“I next called upon Madame Charpentier,” continued the detective. “I found her

very pale and distressed. Her daughter was in the room, too—an uncommonly fine

girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips trembled as I

spoke to her. That didn’t escape my notice. I began to smell a rat. You know the

feeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right scent—a kind of

thrill in your nerves. ‘Have you heard of the mysterious death of your late

boarder Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland?’ I asked.

 

“The mother nodded. She didn’t seem able to get out a word. The daughter burst

into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew something of the

matter.

 

“‘At what o’clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the train?’ I asked.

 

“‘At eight o’clock,’ she said, gulping in her throat to keep down her agitation.

‘His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two trains—one at 9.15 and

one at 11. He was to catch the first.’

 

“‘And was that the last which you saw of him?’

 

“A terrible change came over the woman’s face as I asked the question.

 

Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she could get

out the single word ‘Yes’—and when it did come it was in a husky unnatural tone.