ONE bright March morning, while on my way to our law-offices, it chanced that I met my junior partner, Mr. Howard Freeman, on the elevated train. We fell to discussing the evidently contented expression on the faces of most of our fellow passengers, chiefly business men of the down-town district. The conversation continued after we had left the train and proceeded toward Broadway.

      "It is difficult to say who are truly happy," I observed; "it is rarely that I have seen one who could be pronounced perfectly happy."

      "I know a man," remarked Howard, "who is, probably, the happiest person in New York."

      "A friend of yours?"

      "Yes, one whom you know; my college classmate, Dr. Homer Manson. He has a fair practice as a physician and surgeon. A monograph on pyæmia has made him famous in his profession. His aunt, Miss Sappho Manson, last month made him residuary legatee under her will, by which he will inherit over half a million dollars. He is engaged to be married to Miss Lilian Arnold, one of the prettiest and wealthiest girls in the city, and, all in all, one may well deem the doctor the happiest man in ——"

      "Extra! Extra! All about the murder in Madison avenue. Arrest of the murderer!"

      A newsboy was loudly crying his papers and selling them rapidly.

      Howard purchased a paper and glanced at the head-lines.

      "Oh, judge!" he cried, in tones which revealed his distress, "this seems hardly possible. Dr. Homer Manson has murdered his aunt and is now in custody."

      The New York Daily has a reputation for stating all the facts of any case clearly. Its account of the murder was fairly accurate. Howard read it to me as we stood a little apart on the sidewalk, out of the crowd. Following the sensational head-lines came this account:

      "Howard, my dear boy, I am sorry for you," I said, as my partner ceased reading.

      "Sorry! What do you mean, judge?" Howard asked, with a puzzled look.

      "Can you not see, if this account is really a statement of facts, there is no escape for your friend? He will most certainly sit in the electric chair."

      "You say that because you do not know him," rejoined Howard. "While he is cold, even stern in his manner, and unpopular, he could never have committed such a crime. He can certainly explain matters satisfactorily. This account is probably a tissue of falsehoods woven by the police to prejudice the public mind."

      We proceeded to our offices and found Mr. Virgil Manson, a cousin of the doctor's, pacing the floor of Mr. Miller's room — the latter gentleman had not yet reached his office. Mr. Manson had come to our offices, at his cousin's urgent request, for the purpose of employing our firm, and stated that Dr. Manson was especially anxious to see Mr. Miller and Mr. Freeman.

      It appeared, from Mr. Virgil Manson's conversation, that the newspaper account was substantially correct, and he professed himself unable to throw any light on the matter. He expressed his belief in his cousin's innocence; one reason for this being that he had met the doctor at the Culture Club at about half-past nine o'clock the previous evening, and his manner had been perfectly natural, although he had seemed a little over-heated from fast walking. Mr. Virgil Manson bewailed the disgrace that would attach to the family on account of the murder.

      When Mr. Miller arrived the facts were briefly stated to him, and he accompanied Mr. Manson and Mr. Freeman to the police station.

      The Manson family had been clients of the firm of Hazelton & Parsons for many years. Michael Manson, the founder of the family, had emigrated from England toward the close of the last century and had made a fortune as a fur-dealer. He left one son, Thomas Manson, who had increased the family property by slow accumulations and the purchase of real estate. This gentleman imagined himself to be a poet and had written what he termed an epic. He had left three sons and one daughter, the murdered woman, Miss Sappho Manson. These sons were all dead, but each had left one son, bearing, in each case, the father's name. These cousins, Homer, Virgil and Milton Manson, were all unmarried. Dr. Homer Manson, the successful physician, was of medium height, clean-shaven, with light-gray eyes, a high forehead and dark hair. His appearance was that of a reserved, cold, self-reliant and studious man. It was claimed, in the days when he attended the medical college, that he was the wildest boy in his class and especially callous, jesting grimly amid the mangled remains of the subjects in the dissecting-room and sometimes indulging in weird practical jokes. On one occasion he had scared a fellow-student almost out of his senses, by attaching a wire to the hand of a corpse so that it struck the student who was dissecting it. He had settled down, after graduation, but was said to be indifferent to the infliction of pain in his surgical operations. He was noted as a bacteriologist and vivisectionist, and it was asserted that he used no anesthetics when operating on animals.

