# The Marathon Mystery/Part 3/Chapter 8
### CHAPTER VIII
#### The Hand of the Law

FOR a full moment the coroner stood looking down at the pistol in his hand without speaking, but his face hardened and grew stern, so far as lay in the power of a countenance so rubicund.
“I t’ink I shall have to see Mr. Drysdale before I go back to Babylon,” he said. “But first, let us try to account for t’e presence of t’is pistol in t’at boat.”
“How can it be accounted for?” demanded Delroy impatiently. “Good God! I tell you Jack Drysdale never killed that man. Perhaps he was boating yesterday—no, he was in New York yesterday—well, Sunday, then, and had the pistol with him and left it in the boat by mistake. How else could it have got there? The murderer wouldn’t have put it there.”
“Nobody’s used th’ boat, sir,” said William.
“How do you know t’at?” asked the coroner sharply.
“Because, sir, I tied it t’ the buoy, an’ I know my knot. It’s th’ same one I jest unfastened.”
“You mean that boat hasn’t been away from the buoy since you tied it there?” asked Delroy.
“Jest that, sir.”
“Then how did the revolver get in it?” Delroy and Heffelbower looked at each other help​lessly. Tremaine was rolling another cigarette, and the coroner, glancing at him, noted the meaning smile which passed across his lips.
“Have you a t’eory, Mr. Tremaine?” he questioned respectfully. “I should be fery glad to hear it, iff you have.”
“Why, yes,” answered Tremaine slowly, “a possible explanation occurs to me. However, it’s only a theory, and so may be worth nothing, but it seems to me that after committing a crime like that, the murderer would seek instantly to dispose of the weapon with which it was committed. What better hiding-place could he ask than the waters of the bay? He would hurl the pistol far out—only, by a strange chance, instead of falling into the water, it fell into the boat.” Of course, he added, in another tone, “I fully agree with Mr. Delroy that Mr. Drysdale could not have committed the crime. The pistol no doubt passed from his possession some time ago. He can explain that.”
Heffelbower nodded with open admiration.
“Yes,” he said; “I’ll ask him about it. I’m sure your t’eory iss t’e correct one, Mr. Tremaine. I present you my compliments. You yourself did not leave t’e house yesterday evening?”
“Mr. Delroy can tell you.”
“No,” answered Delroy, “Mr. Tremaine did not leave the house yesterday evening.”
“Nobody went out except Mr. Drysdale,” spoke up Thomas. “I was in th’ vestibule till nearly midnight, when Mr. Delroy told me t’ go to bed.”
“You saw Mr. Drysdale come in?”
​“Yes, sir; and I never saw anybody so worked up an’ nervous-like.”
“Do you remember what outer garment he wore?”
“He wore his raincoat, sir; I helped him on an’ off with it.”
“Where are t’e raincoats kept?”
“They usually hang on the rack in th’ vestibule, sir. That’s Mr. Drysdale’s coat that Mr. Delroy has on now.”
“Yes,” said Delroy, looking down at it; “I didn’t notice; I snatched it down in such a hurry——”
He stopped, staring down at the coat, his face suddenly livid.
The others followed his glance.
The top button of the coat was missing. It had evidently been wrenched away with violence, for the cloth was badly torn.
Amid a silence strained, absolute, the coroner took from his pocket-book the button he had found in Graham’s hand.
“I believe Mr. Drysdale will find it difficult to explain t’is, gentlemen,” he said, his face glowing more and more, and he held against the place the button he had found.
It fitted it exactly; the button matched the others on the coat; the shred of cloth was of the same colour and material as the remainder of the garment. It was a proof there could be no disputing.
Heffelbower slowly replaced the button in his pocket-book.
“May I trouble you to take off t’e coat, Mr. Delroy?” he said; and when Delroy complied, he threw ​it over his arm. “T’ere’s just one more question,” he added. “I suppose Mr. Drysdale’s financial condition iss good?”
“Why, yes,” answered Delroy. “I have always so considered it.”
There was a hesitation in his manner which Heffelbower noticed.
“You mean you do not so consider it at t’is moment? Don’t try to shield him, Mr. Delroy. Iff he iss innocent he will have no difficulty in proving it; if he iss guilty, he should be punished.”
“Well, then,” said Delroy, with a kind of desperate calm, “I’ve already told you that I heard he’d been speculating in steel. There was a crash, Saturday, you know; but for how much he was caught, or whether he was caught at all, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him about that.”
“T’ank you for your frankness,” said the coroner. “Frankness never yet hurt an innocent man. I t’ink t’at iss all we can do here. Let us go up to t’e house and have a talk with Mr. Drysdale.”
They followed him in silence from the boathouse and up the broad gravel path. Thomas opened the door for them.
“Shall I have Drysdale called down?” asked Delroy, as they stepped inside.
“No,” said the coroner. “I’d prefer to see him in his room.”
“Very well,” the other acquiesced, and led the way through the still-deserted hall and up the stair.
At the top, Tremaine turned to the coroner.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll go on to my ​room. I’m feeling pretty well used up. My room is right here next to Mr. Drysdale’s. If you want me, you can call me.”
“Certainly, sir,” agreed Heffelbower instantly. “And let me t’ank you again for your fery faluable suggestions.”
“Oh, not at all,” returned Tremaine, and entered his room.
The others went on to the next door. Delroy knocked.
“Who’s there?” queried Drysdale’s voice.
“Open up, Jack,” called Delroy. “We’ve got to see you on some rather important business.”
