Mr. Delamere went immediately to his grandson's room, which he entered alone, closing and locking the door behind him. He had requested Ellis to wait in the carriage.  
The bed had been made, and the room was apparently³ in perfect order. There was a bureau in the room, through which Mr. Delamere proceeded to look thoroughly⁴. Finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with a key of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker⁶ from beside the stove and broke it ruthlessly open.
 
The contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning his grandson's character. Thrown together in disorderly confusion were bottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice⁸-box with dice; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number of photographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merely glanced to ascertain⁹ their nature.
 
So far, while his suspicion had been strengthened, he had found nothing to confirm it. He searched the room more carefully, and found, in the wood-box by the small heating-stove which stood in the room, a torn and crumpled¹¹ bit of paper. Stooping to pick this up, his eye caught a gleam of something yellow beneath the bureau, which lay directly in his line of vision.
 
First he smoothed out the paper. It was apparently the lower half of a label, or part of the cover of a small box, torn diagonally from corner to corner. From the business card at the bottom, which gave the name, of a firm of manufacturers of theatrical¹² supplies in a Northern city, and from the letters remaining upon the upper and narrower half, the bit of paper had plainly formed part of the wrapper of a package of burnt cork¹³.
 
Closing his fingers spasmodically over this damning piece of evidence, Mr. Delamere knelt painfully, and with the aid of his cane¹⁴ drew out from under the bureau the yellow object which, had attracted his attention. It was a five-dollar gold piece of a date back toward the beginning of the century.
 
To make assurance doubly sure, Mr. Delamere summoned the cook from the kitchen in the back yard. In answer to her master's questions, Sally averred¹⁵ that Mr. Tom had got up very early, had knocked at her window,—she slept in a room off the kitchen in the yard,—and had told her that she need not bother about breakfast for him, as he had had a cold bite from the pantry; that he was going hunting and fishing, and would be gone all day. According to Sally, Mr. Tom had come in about ten o'clock the night before. He had forgotten his night-key, Sandy was out, and she had admitted him with her own key. He had said that he was very tired and was going, immediately to bed.
 
Mr. Delamere seemed perplexed¹⁶; the crime had been committed later in the evening than ten o'clock. The cook cleared up the mystery.
 
"I reckon he must 'a' be'n dead ti'ed, suh, fer I went back ter his room fifteen er twenty minutes after he come in fer ter fin⁵' out w'at he wanted fer breakfus'; an' I knock' two or three times, rale ha'd, an' Mistuh Tom didn' wake up no mo' d'n de dead. He sho'ly had a good sleep, er he'd never 'a' got up so ea'ly."
 
"Thank you, Sally," said Mr. Delamere, when the woman had finished, "that will do."
 
"Will you be home ter suppah, suh?" asked the cook.
 
"Yes."
 
It was a matter of the supremest indifference¹⁷ to Mr. Delamere whether he should ever eat again, but he would not betray his feelings to a servant. In a few minutes he was driving rapidly with Ellis toward the office of the Morning Chronicle. Ellis could see that Mr. Delamere had discovered something of tragic¹⁸ import. Neither spoke¹⁹. Ellis gave all his attention to the horses, and Mr. Delamere remained wrapped in his own sombre reflections.
 
When they reached the office, they were informed by Jerry that Major
Carteret was engaged with General Belmont and Captain McBane. Mr.
Delamere knocked peremptorily²⁰ at the door of the inner office, which was
opened by Carteret in person.
"Oh, it is you, Mr. Delamere."
 
"Carteret," exclaimed Mr. Delamere, "I must speak to you immediately, and alone."
 
"Excuse me a moment, gentlemen," said Carteret, turning to those within the room. "I'll be back in a moment—don't go away."
 
Ellis had left the room, closing the door behind him. Mr. Delamere and
Carteret were quite alone.
"Carteret," declared the old gentleman, "this murder must not take place."
 
"'Murder' is a hard word," replied the editor, frowning slightly.
 
"It is the right word," rejoined Mr. Delamere, decidedly. "It would be a foul²¹ and most unnatural²² murder, for Sandy did not kill Mrs. Ochiltree."
 
Carteret with difficulty restrained a smile of pity. His old friend was very much excited, as the tremor²³ in his voice gave proof. The criminal was his trusted servant, who had proved unworthy of confidence. No one could question Mr. Delamere's motives²⁴; but he was old, his judgment²⁶ was no longer to be relied upon. It was a great pity that he should so excite and overstrain himself about a worthless negro, who had forfeited²⁷ his life for a dastardly crime. Mr. Delamere had had two paralytic²⁸ strokes, and a third might prove fatal. He must be dealt with gently.
 
"Mr. Delamere," he said, with patient tolerance²⁹, "I think you are deceived. There is but one sure way to stop this execution. If your servant is innocent, you must produce the real criminal. If the negro, with such overwhelming proofs against him, is not guilty, who is?"
 