      Mr. Milton Manson was an undersized, insignificant-looking man. He had red hair and beard and, it might be said, red eyes as well, for they were constantly inflamed. He showed the effects of years of dissipation. He was a professional gambler and had long since squandered the fortune left him by his father. He was now a hanger-on around gambling-hells and pool-rooms.

      Mr. Virgil Manson was much the best looking of the three cousins and by far the most esteemed. He was of medium size, but alert and well formed. His eyes were black, as was also his hair, and he had one of those large, pale, clean-shaven, clear-cut faces which carry the impression of benevolence. He was unusually popular with women, and it was generally supposed that he would inherit the most of his aunt's wealth. He was reported to be fairly successful in his business as a promoter, but was one of those men who, while regarded as quite wealthy, are often pressed for money. mo I had assisted him several times in financial matters. He was outwardly a philanthropist, being a member of several charitable organizations and the life and soul of them all; but I had always believed that he used these organizations as a means of introduction to wealthy people, with a view of extending his business.

      All the nephews had expected to inherit fortunes from their Aunt Sappho and had endeavored to humor her in her whims, which were many. Only a month before her death she had made her will, leaving a thousand dollars to Milton, five thousand to Virgil, and the rest of her estate — more than half a million dollars — to Homer. Mr. Miller had drawn her will, and the reasons she assigned for this disposition of her property were these: "Milton is a spendthrift and a gambler, Virgil is a hypocrite, using the cloak of charity to cover his questionable business methods, while Homer, although cold and cruel, is the only one who is any credit to the family." Mr. Miller suggested that such a disposition of her property might lead to a contest over the will, and asked her the sources of her information as to her nephews. Her answer was peculiar: "All the world knows what Milton is, and thinks it knows what Homer and Virgil are; but I know what Homer is, and he knows what Virgil is." After this enigmatical sentence she proceeded to give further directions regarding her will. All the nephews, as well as the members of the aunt's household, had known of the provisions of the will, for no secret was made of the matter.

      Before the party returned from the police station, Judge Egert had reached the office and we were discussing the case when the gentlemen entered.

      Mr. Virgil Manson soon excused himself, on the plea that he must visit Miss Lilian Arnold, Dr. Manson's betrothed, and give her such encouragement as he could.

      "You are acquainted with the lady, then?" I ventured.

      "Oh, yes, we are old friends. At one time we were even more than that. She is a member of our District Relief Society, one of its most active members, too; a most estimable and charming girl. How deeply I feel for her in this awful situation!"

      The statement of the case made by Mr. Miller to Judge Egert and myself was certainly far from reassuring. The doctor could not fix the time of his departure from his aunt's house nearer than between a quarter before and a quarter after nine, as he had not looked at his watch until, perhaps, an hour afterward. His call had been pleasant, except that his aunt had expressed marked disapproval of Miss Lilian Arnold, whom the doctor had defended warmly, and they had both become quite excited. There had been no discussion whatever regarding the will, such as Miss Reath had stated. The scarf was one the doctor had brought as a present to his aunt; it was his habit to bring her all his old scarfs to work into crazy-quilts. He knew nothing of the button missing from his overcoat, nor did he know how the broken scalpel came in the wound. He had worn a silk hat at the time of his call instead of a derby, but admitted that he had worn the derby during the earlier part of the evening and also when he went to the club later; he could assign no reason for making this change of hats. It was generally known that they were careless at the Madison-avenue residence about putting on the catch-lock; in fact, he remembered that he himself had put on the catch when he left the house the previous evening. He also remembered that he had closed the door between the reception-room and the hall, as his aunt was going to read for a while. He denied having slammed the front door; he had left both the reception-room and the house almost noiselessly. He declined to state where he went from the club, as he did not wish to connect the names of innocent persons with the scandal of a murder case. He said that Miss Reath had expected to be well provided for in the will, but was left only one hundred dollars, the same amount having been left to John Meade, the butler. All of Miss Reath's statements regarding the conversation and the doors were false, and he, naturally, believed that she had some knowledge of, or connection with, the murder. All his aunt's nephews were accustomed to visit her occasionally. Although she was quite severe with Milton for his shiftless habits, yet, in her kindness of heart, she quite often advanced him money. She had invested in one of the schemes Virgil had promoted, losing money thereby, and declined thereafter even to examine any other investment proposed by him, but had taken an interest in his charitable associations, giving money freely to some of them. The chief bond between the doctor and herself seemed to be her family pride in his success, rather than any sincere affection for himself.

