Though I was the hero of the hour and, as such, subjected to an
infinite number of questions, I followed the lead of my superiors
in this regard and carefully refrained from advancing any theories
beyond the obvious one of suicide. The moment for self-exploitation
was not ripe; I did not stand high enough in the confidence of the
major, or, I may say, of the lieutenant of my own precinct, to risk
the triumph I anticipated ultimately by a premature expression of
opinion.

I had an enemy at headquarters; or, rather, one of the men there
had always appeared peculiarly interested in showing me up in the
worst light. The name of this man was Durbin, and it was he who
had uttered something like a slighting remark when on that first
night I endeavored to call the captain's attention to some of the
small matters which had offered themselves to me in the light of
clues. Perhaps it was the prospect of surprising him some day
which made me so wary now as well as so alert to fill my mind with
all known facts concerning the Jeffreys. One of my first acts was
to turn over the files of the Star and reread the following account
of the great wedding. As it is a sensational description of a
sensational event, I shall make no apology for the headlines which
startled all Washington the night they appeared.

"STARTLING TERMINATION OF THE JEFFREY-MOORE WEDDING.

THE TRADITIONAL DOOM FOLLOWS THE OPENING OF
THE OLD HOUSE ON WAVERLEY AVENUE.

ONE OF THE GUESTS FOUND LYING DEAD ON THE LIBRARY HEARTHSTONE.