The Mansion of Mystery | Page 9

charge. Like the woman, this officer had
taken him to be a lawyer, and he readily consented to let the detective
inspect the library.
"Mr. Langmore was found in that chair," said he. "He looked as if he
had suffered great pain before he died. I think he was strangled,
although he didn't show the marks of it."
The library was a richly-furnished apartment. Along two walls were
rows of costly volumes, many relating to modern inventions. On the
walls hung some rare steel engravings, including one of Fulton and his
first steamboat. There was a large library table, with a student's lamp, a
mahogany roller-top desk, half a dozen comfortable chairs, and a small,
but well-built safe, which, as said before, was closed and locked.
"The coroner locked and sealed the desk, and put all the loose papers in
it," said the policeman.
There were two windows to the library, and one was close to the side
porch, the roof of which the detective had examined from above. A
person dropping from above could easily have entered the library by
the window, thus saving himself the trouble of walking through the

halls and down the stairs. Adam Adams looked outside, and saw on the
ground a number of footprints, some running to a gravel path but a few
feet away.
"Where are the bodies?" he asked, as he continued his examination of
the room.
"At Camboin's morgue. The doctors have been looking for poison, but
they can't find any."
The detective got down in front of the safe and examined it critically.
Had it been opened after the murder and then closed again? That was
an important question, but he was unable to answer it.
More by instinct than anything else, he got down and peered under the
safe. A crumpled-up bit of paper caught his eye, and he picked it up
and slipped it into his pocket without the policeman being the wiser.
"Has anybody else been here?" he asked. "I mean any outsiders."
"A good many folks from the village."
"Anybody else?"
"Yes, a detective from Brooklyn. He thought there might be a job for
him, but there wasn't, so he went away," and the policeman smiled
grimly.
"What was his name?"
"I think he said it was Peterson."
"Is that the Bardon house yonder?" And Adam Adams pointed through
the window and across the side lawn.
"Yes. Doctor Bardon was the first to come over--he and his mother."
"So I heard. I think I'll step over and speak to them a moment."

"So you are working for Miss Langmore?"
"Yes, in a way."
"You'll have an uphill job clearing her. The coroner thinks he has a
clear case against her."
"Do you know what evidence he possesses?"
"Not exactly. He isn't telling all he knows," returned the officer of the
law. "There is the doctor now."
A buggy was coming down the road. It turned in at the next house, and
a young man, carrying a small case, leaped out and disappeared into the
dwelling.
In a few minutes more, Adam Adams made his way next door. An
elderly servant admitted him and ushered him into the doctor's office,
where the young physician sat marking down some calls in his
notebook.
"This is Doctor Bardon, I believe. I just came over from the Langmore
house. I am working on this mystery, and I understand you were the
physician who tried to bring Mr. and Mrs. Langmore to life after they
were found."
"I worked over Mr. Langmore, yes," was the young physician's answer.
"I saw at once that it was impossible to do anything for his wife. She
had a weak heart naturally, and was stone dead some time before I got
there."
"You thought you saw a spark of life in Mr. Langmore?"
"Not exactly a spark, but I thought there might be hope. But I was
mistaken, although I did everything I could."
"I have been told that working over the corpse made you sick."
At these words, the face of the young physician showed his annoyance.

He drew himself up.
"Excuse me, but you are--" and he paused inquiringly.
"I am working on this case in the interests of Miss Langmore. My name
is Adams."
"Oh!"
"What I would like to know is, What made you sick? Was it merely
that a crime had been committed--something you were not accustomed
to?"
"No, it was not, Mr. Adams. I am young, I know, but I have had a good
hospital experience, and such things do not unnerve me. To be sure, Mr.
Langmore was a good neighbor, and I thought much of him. But it was
not that."
"Then what was it?"
"It was something about the corpse. As I worked I had to
sneeze--something seemed to