      The doctor solemnly asserted his innocence, but was much cast down, seeming to be more exercised over the deadly blow dealt to his reputation by his arrest than over any danger to his life. In fact, he seemed dazed and puzzled at his peculiar position.

      "To sum it all up," said I, "his story is that he did not commit the crime, that he does not suspect any one, unless it be Miss Reath, and that he denies most of the evidence against himself, except that which is most incriminating — the clues, the scalpel, the scarf and the button. Is that a fair statement of the matter?"

      "Yes, that states the case fairly," replied Mr. Miller. "I told the doctor his case was a dangerous one. He asked me to procure some hydrate of chloral to quiet his nerves, as he feared he could not sleep. His manner is that of a guilty man who is puzzled how to account for his actions. If his language were not so clear, one might almost suspect insanity."

      "What is your opinion of the matter now, Howard?" I asked, turning to Mr. Freeman.

      "You know how loath I was to believe him guilty when I read the account," answered Howard. "I knew him at college and always liked him, but I now recall that he was very quick-tempered. Miss Reath's story comports with this view of the matter. He may have killed his aunt in one of those violent rages for which he was noted."

      "Well, gentlemen," said I, "the firm has taken the case, and we must do the best we can. There are a few details to examine, and I shall have Mr. Germaine take the matter up at once."

      To my surprise, Judge Egert offered no suggestion, but seemed absorbed in deep thought as the informal conference broke up.

      The next morning, both the cousins, Milton and Virgil, came to our office and urged us to do all in our power for their accused relative. The newspapers were unanimous in their view that this was the most fiendish and deliberate murder which had been committed in years, and they insisted that neither wealth nor position should avail to shield the murderer.

      The grand jury would not meet for two weeks, and on my suggestion, to allay public excitement, Dr. Manson waived examination and was committed to the Tombs without bail, to await the action of the jury.

      Mr. Germaine made an investigation that was thorough. He questioned all the servants in the house. The butler, John Meade, was far from communicative. He was evidently hostile to Dr. Manson, because the physician had urged his aunt to leave the butler nothing in her will. He thought that the doctor had worn a silk hat on the evening of the murder, but refused to state so positively. The butler had left the house about half-past eight and had returned shortly after nine. He had not heard the door slam, as Miss Reath had stated it did. He thought he would have heard it if the noise had been great, as it was his duty to attend the door. He asserted that Miss Manson was a very trying mistress, full of whims and very exacting with servants, in fact, with every one with whom she was associated. He had expected to receive at least a thousand dollars by her will, but was left only a paltry hundred. He refused to state where he was while he was away from the house that evening, but Mr. Germaine found that he had visited three saloons, and that he had stopped at one both while going for the police and while returning. The other servants in the house knew little of the events of the evening, until summoned by the cries of Miss Reath. None of them, however, had heard any slamming of the front door, as alluded to by the secretary.

      The office-boy, James Carroll, thought the doctor had worn a derby hat all the afternoon and evening of that day. He did not recall his wearing a silk hat. He said the doctor was a disagreeable employer and forced him to do menial work, such as taking invitations around the city for Miss Manson's social entertainments. Carroll was a medical student, and felt himself superior to his station. He claimed that Miss Manson had always been ungrateful toward him, notwithstanding the services he rendered her. Yet, she was at times cajoling, and on one occasion, learning that he deemed it would require about a thousand dollars to enable him to begin the practice of medicine after graduation, she had told him that she was a benevolent woman, who liked to assist the worthy, and intimated very strongly that she might advance him that sum or leave it to him in her will. He had relied on this implied promise for a time, but had learned later that he was not even named in the will. Carroll manifested the utmost indifference as to both the murder and the fate of his former employer.

      There was one thing that puzzled Mr. Germaine — the weapon which had crushed Miss Manson's skull. Miss Reath declared that there was nothing in the reception-room with which such a blow could have been inflicted. Mr. Germaine was of the opinion that such a blow could have been dealt by a heavy cane, if wielded by an athletic person. To sum it all up, Mr. Germaine ascertained nothing of any benefit to the accused, unless it was the butler's opinion regarding the silk hat, and this seemed to us too trivial to have much bearing on the case. All the partners were in the consultation-room when the report was made, but there was little said until I took the initiative.

      "If we can bring him off with life-imprisonment, it will certainly be a victory for the firm. The real truth is that we never should have taken the case."

