"
"The district attorney is wise," I remarked, and fell athinking.
Had this latent suspicion against Mr. Moore any solid foundation?
Was he the guilty man? The memorandum I had come across in the
book which had been lately pulled down from the library shelves
showed that, notwithstanding his testimony to the contrary, he
had been in that house close upon that fatal night, if not on the
very night itself. It also showed his extreme interest in the
traditions of the family. But did it show anything more? Had he
interrupted his writing to finish his query in blood, and had one
of his motives for this crime been the acquisition of this
filigree ball? If so, why had he left it on the table upstairs?
A candle had been lit in that room - could it have been by him in
his search for this object? It would be a great relief to believe
so. What was the reason then that my mind refused so emphatically
to grasp this possibility and settle upon him as the murderer of
Mrs. Jeffrey? I can not tell. I hated the man, and I likewise
deeply distrusted him. But I could not, even after this revelation
of his duplicity, connect him in my thoughts with absolute crime
without a shock to my intuitions. Happily, my scruples were not
shared by my colleagues. They had listed him.
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