he gasped. "Can this be the same man?" He made another examination of Adam Adams. "Yes, you are right. Well, he shall not get away again!" he added, significantly.
"Tom, I tell you the best you can do is to make a clean breast of it and get Uncle Adam to help you."
It was Letty Bernard who spoke and she addressed Tom Ostrello. The two were seated on a bench in the park, where they had gone to talk matters over without fear of interruption or of being overheard. The conversation had lasted over two hours, and in that time the girl had learned many of the young man's secrets, and in return had told him a few things which had astonished and disturbed him.
He was much downcast and with good reason. For the past month many things had gone wrong with him. The one bright spot had been Letty's love for him, pure and strong, helping him to carry his burdens.
"That's an easy thing to say, Letty," he answered. "But it is not such an easy thing to do. Poor Dick is deep enough in the mud as it is, and it will not be to my credit to mention my connection with Matlock Styles."
"Yes, but Tom, you--you--Oh, how can I explain? Can't you trust me when I tell you that I am speaking for your own good? I--I know many things of which you are ignorant."
"Then why don't you tell me, Letty? Is it fair for you to keep silent?"
"No, but then you must remember that I am Mr. Adams' private clerk, and he is working on this case in the interests of Miss Langmore."
"I know he is working for her and I hope he clears her. I always thought she was a pretty nice kind of a girl, and I can't believe that she is guilty."
"Tom, did you ever imagine they would think you were guilty?" and she gazed at him earnestly, as if to search his very soul.
"Me? Why--why should anybody imagine I was guilty? It's--it's out of all reason." He drew a quick breath. "Letty, do you mean to insinuate that Mr. Adams imagines--"
"You mustn't ask me questions, Tom. But think over what you have told me--of that letter your brother Dick wrote asking for money, and how you visited the house on the very morning of the murder to get the money, and how Mr. Langmore took the letter from your mother and tore it in half, and the scene afterwards."