“You can go pretty soon. I see you were at the party.”
The Dutch Peasant costume, though still effective, was crumpled and wet with tears, and, though Hutchins’ heart almost stood still as he saw it, there was certainly a small stain on the sleeve that looked like blood.
Without another word he drew her quickly into the den, and took her straight to the divan.
“Miss Cutler,” he said, as he grasped her arm firmly, “did you kill that woman?”
“No!” she shrieked, and fainted away.
“No need to be brutal, Hutchins,” Doctor Babcock cried, as he took the unconscious girl into his charge.
“Why, it’s Pearl Jane!” cried Miss Vallon. “Henry, here she is! Where did you find her?”
Kate spoke to the doctor, not having heard Hutchins’ question to the girl.
“She was hiding in a back closet,” the detective answered her. “I must hold her—till she can explain some matters. Keep her by you, Doctor. Or let Dickson do it. I’m off to find Locke now.” And again the detective started down those back stairs.
“Well,” Dickson looked sadly at his wits’ end. “This is sure a mysterious case. Here’s a dead woman and nobody knows who she is, or who did for her. Next, there’s nobody to make a report to—except that lawyer chap—and he seems to me a little hit too smart. Yes, he is, a little too smart.”
Dickson was talking to the Medical Examiner, who had succeeded in restoring Pearl Jane to her senses, but wouldn’t yet allow her to talk.
They were in the smoking room, which they kept cleared of all save those they wished to interview. The studio
