On our hurried trip to the office--where I took vast delight marching in on Sampson with a grin--Lanagan supplied me with the missing links. He spoke of finding a few strands from a manila rope sticking beneath the radiator and of his instant surmise as to the precise way in which the escape had been made. Monahan located Bartlett, Monteagle’s former chauffeur, who had taken a public stand, and from him learned of the rope that Monteagle had in his closet which Bartlett had bought. Lanagan knew from his careful search that the rope was not in the closet when he made his examination, and he promptly concluded that Miss Grace Northrup must have known who committed the crime. She knew the rope was there, according to Bartlett, and Lanagan rightly surmised that she must have known of its disappearance. Robbery not having been the motive, Lanagan had “rapped” to the theory of a jealous or vengeful woman who had deliberately marred the features after death. His police experience had included a case or two where somewhat similar conditions had been present. It was from Bartlett that the first tip came on La Pattini, although he did not know, and neither did Lanagan at that time, that she was the sister of Monteagle’s stenographer. All he knew was that until he left Monteagle’s employ she seemed to be the favoured of the alliances that the broker secretly maintained. Lanagan had discovered that La Pattini had missed her first show on Monday night, and the circumstance was sufficient to stir his suspicions, although it must be confessed that until the development at the home, where her relationship to Miss Northrup was disclosed, nothing positive had been secured against her. The moment the relationship was made clear, both Lanagan and the chief had instantly reached the same conclusion. The “drive” had been made and the confession followed. “Great, Jack, great,” said Sampson with as much enthusiasm as his thin blood could support. “Gad! What a whaling we gave them! What a whaling!” The _Enquirer_ had smeared the story over three pages, breaking all make-up rules on type display. It was a clean exclusive in every detail. “Well, Sampson,” replied Lanagan, “it isn’t much to be proud of at that. Only it’s all in our game. But I’ve given my promise and we’ve got to get that girl acquitted.” “That’s up to you,” said Sampson. “The paper’s yours.” VII THE PENDELTON LEGACY VII THE PENDELTON LEGACY “I have always considered Bannerman,” said Jack Lanagan, deliberately, “the crookedest judge that ever sat on the bench in San Francisco.” Attorney Haddon, distinguished in criminal practice, thumped his office table. “Exactly,” he said. “Have felt that way about it myself. But he seems to have a hold on the people. And he makes capital out of the fact that he ever permits a ‘shyster’ lawyer to practise in his court.”