"You can't fool a man on his own cousin, youngster," he said flatly.
"The idea is absurd."

The crime unquestionably was an outside job; the window opening on the
fire-escape had been jimmied, the marks left being clearly visible.
Apparently Frederick Cavendish had previously opened the safe
door--since it presented no evidence of being tampered with--and was
examining certain papers on the table, when the intruder had stolen up
from behind and dealt him a heavy blow probably, from the nature of the
wound, using a piece of lead pipe. Perhaps in falling Cavendish's arm
had caught in the curtains, pulling them from the supporting rod and
dragging them across the table, thus sweeping the candlestick with its
lighted tapers down to the floor with it. There the extinguished wicks
had ignited the draperies, which had fallen across the stricken man's
face and body. The clothes, torso, and legs, had been charred beyond
recognition but the face, by some peculiar whim of fate, had been
partly preserved.

The marauder, aware that the flames would obliterate a portion, if not
all of the evidence against him, had rifled the safe in which, John
testified, his cousin always kept considerable money. Scattering
broadcast valueless papers, he had safely made his escape through the
window, leaving his victim's face to the licking flames. Foot-prints
below the window at the base of the fire-escape indicated that the
fugitive had returned that way. This was the sum of the evidence,
circumstantial and true, that was advanced. Satisfied that nothing
else was to be learned, the officers, detectives, Willis, and Miss
Donovan and the pale _Chronicle_ youth withdrew, leaving the officer on
guard.