The only clue worth having was that one relating to the arms of the murderer, and, given to the public as it purposely had been by Clark in a moment of suspense, it had found deep rooting place in all minds. Who was the man with the great arms, and with the "blue cross" on one of them--the left? Here was a small town--perhaps one thousand grown men. Who had the cross--who? Might it be _anyone_? Yes, almost _anyone_! Did anyone know of such a scar? No, but who knew of his neighbor's arms? Who could vouch for his friend? Some few had been associated, one with another, as boys. What of that? It was years ago. Suspicion was growing like a prairie fire, first a light that goes out, then flickers again and smoulders, anon meeting resistance and apparently dying; but all the while treacherously gaining and advancing in the roots and the dry stubble below, then suddenly bursting into flame. With the first flame comes the inrush of air; then come the heat and the smoke and the low wall of fire; then the glare, the roar and the conflagration sweeping all before it. So came suspicion to Mona. And friendship, respect and brotherly love fled at its breath, as wild animals of the prairie flee before the advancing destruction. By evening of the second day the far-sighted and most influential citizens detected the condition of affairs. The older residents had noticed the peculiar similarity of this murder to that of Smith. The coincidence of time and place was another factor. Could it be the same assassin? Had he dwelt with them all the while since? The most respected and wealthy of the inhabitants shared the unenviable position of being under suspicion; there was no relief for anyone. The two local newspapers published "extras," and could scarcely supply the demand. The murders of Smith and Winthrop were reviewed carefully, and their similarity much written about. The hotel and the two leading business streets were filled with suspicious, muttering groups. Nothing had been found missing from the dead man; his watch and money were untouched. His arrival by such an early train was not unusual. He frequently went to New York for an outing, and returned before breakfast to his magnificent place on the hill to the east of the town, where he lived with two old maiden aunts--his mother's sisters. Now all this uneasiness and suspicion had been noted--by Hallen, the Chief. He was a man who, after living in the country for many years, had finally pushed himself to the top of a large police force in a city of importance. The physical strain had told on him, however, and now he found himself back in a small town, recovered in health, but shut in as to future prospects. The murder of Mark had come to him as a thunderbolt from a clear sky, but he saw opportunities in it. When Oakes had visited him and made himself known, he had at first been jealous; but the former, with his wonderful insight, had made a friend of him.