      "Life-imprisonment!" exclaimed Mr. Miller. "You are optimistic, judge! This case is clear; the motive is plain. The doctor admits the disagreement regarding his sweetheart, and Miss Reath tells of the quarrel over the will. The old lady was doubtless going to change it. The opportunity to commit the crime was not unfavorable. The doctor could not have known of Miss Reath's presence in the library, or have foreseen the chances that left the tell-tale clues. Cruel character is such a well-known trait in murderers that I need hardly comment on it. The facts are plain and, in the main, admitted. They prove, not merely beyond a reasonable doubt, but beyond all possibility of doubt, that this man is incontestably ——"

      "Innocent," interrupted Judge Egert; "absolutely and incontestably innocent."

      All of us looked at the old judge as if we doubted having heard him correctly. Mr. Miller was indignant and continued his remarks.

      "No, not innocent, but guilty. The evidence incontrovertibly proves his guilt."

      "The evidence, on the contrary, establishes his innocence beyond even an iota of doubt," maintained Judge Egert.

      "You mean, judge," observed Mr. Freeman, "that you believe Miss Reath's story to be false and so infer that there is a conspiracy to fasten this crime on Dr. Manson?"

      "I mean nothing of the kind," rejoined the old judge. "I don't know and I don't care whether this woman's story is true or false. A woman's mouth is not always a well-spring of truth, as every man who has cut his wisdom teeth knows. But consider all her statements to be true; with the admitted circumstances they prove, beyond the possibility of doubt, that, whoever committed this murder, it was not Dr. Homer Manson. It is a mathematical certainty, in fact; one of the most simple problems in the logic of circumstances."

      "You have the proud distinction, judge, of being unique in your views," said Mr. Miller, who was plainly out of humor. "All the rest of the people in this city are evidently fools. Why don't you write a book on the relations of mathematics to murder and cite this case?"

      I resolved to preserve peace, if possible, and endeavored to reconcile my partners.

      "Judge Egert," I said, "I trust you are correct, both for the sake of Dr. Manson and for the sake of the firm. You will pardon us, however, if we cannot grasp your views unless you state them."

      "I wish to ask Mr. Germaine a few questions before I make any statement," said the old judge. "Is Dr. Manson left- or right-handed?"

      "Right-handed. Why do you ask?"

      "Because the crushing blow was on the right side of the head. Does he carry a cane?"

      "No; when he goes out at night he prefers to take a revolver."

      "How old is the office-boy and on what terms is he with the doctor?"

      "He is about nineteen years old, but athletic," replied Mr. Germaine. "The doctor was about to discharge him for incompetency and inattention. I suspected it was his feeling against his employer which made him so positive that the doctor wore a derby hat that night. The boy is evidently of a sullen and revengeful nature."

      "Was there any peculiar event, except this murder," resumed Judge Egert, "which took place in that part of the city about nine o'clock, the same night, so far as you have ascertained?"

      "None that I have heard of," answered Mr. Germaine. "What peculiar event do you allude to?"

      "I can't say, myself," returned Judge Egert, "but I think the one who had the wit to plan this murder so skilfully had also the wit to fabricate an alibi, which might be needed."

      "Your questions are as mystifying as your view of the case, it appears to me," remarked Mr. Miller. "It would surprise me to have you give any possible reason for believing Dr. Manson innocent."

      "It is no reason of my own," began Judge Egert; "it is the incontrovertible, remorseless logic of circumstances, clear as crystal, immutable as the laws of the universe. Let us consider this case in the light of the facts stated. Dr. Manson is a man of exceptional mental power, a trained physician, an able surgeon, one whose nerves are unshaken. He was residuary legatee under the will of his aunt and was known to have called on her that evening. Had he wished to kill her, he could have done so in many ways that would have eluded detection — by disease germs, for example, for he was her physician, and could not only have prescribed for her, but have signed the death-certificate without exciting the slightest suspicion. Now, instead of that and you will remark that for the present I admit that he had the motive, opportunity and character of a murderer — how does he kill her? He first crushes her skull with a blunt instrument which, shifted into his left hand, would have been most awkward; and then, to make it positively certain that any one must recognize him as the murderer, he takes a scalpel from his instrument-case and thrusts it into her heart, breaking it off in the wound. He also leaves a scarf, which he admits to be his, in the murdered woman's hand, and, as if that were not enough, he goes to the hall, tears a button off his overcoat and, returning to the reception-room, throws it on the floor. For fear that, with all these incontestable proofs of guilt, there may still be some doubt that he killed this woman, the doctor leaves the door of the reception-room open and then slams the front door — if we are to believe Miss Reath — the only possible purpose of which was to arouse the inmates of the house and call attention to the time of his departure. I don't see what more he could have done, unless it were to call in the servants and the secretary, and murder his aunt in their presence."

