“No-sir-ee! First place, as near as I can figure it out, my cousin was not the man to take his own life. Also, he was on the eve of taking a fine position as College President—also he was about to marry a beautiful lady. Why worry? And too—and this is to me the strongest argument against the suicide theory—I’ve read lots of detective stories—you needn’t sniff, Mr. Cray, those stories are often founded on fact—and many of them hinge on the mystery of a sealed room. Often a book starts out with a situation just like this; man found dead. Room locked up. No weapon about. Murder or suicide? And, listen here; invariably the solution is murder. Yes, sir—invariably! Why? ’Cause suicide is a mighty scarce article. You don’t find Human Nature putting an end to itself very often. That is, not worthwhile Human Nature. Your suicides are weak men, down and outers, ignorant, half-baked chaps. Not fine, upstanding men such as John Waring was. You know that, Mr. Cray?” “Yes,” the attorney nodded. “That’s certainly so, Mr. Trask. And, anyway, if you’re going to make investigations, you have to start on the theory of murder.” “Just that exactly,” Trask agreed. “Then if we run up against proof—actual proof of suicide, why then, we know where we’re at.” Lockwood looked at Trask and listened to him with interest. He was a new type to the secretary, who with all his knowledge of characterization couldn’t quite place him. At first, Lockwood had felt an instinctive dislike, the newcomer had been so patently pleased with his inheritance, and so evidently insincere in his mourning. But this sensible, straightforward insistence on avenging his cousin’s murder—if it were murder—raised Trask in Lockwood’s estimation, and he concluded to remain as secretary, for a time, at least. “You have the case in charge, Mr. Cray,” Trask went on, “and I want you to push it—push it, sir. Get help if you want—get some hifalutin detective, if that’s the proper caper—but, get results. Results, that’s what I’m after! Here’s my idea. Get busy, and do all you can as quick as you can. Don’t dawdle. Put things through. And then—if you can’t find the criminal, after due effort, then, we’ll give up the hunt. That’s my idea. Do all you can—and then quit.” “Very well, Mr. Trask,” Cray replied; “I understand, and I’ll do as you say. When you have the time to devote to it, I’ll give you a history of the case.” “The time is now, Mr. Cray. And your history must be put in a nutshell. The circumstances of John Waring’s death, I know. Also, I know whom I suspect as the murderer. So tell me your decisions to date.” “I fear we have made no decision, Mr. Trask. As a matter of fact the evidence to date points in a most painful direction.” “What! You’re deterred from justice because evidence points in a painful direction! My stars, Cray! is that the way you detect in New England!” “But evidence may be false, and it is unwise to accuse without certainty—”