“Important business!” Drysdale repeated, and they heard him cross the room. Then the door was flung open. “Come in—why, what the deuce is all this about, Dickie?”
“Come in and shut the door, Jack,” replied Delroy quietly. “This gentleman is Coroner Heffelbower, of Babylon. He wishes to ask you a few questions.”
Drysdale answered with a stare of amazement, but he stood aside and let them pass into the room.
“Why, what’s all this, Jack?” asked Delroy, looking about at the disorder.
Drysdale closed the door and turned toward him rather sheepishly.
“Fact is, I was packing, Dickie,” he said. “I’ve got to go back to New York to-day, to look after some investments. I’d like to stay, old man, but I really can’t——”
​Something in the faces of his auditors stopped him, and he changed colour.
“What do you fellows want, anyway?” he demanded hotly.
“Sit down, Mr. Drysdale,” said the coroner solemnly, himself taking a chair. “Our business may take some little time. You own a revolver, I believe.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “a Smith & Wesson. I was just looking for it. When I opened my trunk just now, I missed it.”
“How long has it been since you saw it?”
“I can’t say—two or three days, perhaps.”
“You kept it in your trunk?”
“Yes.”
“And the trunk was locked?”
“Yes—that is, generally.”
“Was it locked last night?”
“Yes—that is, I don’t know—I’m not certain. Why?”
“Did you have your revolver last night?”
“No, I haven’t seen it for a day or two, I tell you.”
“Iss t’is your revolver?” asked the coroner, producing the weapon.
Drysdale took it and looked at it with an air of astonishment.
“Why, yes,” he said. “Where did you get it?”
“And iss t’is your raincoat?”
“Yes-but what——”
“You wore it when you went out last night?”
“Yes-but I insist——”
“Mr. Drysdale,” asked the coroner sternly, “for ​what purpose did you go out last night, and where did you go?”
Drysdale sprang to his feet, his face red with anger.
“Why, you infernal busy-body!” he cried. “It’s none of your business.”
“T’en you refuse to answer?”
“I most certainly do, and I think you’d better go back to Babylon.”
“I shall go back in due time, Mr. Drysdale,” retorted the coroner in a cool voice, holding up his hand. “Perhaps you have, as yet, not heard of t’e murder committed here last night and of t’e robbery which accompanied it?”
Drysdale paled suddenly, his hands were trembling…
“Murder!” he repeated blankly. “Robbery!”
“Precisely. Graham t’e gardener was murdered last night and Mrs. Delroy’s pearl necklace stolen. You were t’e only person who left t’e house. Your revolver was found beside him. T’is button, torn from your coat, was found in his hand. I hope you will now perceive t’e wisdom of giving us a tetailed account of your movements while you were away from t’e house.”
Drysdale had listened with a growing pallor. When the coroner finished, he was fairly livid, and he passed his hand helplessly before his eyes. But he did not speak.
“Well?” asked Heffelbower impatiently, after a moment.
Drysdale took down his hand and steadied himself against the back of his chair.
“I have nothing to say,” he murmured hoarsely.
​The coroner stared in astonishment.
“You don’t mean——”
“I mean that I have nothing to say,” repeated Drysdale, this time in a firmer tone.
“Oh, come, Jack,” burst out Delroy, “don’t be so obstinate. Tell us where you were. Of course I know you didn’t murder Graham.”
“Thank you, Dickie,” and Drysdale looked at him gratefully. “I didn’t do it; I’m ready to swear that by any oath you please. But I can’t tell you or anybody where I was.”
“Don’t let any little secret stand in the way,” protested Delroy. “This isn’t the time——”
“I can’t tell,” repeated Drysdale firmly.
“Do you persist in t’at decision?” asked the coroner sharply.
“I certainly do.”
“T’en,” said Heffelbower, rising in his turn, “in t’e name of t’e law, I shall haf to arrest you. Please finish your dressing.”
“Very well,” returned Drysdale composedly, and set about his toilet, while Delroy watched him in a kind of dazed perplexity. It took but a few moments. “I’m ready,” he said.
“Jack!” cried Delroy again, but the other stopped him with a gesture.
“Don’t worry, Dickie,” he said. “I didn’t do it. They can’t convict me. I’m not in the least afraid.”
Heffelbower took the key from the door and transferred it to the outside.
“I’ll haf to lock up t’is room,” he said. “It will haf to be searched.”
​Delroy nodded his consent and the little procession passed out into the hall.
Suddenly from the farther end came the swish of skirts and Grace Croydon appeared, radiant as the new day. She paused in astonishment as she saw the group, then she came forward. Her eyes went anxiously from face to face.
“What is it, Richard?” she asked. “What has happened?”
Delroy laughed a mirthless laugh.
“Enough and to spare,” he answered. “They’re arresting Jack, here, for murder.”
“For murder!” she breathed, and caught at the balustrade. “Oh, surely, you’re joking!”
“Jack seems to think it’s a joke,” he retorted bitterly.
“Oh, why did you kill him?” she cried, turning upon her lover. “Why did you not wait——”
“Kill him!” echoed Delroy. “But he didn’t, Grace! How can you think such a thing? He could clear himself by telling where he was last night, and he refuses to do it Maybe he’ll tell you.”
She turned her searching eyes to her lover’s face.
“Where were you last night, Jack?” she asked. “You’ll tell me, won’t you?”
“Tell you?” he sneered, his eyes blazing with savage anger. “Where was I? You ask me that?”
And with a gesture of fierce contempt, he went on down the stair.