      "Looked at from your point of view, it does not seem plausible that the murder could have been committed in this way," I observed.

      "Plausible!" continued Judge Egert; "I tell you, it was simply impossible, unless the doctor is a lunatic with a monomania to commit suicide by sitting in the electric chair. In some respects logic resembles mathematics and the conclusions are as certain when the premises are established. For example, when you go into a room and remain there some time, you ordinarily leave no perceptible trace of your presence; it would be exceptional if you left any article that could constitute a clue to your presence there. The existence of one clue, then, would be exceptional; but suppose there should be two clues, that would be still more extraordinary. It may be stated as a logical premise that the chances would not be one in a hundred that a careful man, not desiring so to do, would leave a single trace of his presence in a room; one to ten thousand that he would leave two; one to a million that he would leave three; or, to state it mathematically, the variation is that of the direct ratio of unity to the ultimate product of the number of clues, in geometrical progression, each clue being assumed to be of the constant value of one to a hundred. Now, here we have five distinct clues: the presence of the doctor, the scalpel, the scarf, the button and the slamming of the door; so, working out the problem mathematically, you can see that the chance that the doctor committed this murder, admitting he had the motive, opportunity and character of a murderer, is just one in ten billions. As the entire population of the globe is supposed to be less than a billion and a half, using the French and American system of numeration, it follows that the logic of circumstances proves beyond the possibility of a doubt, more than six times over, that of all the men, women and children in the world Dr. Manson could not have committed this murder. Do I make the proposition clear? Can you see the relation of mathematics to murder, Mr. Miller?"

      "Yes, I can see your ingenious theory," responded the latter. "It is very pretty as a study in mathematics or logic, but the trouble is that it is subversive of all principles of evidence. It will be difficult to convince a judge and twelve level-headed jurors that the more proof you have of a man's guilt the greater is the probability of his innocence."

      "Twelve level-headed idiots!" exclaimed Judge Egert. "The average juryman is about as competent to weigh evidence as a pig is to dance a polka. Men gathered indiscriminately from the farm, the shop and the saloon are, under our judicial system, selected to pass on problems whose solution necessitates the highest degree of mental acumen. The only thing that saves the system from being an utter abomination is that trained thinkers, lawyers, can enlighten the jurors by their arguments. However, this case will never go to a jury."

      "Never go to a jury?" I exclaimed, in surprise. "Do you, then, think the doctor will commit suicide?"

      "Commit suicide? Of course not. But when this case is fully presented to the district attorney, he will never ask for the indictment of Dr. Manson; he will ——"

      "Go on, Judge Egert," interrupted Mr. Miller, testily. "Perhaps you will finally prove that Miss Manson murdered herself, jumping up and striking her head against the chandelier, then robbing Dr. Manson of his scalpel and plunging it into her own heart. Your theory is so simple, so plausible, so natural, and appeals so strongly to an ordinary man's common sense! Of course, with your eccentric views, you know who really did murder this unfortunate lady."

      "I fear, Miller," returned Judge Egert, "you are a little chagrined because your analytical theory regarding crime has failed you on one occasion. I don't know who killed Miss Manson, but I can describe the person."

      "Describe him!" I cried, in astonishment. "How can that be possible?"

      "I did not say 'him'; I said 'person'. It certainly does not look like a woman's work; unless it be assumed that Miss Reath is in love with Dr. Manson and jealous of him — the world has discovered no limitations to a jealous woman's capabilities. But I said that I could describe the person; this is the description: some left-handed person having the opportunity to obtain the doctor's scalpel and to take a button from his overcoat; who hated Dr. Manson bitterly enough to desire to see him sit in the electric chair, and who knew of his presence in the house that night; one, too, who knew that the front door was habitually unlocked; one so well known to Miss Manson as to provoke no outcry from that lady when the person entered the reception-room, and one strong enough to deal a crushing blow upon the victim's skull."

