“Low isn’t the only one.” “Ah!” “I want to consult with my assistant before telling about this arrest.” “You have a clew that you haven’t spoken of, then?” “Maybe. Just lock Low up without putting anything on the blotter for a little while. Give me an hour to see what I can do.” “All right, Mr. Carter, if you say so. But what shall I tell the reporters?” “Nothing. I’ll be back inside an hour.” Nick whispered a few words to Low, telling him to keep his courage up and his mouth shut, and went away. He had asked Kerr to wait an hour, without any idea as to what he should or could do. Nick felt that he had only got to the beginning of the case. He was certain of Low’s innocence, though he might not be able to convince a jury of it. It was necessary, then, to find the proof of Low’s innocence, as well as proof that somebody else was guilty. Who that somebody else was, he could not guess. He still thought of Claymore, in spite of the alibi that Patsy had found to be sound. Claymore evidently had not committed the murder, but that he knew more than he had told, Nick was certain. Could any evidence be got in an hour that would save Low from being published in the papers as a suspected murderer? Low’s horse and wagon were at the door of the station. Nick got in and drove to the stable where he had hired a horse. There he explained what had happened to the horse, paid the damage, and returned the saddle and bridle that he had picked up on the way back with his prisoner. Then he went to the hotel in the hope of finding Patsy. He made the round of the rooms on the ground floor without finding him. As he was passing the desk, the clerk spoke to him. “Excuse me,” said he, “but aren’t you Mr. Carter?” “I am,” said Nick. “There’s a young man waiting here to see you. Your assistant told me to point him out to you as soon as you came in.” “Where is he?” “That man sitting near the door with a parcel in his hands.” Nick went up to the young man. “Are you waiting for Mr. Carter?” he asked. “Yes,” replied the young man, rising. “I am he.” “Oh! well, sir, I understand you are working on the Judson matter. The man who is supposed to have committed suicide.” “I have been looking into it a little.” “Well, sir, I’ve got something here to show you. I showed it to your assistant, and he said it would interest you.” The young man went to undoing his parcel, and three or four idlers drew near. “Wait,” said Nick. He led the young man to the desk and asked for a room. Shortly afterward, they were in a room alone, and Nick took the parcel. Unfolding the paper with which it was wrapped, he found a photograph. It was a clean-cut picture of the Rev. Mr. Judson’s fall from the hotel window. Nick looked earnestly at the picture. “How did you happen to get this?” he asked.