I passed the story on to the coroner, and he to a New York detective they have put on this case.

He and Arthur's own surly nature did the rest." I cringed where I lay.

This was my work.

The person who drove out of the club-house grounds while I stood in the club-house hall was Carmel--and the clew I had given, instead of baffling and confusing them, had led directly to Arthur! Seeing nothing peculiar--or at all events, giving no evidence of having noted anything peculiar in my movement--Clifton went evenly on, pouring into my astonished ears the whole long story of this detective's investigations.
I heard of his visit at the mechanic's cottage and of the identification of the hat marked by Eliza Simmons's floury thumb, with an old one of Arthur's, fished out from one of the Cumberland closets; then, as I lay dumb, in my secret dismay and perturbation, of Arthur's acknowledged visit to the club-house, and his abstraction of the bottles, which to all minds save my own, perhaps, connected him directly and well-nigh unmistakably, with the crime.
"The finger of God! Nothing else.

Such coincidences cannot be natural," was my thought.