      Then, turning to Mr. Germaine; the judge asked: "By the way, did the office-boy know of the door being unlocked and of the doctor's presence in the house?"

      "Yes," answered Mr. Germaine, "all his intimate friends knew that Dr. Manson visited his aunt each Monday evening. The office-boy had frequently gone to the aunt's house, when the doctor was called on professionally, and entered there without ringing the bell."

      "My belief is," continued Judge Egert, "that this murder was very suddenly planned; that it was committed either by some one in the house, or by one who entered it shortly before Dr. Manson left. The person could not have entered afterward, for you will remember the doctor put the latch on as he left; yet the crime was planned with great skill to throw the gravest suspicion on an innocent man."

      "Yes," remarked Mr. Miller, drily, "gravest suspicion is a good phrase when a man is caught almost red-handed, and every intelligent man in the whole city, with one exception, believes him guilty."

      "Now, I assume," continued Judge Egert, without noticing Mr. Miller's sarcasm, "that a person capable of planning such a murder would endeavor to establish an alibi, if possible. A well-established alibi is always the best proof of innocence. If there was an attempt to establish an alibi, it was probably done, as is usual, by calling particular attention to the time of some occurrence which was peculiar, as that is the sole means possible of fabricating an alibi with certainty. A real alibi is usually a little uncertain as to time, but when an alibi is fabricated, special effort is always made to establish all the facts with certainty."

      "And you are actually credulous enough," asked Mr. Miller, "to hope to discover such assumed action for the problematical fabrication of a supposititious alibi on the part of your hypothetical criminal, at a time which is undetermined?"

      "I certainly hope so to do," replied Judge Egert. "If one wants anything in this world, he usually advertises for it. That is what I shall do in this case. It is not certain, but is worth trying. I must request that no hint of my views be given to any one. One thing more: much as I dislike to do so, I must call on Miss Lily Reath; I must see this woman. No report can tell what lurks in the thought-concealing eyes of a woman."

      The next day Judge Egert and I called on Miss Reath at the Manson residence.

      Miss Lily Reath was a peculiar woman. She was about twenty-eight years old, fair, yellow-haired, gray-eyed, tall, powerful and graceful, not beautiful, but of commanding presence and perfectly self-contained. Her face was refined, but she had the high cheek-bones characteristic of the American Indian, and her expression was stoical. Her manner was calm, and yet her cold gray eyes seemed to conceal passions which might be dangerous to one rash enough to offend her.

      Her story did not vary from that which she had told the police immediately after the murder, and she told it simply, yet most positively, without comment. But two or three allusions to Dr. Manson soon revealed the fact that she was very bitter toward him, her only emotion being betrayed by a vengeful light coming into her eyes and her voice being slightly raised, when, in answer to Judge Egert's question if she had any warmer feeling than friendship for the doctor, she responded: "No, never. He would have ruined me if he could, just as he defamed my character before the murder and questioned my veracity after it. He is a cold-blooded libertine and a heartless villain."

      She said that Miss Manson was a hard mistress and had been very unjust in leaving only one hundred dollars to her, who had borne her mistress's almost insufferable whims for many years, in fact, given the best years of her life to a distasteful service. Yet she said this calmly and without excitement. She seemed to have steeled her soul to hide any emotion beneath the mask of cold features. Judge Egert asked her if she could obtain for him any photographs of Dr. Manson and herself. She gave him a quick, penetrating glance, indicating distrust and unwillingness; then she went to an album, took out two photographs and handed them to him — with her left hand.

      "I do not understand her at all," said Judge Egert, after we had left the house, "but that is not surprising. Since the day when Eve and the serpent took their little lunch in the garden, what man has ever understood a woman?"

      "I notice one thing quite peculiar in this case," I remarked.

      "What is that?"

      "All who had any relations with Miss Manson speak of her as hard to satisfy, complaining or whimsical. She seems to have been a woman of great severity and to have been loved by none."

      "What is there peculiar in that?" returned Judge Egert. "She was an old maid and simply attained the highest ideal in that character. Can you not see something still more peculiar in the case?"

      "No; I fail to see anything remarkable," I answered.

      "Everybody," observed Judge Egert, "except his own relations, seems to dislike Dr. Homer Manson. His aunt merely admired his intellect, Miss Reath and the butler detest him, and his office-boy regards him with deadly hatred. I can account for it only by his cold, cruel nature. You know cruelty to animals is one of the marked characteristics of homicidal criminals."

