"You see," volunteered Hardy, "she was sitting here, admiring herself, and happily smiling, when the villain sneaked up behind her and gave her that crack over the head." "But she was already dead when she was hit on the head." "So the doctors think, but I believe they're mistaken. Why, there's no theory that would account for hitting a dead person!" "And yet, that is what happened. No, Hardy, the doctors are not mistaken about the hour of death, and about the poison in her system and all that. But the most obvious and most important clue, for the moment, is that black-jack. Just where was it found?" "Right here, Mr. Stone, under the edge of this couch. Hidden on purpose, of course." "No, I think not. Dropped by the burglar, rather, when he was startled by something unexpected. You see, he doubtless stood here, where the powder is dusted about, and to drop the thing quickly, it would fall or be flung just there where it was found." "Yes, but what scared him, if he didn't hear anything?" "Something that frightened him so terribly that he fled without taking the jewels he had come for! Something that made him make quick, straight tracks for the door and downstairs and out, by the way he had entered." "Good lord! Say, Mr. Stone, you think it was that make-believe Count, don't you?" "Why make-believe?" "Oh, somehow, I feel sure he's a fake. He's not the real thing,--or _I'm_ greatly mistaken!" "Let me see that glove found in her hand. Have you it with you?" Hardy had brought some of the exhibits held by the police, and, taking the glove from his bag, he handed it to Fleming Stone. Stone looked at the glove hastily, but, raising it to his nose, smelled of it very carefully. "No," he said, returning it, "no, the Count is not the man who wielded the black-jack. I'm fairly certain of that." "Well, I'm blessed if I can see how you know by smelling! By the way, Mr. Stone, I suppose you heard all about the conversation that Miss Frayne related as taking place in this room after one o'clock that night?" "Yes, I've read the full account of it. What do you think about it?" "Oh, I think it was the Count, talking to Miss Carrington before he killed her. He has a very low voice, and speaks almost inaudibly always. Then, you see, he is down in her will for ten thousand dollars of those bonds, and he's very fond of pearls,----" "What's that? Who said he was fond of pearls?" "Oh, maybe you didn't hear about that. Why, Miss Frayne remembered afterward, that another sentence she heard Miss Carrington say was, 'I know how very fond you are of pearls.' She forgot that speech in her evidence, but found it afterward in the written account she had of what she overheard at the door. And his Countship is fond of pearls. He talked a lot about those the lady wore that last evening. He says himself pearls are a hobby with him." "So you really think the Count was in this room that night?"