“Not at all. You don’t know what that thing may mean to these people. Haven’t you read stories about”
“Yes—I know. The Idol’s Eye—a great ruby or emerald stolen from a Persian god—but those things were real gems. This scarab is a curio”
“Scarabs—certain ones—are more valuable than any gems. However, that doesn’t matter—if it’s the superstitious value of the thing—which I am sure it is. Now, say that Mrs. Barham was mixed up with Locke, say that Miss Cutler was jealous of her, say that Mrs. Barham did steal the scarab—isn’t it at least possible that the girl, unable to get it back, and frenzied by rage and love both, picked up the bronze and threw it almost involuntarily, of course not meaning to kill her?”
“It is possible, certainly,” Hutchins looked anxious, “but I wish we could find some other theory.”
“I wish we could, too. But what else is there? Then you see, if the girl did it, and if Locke knows it, why, that’s the reason he has lit out. He’s afraid he’ll be questioned, and he’s shielding that girl.”
“That makes Locke in love with the girl.”
“Very likely he is. Perhaps the other woman was an old flame—well, I can’t explain all the turns and twists of an artist’s love affair—but I still think it was the girl who threw that book-end.”
“People have no business to have such things around,” growled Hutchins.
“Don’t be silly. In a moment of blind rage, anything handy becomes a weapon. Look how often a paper-cutter is used to stab, merely because it lies ready to hand. Let’s see the scarab, again.”
With the air of a wise owl Dickson studied the ancient stone.
“I don’t know much about these things in a scholarly
