a party in the studio apartment of Thomas Locke. Deduction, they were acquainted.”
“No; many guests brought uninvited friends.”
“Then where is Locke? Unless he knew this woman, whether he killed her or not, why would he disappear a few moments after the crime?”
“I think he went away for some innocent reason”
“Such as?”
“I can’t think of any, I admit.”
“No; he didn’t run out to get more sugar for the lemonade. Now, I can’t figure it out exactly, but as near as I can gather, the lady was killed at about ten or a little after. Maybe quarter after. But, at what must have been nearly half past ten, Briggs, the policeman on beat, saw a man who he thinks was Locke, come out of this house, walk down the front steps, calmly but quickly, and then walk rapidly over toward the Avenue.
“Briggs thought nothing of it at the time—didn’t even think of its being Locke, for he knew of the party, but he’s been ruminating since and now he’s almost sure it was Locke.”
“Look here, Dickson, these surenesses, after the incident becomes important, are to taken with a grain of salt.”
“I know it. If Briggs had been sure from the first—it would be different. But when he learns that Locke is missing, it is easy to imagine that the man he saw leave this house looked like him. Of course, Locke wouldn’t leave the house during the party, unless it was because he is the criminal. But I can’t suspect him on that tale of Briggs’, coming late, as it does. Still, it’s a thing to remember. What did Locke wear as a fancy garb?”
“A Monk’s robe, I’m told, with a deep hood or cowl.”
“He couldn’t go out in the street with that on. If
