“Nobody knows. In fact, they call her Miss Mystery, because so little is known of her. She appeared here in Corinth from nowhere. She knew no one, and as she began to make acquaintances somebody brought her over here. She met Doctor Waring, and inside of twenty-four hours had so bewitched him that it would seem he had her visiting him in his study late at night. She said at first, she wasn’t here, but as she left the impress of her dress trimmings on that chair-back, and as she has a ruby pin and a lot of money that were in the Doctor’s possession, it looks, one might say, a bit queer.” “Weren’t the valuables planted on her?” put in Fibsy. “That’s what she says—or rather, that’s one of the things she said. The girl contradicts herself continually. She says one thing one day and another the next.” “Is she pretty?” This from Fibsy. “Pretty as the devil! And that’s not so bad as a description. She has great big dark eyes, with straight black brows that almost meet. She has a jaunty little face, that can be roguish or scornful or merry or pathetic as the little rascal chooses. She has completely bowled me over, and I’d be glad to have her on any terms and whatever her past history. But, there it is. If she has a clean slate in this murder business, I want to know it.” “And if she hasn’t?” “Then I don’t want anybody else to know it. If you find, Mr. Stone, real evidence that Anita Austin killed John Waring, or if she confesses to the deed, then you whip around and prove a suicide, and I’ll double your charge. You needn’t do anything wrong, you know. Just sum up that all indications point to a suicide, and let it go at that. Nobody will arrest Miss Austin if you say that.” “You must be crazy, Mr. Trask,” returned Stone, coldly. “I don’t conduct my business on any such principles as those. I can’t perjure myself to save your lady love from a just condemnation.” “You haven’t seen her yet.” Trask nodded his sagacious head. “Wait till you do.” “Give me all the points against her,” the detective suggested. “I will. I’d rather you knew them from me. Not that I’ll color them—they’re facts that speak for themselves, but other people might exaggerate them. Well, to begin with, this girl, a day or so after she arrived here was seen kissing the picture of Doctor Waring which she had cut from a newspaper. I tell you this, ’cause you’ll hear it anyway, and the gossips think it shows a previous acquaintance between the two. But I hold that as girls have matinee idols and movie heroes, this girl might easily have adored the scholarly man, though she had never seen him.” “It is possible,” Stone agreed, “but not very probable. She denies they were acquainted?” “Yes. Vows she never saw him until one night she went to his lecture, soon after her arrival here.” “What is she in Corinth for?” “To sketch—she’s an artist.” “Go on.”