"Oh, yes—I was hunting for a bill I thought I left there." To the questions about Sylvia—whether she had been there with him—he answered almost violently that she had not, that he had not seen her there or anywhere else that night. "Did you notice any footprints in the mud when you came?" "I did not." "There were no evidences on the wharf or in the house of anyone having been there before you?" "None. The bungalow was locked and undisturbed." Then they switched off on to the gasoline drum and asked him if he had filled the tank there and he said he might have but he didn’t remember. "Was it dark when you left the place?" "No—very bright moonlight." "You remember that?" "Yes. I recollect thinking the ride back would be easier than the ride up in the dark." "Why did you say at the inquest that you filled the tank somewhere on the turnpike?" "I suppose I thought I had. In the angry and excited state I was in small things made no impression on me. I had no clear memory of where I’d done it." All the papers agreed that his testimony was unsatisfactory and made much of his manner, which, under an effort to be calm, showed a spasmodic, nervous violence. A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail to await indictment by the Grand Jury. [Illustration: _A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail_] That night—shall I ever forget it! I heard the sounds in the street dying away and then the silence, the deep, lovely silence that comes over the village at midnight. And in it I could hear my heart beating, and as I lay with my eyes wide open, I could see on the darkness like a picture drawn in fire, Jack Reddy in the electric chair. XI Looking back now I can remember dressing the next morning, all trembly and with my hands damp, and my face in the glass, white and pinched like an East Side baby’s in a hot wave. But there wasn’t anything trembly about the thinking part of me. That was working better than it had ever worked before. It seemed to be made of steel springs going swift and sure like an engine that went independent of the rest of my machinery. And, thank God, it did work that way, for it had thought of something! The idea came on me in the second part of the night, flashed out of the dark like a wireless. I’d been wondering about the man who made the telephone date with Sylvia—the Unknown Voice they’d got to calling him. People thought as Jasper had said, that Reddy had found her with this man and there had been a terrible scene. But whatever had happened the Unknown Voice was the clew to the mystery. The police had tried to locate him, tried and failed. Now _I_ was going to hunt for him.