Yet the four-o'clock meeting proved to be an anticlimax. He had no sooner put his hand on the door leading to Mrs. Carr's office, when--as if that had provided the necessary stimulus--a shrill, tearful voice burst out with: "It's all a lie! I made it up." Gunnison was sitting near the window, face a trifle averted, arms folded, looking like a slightly bored, slightly embarrassed but very stolid elephant. In a chair in the center of the room was huddled a delicate, fair-haired, but rather homely girl, tears dribbling down her cheeks and hysterical sobs racking her shoulders. Mrs. Carr was trying to calm her in a fluttery way. "I don't know why I did it," the girl bleated pitifully. "I was in love with him, and he wouldn't even look at me. I was going to kill myself last night, and then I thought I would do this instead, to hurt him, or--" "Now, Margaret, you must control yourself," Mrs. Carr admonished, her hands hovering over the girl's shoulders. "Just a minute," Norman cut in, "did you say last night?" "There, there, dear. I think you better leave, Professor Saylor." Mrs. Carr's eyes, magnified by thick glasses, looked fishlike. Her attitude was hostile. "There's obviously no need of asking questions." "I think I should be permitted at least one," said Norman. "Just exactly at what time last night, Miss van Nice, did you get this idea?" Gunnison registered puzzled but vague curiosity. The tear-stained face looked up at Norman. "It was just after one o'clock," she said. "I had been lying awake in the dark for hours, planning to kill myself. And then, in a flash the idea came to me." Suddenly she shook loose from Mrs. Carr and stood up, facing Norman. "Oh, I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you!" Gunnison followed him out of the office. He yawned, shook his head, and remarked, "Glad that's over." "Never a dull moment," Norman responded, absently. "Oh, by the way," Gunnison said, dragging a stiff white envelope out of his inside pocket, "here's a note for Mrs. Saylor. Hulda asked me to give it to you. I forgot about it before." "I met her coming out of your office this morning," Norman said, his thoughts still elsewhere. * * * * * Somewhat later, back at Morton, Norman tried to come to grips with those thoughts, but found them remarkably slippery. The dragon on the roof ridge of Estrey Hall lured away his attention. Funny about little things like that. You never even noticed them for years, and then they suddenly popped into focus. How many people could give you one single definite fact about the architectural ornaments of buildings in which they worked? Not one in ten, probably. Why, if you'd asked him yesterday about that dragon, he wouldn't for his life have been able to tell you even if there _was_ one or not.