FOUND — Gold stickpin, animal's claw holding a stone. Will be returned to owner for cost of this advertisement.
The advertisement brought no response.
After several weeks had passed, Dr. Lake called upon Coroner Hopkins.
"Mr. Coroner," he explained, "I've still got this stickpin that I found out at the Thatcher farmhouse, and I want your permission to keep h a while longer; I want to wear it in my necktie just as long as you will allow me to keep it."
Coroner Hopkins stared at the young doctor in perplexity.
"I fail to grasp just what you mean," he retorted. "If you are asking me to give you property which—"
"No, I don't want the stickpin, Mr. Coroner; but it belonged to the man who knows how Dr. Waugh died. He wore that pin when he was ragged and perhaps hungry. I want to wear that pin three hundred and sixty-five days in the year and ten years if need be and give its owner the chance to see it in my tie. If the law of averages breaks my way, and if he's still in the city, he's going to see it — and the man who thought enough of that pin to wear rags rather than pawn it will make some effort to get it back."
"Oh, I see," snorted the coroner not without a sneer; "I see; you are still playing detective. Well, you are a persistent young fool, but it occurs to me that you'd better be spending a little more time with your medical practice.
"Then I may keep the pin for a while longer?" asked Dr. Lake, eagerly.
"I'd forgotten you had it," grunted the coroner. "By thunder. Doc, I do admire persistency!"
Dr. Waugh's death occurred in June; it was the following September when Dr. Lake, his automobile in the repair shop with a cracked crank case, was forced to make a trip to the city, via trolley. His business took him to the north side and he boarded a crowded surface car at the interurban station. He did not observe that a well-dressed young man — apparently young despite the snow-white streaks through his hair — who had been going in the opposite direction, wheeled suddenly about and swung aboard just as the car got into motion.
Passengers were packed on the rear platform like proverbial sardines, and it might have easily been accidental that the young man lurched against John Lake just as the latter fished a handful of small coins from his pocket to pay his fare. The money fell in a shower to the floor and Lake glanced back in anger.
"I beg your pardon, sir," murmured the young man in polite accents as he stooped to aid in collecting the spill.
"My fault," he added. "Mighty sorry; matter of fact, though it's a shame the way they pack the cars — seven cent fare, too."
Lake growled agreement on this point.
"Fine weather, isn't it?" pursued the young man — he was perhaps in his middle thirties — in the trite manner of the man who wished to drum up a conversation. Lake, ordinarily a friendly soul, was not in a conversational mood; he was on the point of turning his back coldly, when he saw that the stranger's eyes were feasting hungrily on the stickpin; his heart skipped a beat.
"Yes," he agreed, "fine weather, indeed. Live here?"
The stranger nodded.
"I was just noticing that pin in your tie," he broke out eagerly. "Reminds me of one I saw once in Europe — belonged to a friend of mine; odd, isn't it?"
"Yes," Lake laconically agreed; "I presume that it is a trifle unusual; several people have commented on it. I got it in a rather odd way, too."
The other man waited.
"Yes, bought it from a fellow who was down and out — got it rather cheap, but since I've had it I've become quite fond of it."
"Oh," said the other in evident disappointment, "you wouldn't care to part with it then?"
"Probably not for what it's worth."
"W-what do you consider it — worth?" asked the white-haired young man.
"I hadn't thought of pricing it; did you want to buy it?"
"Well, frankly, yes; you see I don't care much for jewelry, but when I saw that pin — er — its counterpart in Europe — I fell quite in love with it. I might be willing to pay your price. Name it."
"I don't believe I'd care to part with it for less than five hundred — and that's more than it's worth, probably twice over."
"I'll take it," replied the stranger with a contented sigh. "If you'll get off the car with me, we'll go to the bank and get the money."
"Very well," agreed Dr. Lake. "What bank?"
"The Liberty National."
At the next block Dr. Lake and his companion left the car and Lake, suddenly remembering that he must telephone that he would be late for an appointment, hurried into a telephone booth at a corner drug store. He called the detective bureau and hastily explained matters.
When Dr. Lake and Justin Graham, as the young man had introduced himself, reached the Liberty National, two plainclothes men met them at the entrance. At a signal from Lake, they seized Graham's arms.
"You are under arrest," one of them announced with proper official solemnity.
Young Graham's eyes widened and an unmistakable pallor crept into his cheeks.
"Under arrest!" he echoed. "What for?"
"For the murder of Dr. Kensaw Arlington Waugh," declared John Lake.
Graham took a grip on himself; he glanced at the stickpin in the doctor's tie and smiled.
"I see," he said, smiling wryly, "you're rather clever. Well, suppose we go to the station and talk it over. I'll tell you about it — but it wasn't murder."
III
In the office of the Chief of Detectives sat the Chief, Dr. Lake and Justin Graham. The prisoner was, perhaps, the coolest of the three, for both the Chief and Lake were excitedly eager — especially Lake.
"I'm glad to get it off my mind; glad to get it all cleared up," Graham began without urging. "I'd better begin right at the beginning and tell you the whole thing. I'd be a fool to deny knowledge of the affair, for I read the newspaper accounts and I know that someone found and photographed my fingerprints; I suppose you still have them. It would be only silly for me to make a denial, for that would indicate that I have something to fear; I haven't."
He paused and turned to Dr. Lake.
"I remember you now from the pictures that appeared in the papers at the time; not very good pictures either. You are the doctor who first examined Dr. Waugh's body. You found no evidence of foul play, did you?"
"You're the man who's being questioned, not I," reminded Lake curtly.
"Yes, that's true," agreed Graham with a short laugh. "But you didn't; you found no wound, no laceration, no evidence of a blow being struck, no poison, no diseased organism — nothing but failure of the heart to function. Isn't that true?"
"Go ahead with your story," growled Lake.
"I will," pursued Graham, "hut I just wanted to remind you, in the beginning, that you are accusing me of murder when you have no evidence that a murder was committed."
"We have evidence that something queer happened out at the Thatcher farm," said John Lake with spirit.
"Yes, that's true, and I'm going to clear that up for you; it's a mighty queer business, as you say. Well, here goes; I'll make it as much to the point as possible."
"On the sixth of June I was broke and hungry — starving. I could starve but I couldn't beg. My life was a failure; I was in debt. It began when I wandered out to Lincoln Park; I was walking along the lagoon and, as I came to a bridge a couple passed me; they were talking about the bridge."