      The next Sunday the following advertisement appeared in all the leading newspapers:

      There were thirty-six answers received, several naming the murder as a peculiar circumstance, and they made a singular revelation of what takes place in a great city. I went over them with Judge Egert. In that hour these are some of the things that occurred: A Frenchwoman was hugged by a dancing bear in Second avenue; two gamblers held straight flushes against each other in Jim Ward's poker-room on Twenty-fourth street; a man was seen to kiss his wife three times in the course of fifteen minutes in a house on Twenty-ninth street.

      "The writer of this note is probably a fantastic and picturesque prevaricator," remarked Judge Egert.

      Hans Oberhaupt held sequences in succession in a pinochle game in Gus Meyer's saloon on Sixth avenue. On a bet, a man drank a quart of whiskey, at one draught, in another saloon on the same avenue.

      There were other events described, almost equally unusual. Only two replies interested us. One stated that, a little after nine o'clock that evening, a tall woman was seen to run from Madison to Fifth avenue, on Twenty-ninth street. When she reached Fifth avenue the woman stopped and quickly retraced her steps.

      The second letter was from the night-clerk of a drug-store on the corner of Sixth avenue and Twenty-seventh street. I quote the material part of it:

      Judge Egert proceeded to investigate the statements contained in these letters. On the second day thereafter he came to my office.

      "Would it surprise you," he asked, "to learn that the lady who ran west on Twenty-ninth street, on the night of the murder, was Miss Lily Reath?"

      "It certainly would."

      "Nevertheless, she has confessed it to Mr. Germaine, after I was prepared to prove it, for her photograph was recognized by the man who wrote the letter regarding that fact. This impassive woman was not, however, disconcerted. She now claims that she followed the murderer to identify him positively, but, on reaching Fifth avenue, saw him turn down Broadway; so she returned to the house and gave the alarm. The investigation regarding the man mentioned by the drug-clerk will require more care. Do you think it possible, judge, that a man could have the subtlety to commit a murder and leave so many incriminating clues that their very number would induce the reasoning that he was not the criminal?"

      "No," I replied, "the idea is too far-fetched. Besides, Dr. Manson has broached no such theory; it is yours alone."

      "At any rate," continued Judge Egert, "if the drug-clerk's story is true, the close of the case may be not only dramatic, but startling. He claims not to recognize the photograph of Dr. Manson. I am preparing for him another test which has occurred to me. I shall ask him to call on Dr. Manson at the Tombs to-morrow afternoon and then come here to meet Mr. Freeman and me, after our conference with the Manson cousins. I presume you have no objection to his sitting in the ante-room until this conference is over?"

      "Certainly not," I responded, although I failed utterly to perceive the reason for his request.

      Late the following afternoon I saw a young man, quite closely muffled, talking with the clerk in the ante-room; but I made no inquiries.

      On Friday morning Judge Egert came again to my office.

      "The Manson case is drawing to a close," he said. "While I have conducted it thus far, I feel that some one should share the responsibility with me. I wish to know positively if our firm is definitely employed in this case, and, if so, by whom. You know I was not present when the arrangements were made."

      "The employment is perfectly regular," said I. "Mr. Virgil Manson came on behalf of his cousin, Homer. I consented that the firm should take the case, and Mr. Miller closed the contract with Dr. Manson, at the police station."

      "Very well," said Judge Egert. "I wish to make no mistake now, for I find that the logic of circumstances has misled me as to the motive of the crime. It is a far more complex and much deeper crime than I imagined, one whose fiendishness and cruelty are almost beyond belief, an almost unparalleled example of the refinement of murder. No wonder it bewilders the mind."

      "It bewilders me no more than your words do now," I ventured. "Don't let your logic of circumstances carry you too far beyond the bounds of reason."

      "All right, judge," he said, with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. "Remember, you divide the responsibility with me. It will be your legal advice, as well as my logic of circumstances, that may condemn a fellow-mortal to death. There will be a meeting of all the parties connected with this case at the district attorney's office, to-morrow afternoon. Dr. Manson will be brought from the Tombs, and Miss Reath, the butler, the office-boy, the letter-writers and others will be there. The French method of confronting the accused with his accusers will be tested. The district attorney does not believe in my theory, but is willing to give me an opportunity to discover the slayer of Miss Sappho Manson."

