Part 23 (2/2)

”Oh, Mr. Thorpe, did you make the discovery?” exclaimed Carlotta. ”How awful! I don't wonder you're upset. Yes, Kit, you go up to Gilbert's.

There may be something you can do.”

Shelby went away, and when he reached the studio the first one to greet him was Mr. Crane.

”h.e.l.lo, Shelby, I'm glad you came. This is a bad business.”

”Tell me all about it,--I know only the main fact,--of Gilbert's death.”

”Yes, that's the main fact, and the next one in importance is that the boy was poisoned. It's not known whether he took the poison himself or whether----”

”But how? I mean, what are the circ.u.mstances?”

”Come on in,--the police are here and the doctor. Listen to them.”

The two went into the familiar studio, the big room where Blair and his friends had so often forgathered with jests and laughter.

There were two doctors there and two or three men from the Police Department.

The Medical Examiner was talking.

”It's one of those cases,” he said, ”where there seem to be no clews at all. The autopsy revealed the mere fact that Mr. Blair was poisoned by prussic acid, taken into the stomach. But there is no evidence in the way of a gla.s.s or container of any sort, there is no odor of prussic acid about his lips, no real reason to suspect foul play, and yet no apparent reason to think he killed himself. It may have been an accident, yet I can see no real evidence of that. It's mysterious from the very lack of anything suspicious.”

”Was he--was he in bed?” asked Shelby, who had heard no detail of Thorpe's finding the body.

”Yes,” said Doctor Middleton, the Examiner. ”It seems his room-mate found him, in bed, in his night-wear, and immediately called the doorman of the house.”

”And then Thorpe lit out,” remarked Detective Weston. ”I want to see him.”

”Oh, Thorpe's all right,” said Mr. Crane. ”He's down at my house. I'll vouch for him. You needn't look that way for the criminal,--if there is a criminal.”

”I should say not!” declared Shelby. ”McClellan Thorpe and Mr. Blair were the greatest friends.”

”But I can't think Gilbert was killed,” Mr. Crane went on. ”Seems to me if that were the case, there'd be some evidence of an intruder. And as Gilbert has no friends,--I mean no relatives or family in the city, I'll take up the matter myself. I'd like a thorough investigation, not so much to prove there was a criminal as to prove there wasn't one. I don't think there was, but I'd like a search made for any light that can be thrown on the matter.”

”Oh, we'll investigate all right,” said Weston; ”I think somebody b.u.mped the man off. I don't see any possibility for an accident, but it's more like suicide to me.”

”Let's look around a bit,” said Shelby. ”I'm with you, Mr. Crane, in a.s.suming responsibility. Why, who is there to take charge of Gilbert's things,--his estate?”

”It's hardly a big enough matter to call an estate,” Crane said; ”of course, I know more or less of Blair's affairs, and he wasn't by any means affluent. Indeed, his hopes of the prize in the coming compet.i.tion represented his chief a.s.set.”

”Thought he'd get a prize, did he?” said Weston, ”for what?”

”For his architectural design,” Crane answered. ”He was working hard, and was hopeful. That's why I feel sure he never killed himself.”

”Here are his designs,” said Shelby, as he opened a big portfolio. ”Why don't you take these, Mr. Crane, and take them home with you. They're really valuable.”

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