"I will tell you who is," replied Mr. Delamere. "The murderer is,"—the words came with a note of anguish³⁰, as though torn from his very heart,—"the murderer is Tom Delamere, my own grandson!"
 
"Impossible, sir!" exclaimed Carteret, starting back involuntarily. "That could not be! The man was seen leaving the house, and he was black!"
 
"All cats are gray in the dark, Carteret; and, moreover, nothing is easier than for a white man to black his face. God alone knows how many crimes have been done in this guise³¹! Tom Delamere, to get the money to pay his gambling³² debts, committed this foul murder, and then tried to fasten it upon as honest and faithful a soul as ever trod the earth."
 
Carteret, though at first overwhelmed by this announcement, perceived with quick intuition that it might easily be true. It was but a step from fraud to crime, and in Delamere's need of money there lay a palpable motive²⁵ for robbery,—the murder may have been an afterthought. Delamere knew as much about the cedar³³ chest as the negro could have known, and more.
 
But a white man must not be condemned³⁴ without proof positive.
 
"What foundation is there, sir," he asked, "for this astounding³⁵ charge?"
 
Mr. Delamere related all that had taken place since he had left Belleview a couple of hours before, and as he proceeded, step by step, every word carried conviction to Carteret. Tom Delamere's skill as a mimic³⁶ and a negro impersonator was well known; he had himself laughed at more than one of his performances. There had been a powerful motive, and Mr. Delamere's discoveries had made clear the means. Tom's unusual departure, before breakfast, on a fishing expedition was a suspicious circumstance. There was a certain devilish ingenuity³⁷ about the affair which he would hardly have expected of Tom Delamere, but for which the reason was clear enough. One might have thought that Tom would have been satisfied with merely blacking his face, and leaving to chance the identification of the negro who might be apprehended³⁸. He would hardly have implicated³⁹, out of pure malignity⁴⁰, his grandfather's old servant, who had been his own care-taker for many years. Here, however, Carteret could see where Tom's own desperate position operated to furnish a probable motive for the crime. The surest way to head off suspicion from himself was to direct it strongly toward some particular person, and this he had been able to do conclusively⁴¹ by his access to Sandy's clothes, his skill in making up to resemble him, and by the episode of the silk purse. By placing himself beyond reach during the next day, he would not be called upon to corroborate⁴² or deny any inculpating⁴³ statements which Sandy might make, and in the very probable case that the crime should be summarily avenged⁴⁴, any such statements on Sandy's part would be regarded as mere¹ desperate subterfuges⁴⁵ of the murderer to save his own life. It was a bad affair.
 
"The case seems clear," said Carteret reluctantly but conclusively. "And now, what shall we do about it?"
 
"I want you to print a handbill," said Mr. Delamere, "and circulate it through the town, stating that Sandy Campbell is innocent and Tom Delamere guilty of this crime. If this is not done, I will go myself and declare it to all who will listen, and I will publicly disown the villain⁴⁶ who is no more grandson of mine. There is no deeper sink of iniquity⁴⁷ into which he could fall."
 
Carteret's thoughts were chasing one another tumultuously. There could be no doubt that the negro was innocent, from the present aspect of affairs, and he must not be lynched; but in what sort of position would the white people be placed, if Mr. Delamere carried out his Spartan⁴⁸ purpose of making the true facts known? The white people of the city had raised the issue of their own superior morality, and had themselves made this crime a race question. The success of the impending⁴⁹ "revolution," for which he and his confrères had labored⁵⁰ so long, depended in large measure upon the maintenance of their race prestige, which would be injured in the eyes of the world by such a fiasco. While they might yet win by sheer force, their cause would suffer in the court of morals, where they might stand convicted as pirates, instead of being applauded as patriots⁵¹. Even the negroes would have the laugh on them,—the people whom they hoped to make approve and justify⁵² their own despoilment⁵³. To be laughed at by the negroes was a calamity⁵⁴ only less terrible than failure or death.
 
Such an outcome of an event which had already been heralded⁵⁵ to the four corners of the earth would throw a cloud of suspicion upon the stories of outrage⁵⁶ which had gone up from the South for so many years, and had done so much to win the sympathy of the North for the white South and to alienate⁵⁷ it from the colored people. The reputation of the race was threatened. They must not lynch the negro, and yet, for the credit of the town, its aristocracy, and the race, the truth of this ghastly story must not see the light,—at least not yet.
 
"Mr. Delamere," he exclaimed, "I am shocked and humiliated⁵⁸. The negro must be saved, of course, but—consider the family honor."
 
"Tom is no longer a member of my family. I disown him. He has covered the family name—my name, sir—with infamy⁵⁹. We have no longer a family honor. I wish never to hear his name spoken again!"
 
For several minutes Carteret argued with his old friend. Then he went into the other room and consulted with General Belmont. As a result of these conferences, and of certain urgent messages sent out, within half an hour thirty or forty of the leading citizens of Wellington were gathered in the Morning Chronicle office. Several other curious persons, observing that there was something in the wind, and supposing correctly that it referred to the projected event of the evening, crowded in with those who had been invi............