      It was a little after one o'clock the next day when Judge Egert left our offices. I could see that he was somewhat excited and perturbed. The two cousins, Milton and Virgil Manson, were with him, but they evidently did not understand the importance Judge Egert attached to the approaching interview with the district attorney and the witnesses in the case.

      It was after four o'clock when Judge Egert returned to our offices. Mr. Miller and Mr. Freeman were with me in the consultation-room, and we all felt that a crisis was at hand. Judge Egert was quite pale as he entered the room.

      "My partners," he said, "this is the last murder-case I shall ever undertake. I do not care to be both attorney and executioner. I feared this outcome. The slayer of Miss Sappho Manson is no more, and a corpse is lying in the office of the district attorney."

      "You mean that Dr. Homer Manson, under pressure of the evidence, has committed suicide?" cried Mr. Miller.

      "I did not say so," remarked Judge Egert, "but I may as well tell the story.

      "When we assembled at the district attorney's office, there was evident anxiety on the faces of all present. I stated my view of the logic of the circumstances in this case. The district attorney admitted its force, but denied its efficacy. I could see, however, that Dr. Manson felt much relieved. I reviewed the evidence and commented on the failure of Miss Reath to state the whole truth to the police. A shadow swept over her features, and for the first time that imperturbable woman changed color and trembled. I then detailed, rapidly and tersely, the manner in which, as I believed, the murder had been committed, and I spoke of the results of my investigation of the facts, detailing the events immediately following the murder, including the fact that two people were seen running on Twenty-ninth street. Then I suddenly told the story of the attempted fabrication of an alibi. I did this graphically, while more than one of my hearers turned pale with emotion. When I ceased speaking, it was apparent that all present were convinced as to who was really guilty. After a moment's pause I said that, to guard against any mistake, I would now name the criminal. Before I could do so, however, one of those present sprang up and burst into tears.

      "'It will be necessary to take this person into custody,' said the district attorney. 'I will ring for the police.'

      "'No; don't do that,' exclaimed the criminal. 'I have suffered agony enough without that. I can endure no more. Give me pen and paper, and I will narrate the events of that evening. Judge Egert, however, has correctly stated the more important ones.'

      "The writing materials were furnished and the confession written. As the pen moved we could hear an occasional sob of emotion, as though the writer were yielding to some over-mastering mental agony. The writing continued for several minutes, and then we noticed that the writer was sitting motionless. Suddenly, there was a falling forward of the body and the head rested on the table. We all rushed forward, and as we did so we noticed a strong odor of bitter almonds, and recognized that prussic acid had done its deadly work — the hand which had slain Miss Sappho Manson was cold in death.

      "Well, the Manson case is ended, for the confession had been signed and the guilt had been acknowledged even had this not been done. Here are the last words written by one who has passed into the great hereafter. I will read the confession:

      "That is all the confession, except the name," said Judge Egert. "Of course, you all can tell the name that is signed to it."

      "If Dr. Manson is not guilty, which is still hard to believe," said Mr. Miller, "there can be only one other person who killed Miss Manson — her secretary, Miss Lily Reath, who, in that case, deceived the police regarding the facts. I have had a dim suspicion that she might be guilty."

      "What say you, Howard?" asked Judge Egert, turning to our junior partner.

      "I believe it was John Meade, the butler. He had nerved himself for the act by his visits to the various saloons," responded Mr. Freeman.

      "And you, judge?" said my old partner, turning to me.

      "I still think it was the office-boy," said I; "when the young are vicious they are very vicious. Which of our surmises is correct?"

      "None of them," replied Judge Egert. "The hand which struck down Miss Sappho Manson was the hand of one whom I suspected when I had fully considered Miss Reath's story regarding the quarrel over the will and pondered on the murdered woman's last words. The murderous motive was not revenge alone, as the confession states; it was also the sordid one of inheriting a fortune, not only from the dead woman, but from an innocent man executed for a murder committed by this inhuman criminal. Love, jealousy, envy, hate, revenge, hypocrisy and damnable cunning had made the mind of this monster a hell of seething passions.

      "The one who lies dead in the district attorney's office is the rejected suitor of Miss Lilian Arnold, the disinherited nephew of Miss Sappho Manson, the bitter enemy of his successful cousin, whose heir he hoped to be, the famed, but false, philanthropist, Mr. Virgil Manson, who, planning a murder to incriminate another, while fabricating an alibi for himself, has fallen a victim to the logic of circumstances."