"Not unless-unless--"
"John Stockton! Why did he take it?" blurted Hatch.
There was a little resigned movement of the girl's hands, a movement which said, "I don't know."
"He told me, too," said Hatch indignantly, "that he thought the Bible was still here."
The girl drew close to the reporter and laid one white hand on his sleeve. She looked up into his eyes and tears stood in her own. Her lips trembled.
"John Stockton has that book," she said. "He took it away from here the day after my father died, and he did it for a purpose. What, I don't know."
"Are you absolutely positive he has it?" asked Hatch
"I saw it in his room, where he had hidden it," replied the girl.
III.
Hatch laid the results of the interviews before the scientist at the Beacon Hill home. The Thinking Machine listened without comment up to that point where Miss Devan had said she knew the family Bible to be in the son's possession.
"If Miss Devan and Stockton do not get along well together, why should she visit Stockton's place at all?" demanded The Thinking Machine.
"I don't know," Hatch replied, "except that she thinks he must have had some connection with her father's death, and is investigating on her own account. What has this Bible to do with it anyway?"
"It may have a great deal to do with it," said The Thinking Machine enigmatically. "Now, the thing to do is to find out if the girl told the truth and if the Bible is in Stockton's apartment. Now, Mr. Hatch, I leave that to you. I would like to see that Bible. If you can bring it to me, well and good. If you can't bring it, look at and study the seventh page for any pencil marks in the text, anything whatever. It might be even advisable, if you have the opportunity, to tear out that page and bring it to me. No harm will be done, and it can be returned in proper time."
Perplexed wrinkles were gathering on Hatch's forehead as he listened. What had page 7 of a Bible to do with what seemed to be a murder mystery? Who had said anything about a Bible, anyway? The letter left by Stockton mentioned a Bible, but that didn't seem to mean anything. Then Hatch remembered that same letter carried a figure seven in parentheses which had apparently nothing to do and no connection with any other part of the letter. Hatch's introspective study of the affair was interrupted by The Thinking Machine.
"I shall await your report here, Mr. Hatch. If it is what I expect, we shall go out late to-night on a little voyage of discovery. Meanwhile see that Bible and tell me what you find."
Hatch found the apartments of John Stockton on Beacon Street without any difficulty. In a manner best known to himself he entered and searched the place. When he came out there was a look of chagrin on his face as he hurried to the house of The Thinking Machine nearby.
"Well?" asked the scientist.
"I saw the Bible," said Hatch.
"And page 7?"
"Was torn out, missing, gone," replied the reporter.
"Ah," exclaimed the scientist. "I thought so. To-night we will make the little trip I spoke of. By the way, did you happen to notice if John Stockton had or used a fountain pen?"
"I didn't see one," said Hatch.
"Well, please see for me if any of his employees have ever noticed one. Then meet me here to-night at 10 o'clock."
Thus Hatch was dismissed. A little later he called casually on Stockton again. There, by inquiries, he established to his own satisfaction that Stockton did not own a fountain pen. Then with Stockton himself he took up the matter of the Bible again.
"I understand you to say, Mr. Stockton," he began in his smoothest tone, "that you knew of the existence of a family Bible, but you did not know if it was still at the Dorchester place."
"That's correct," said Stockton.
"How is it then," Hatch resumed, "that that identical Bible is now at your apartments, carefully hidden in a box under a sofa?"
Mr. Stockton seemed to be amazed. He arose suddenly and leaned over toward the reporter with hands clenched. There was a glitter of what might have been anger in his eyes.
"What do you know about this? What are you talking about?" he demanded.
"I mean that you had said you did not know where this book was, and meanwhile have it hidden. Why?"
"Have you seen the Bible in my rooms?" asked Stockton.
"I have," said the reporter coolly.
Now a new determination came into the face of the merchant. The oiliness of his manner was gone, the sanctimonious smirk had been obliterated, the thin lips closed into a straight, rigid line.
"I shall have nothing further to say," he declared almost fiercely.
"Will you tell me why you tore out the seventh page of the Bible?" asked Hatch.
Stockton stared at him dully, as if dazed for a moment. All the color left his face. There came a startling pallor instead. When next he spoke, his voice was tense and strained.
"Is-is-the seventh page missing?"
"Yes," Hatch replied. "Where is it?"
"I'll have nothing further to say under any circumstances. That's all."
With not the slightest idea of what it might mean or what bearing it had on the matter, Hatch had brought out statements which were wholly at variance with facts. Why was Stockton so affected by the statement that page seven was gone? Why had the Bible been taken from the Dorchester home? Why had it been so carefully hidden? How did Miss Devan know it was there?
These were only a few of the questions that were racing through the reporter's mind. He did not seem to be able to grasp anything tangible. If there were a cipher hidden in the letter, what was it? What bearing did it have on the case?
Seeking a possible answer to some of these questions, Hatch took a cab and was soon back at the Dorchester house. He was somewhat surprised to see The Thinking Machine standing on the stoop waiting to be admitted. The scientist took his presence as a matter of course.
"What did you find out about Stockton's fountain pen?" he asked.
"I satisfied myself that he had not owned a fountain pen, at least recently enough for the pen to have been used in writing that letter. I presume that's what inquiries in that direction mean."
The two men were admitted to the house and after a few minutes Miss Devan entered. She understood when The Thinking Machine explained that they merely wished to see the shop in which Mr. Stockton had been found dead.
"And also if you have a sample of Mr. Stockton's handwriting," asked the scientist.
"It's rather peculiar," Miss Devan explained, "but I doubt if there is an authentic sample in existence large enough, that is, to be compared with that letter. He had a certain amount of correspondence, but this I did for him on the typewriter. Occasionally he would prepare an article for a scientific paper, but these were also dictated to me. He has been in the habit of doing so for years."
"This letter seems to be all there is?"
"Of course his signature appears to checks and in other places. I can produce some of those for you. I don't think, however, that there is the slightest doubt that he wrote this letter. It is his handwriting."