"We just saw the body of Morris Miller. The medical examiner pronounced it suicide. Professor Brierly, after looking at the bullet wound in the temple, says, that if that wound caused death, it is not suicide. And you betcher life what Professor Brierly says is so. Me and the Prof are now gonna make an exhaustive investigation and give you our findings. Got it all?" The monosyllabic grunt coming over the wire showed Jimmy that Roy Heath had taken it all. Jimmy knew that there would now come from Heath's clicking typewriter keys an amplified and elaborated story that would take the breath of all who read it. Shortly the halted presses would resume their roar and pour out an edition that would startle the country. Soon other papers would take up the burden. This was a story of major importance. There was thrill, glamour, romance, drama, everything that goes to make the big newspaper event. And it was. Chapter V At the police station, where the investigators and the reporters were sent by Dr. Simpson, they were told that Detective Brasher, who had the case in hand, was still at the home of Morris Miller, finishing his examination. They had no difficulty finding the Morris home. He had built, years before, a house which was called by the natives for miles around, "Miller's Folly," to resemble a medieval castle. Miller had gone to the extent of building a draw bridge in front of the house, which was let down and drawn up regularly morning and night. The rear of the house was on a high point facing the western shore of Lake Memphremagog, with only a narrow strip of land separating it from the waters of the lake. The blankness of the entire rear facade of the structure was broken only by one window, built into a deep embrasure. Above the window was a small circular opening about the size of a porthole. Detective Brasher was cordial to the visitors. He had been notified of their coming. He led the way to the room on the third floor where the body had been found that morning. "Nothin' to it, Professor," said Brasher, "nothin' to it. Mr. Miller used this room to write and read in and the next room for sleeping. You see it is a sort of suite, with a bath room and everything. "This room is just as we found it this mornin' when we broke in. Mr. Miller was lyin' on the couch there, the bed in the next room is made up like the maid left it; it hadn't been slept in. He was lyin' on his back with a hole in his temple--oh, you saw that. All right. "Well, his arm hung down over the edge of the couch, and the revolver was on the floor where he dropped it. There was his finger marks on it all right and no one else's. The gun is there," pointing to a table, among miscellaneous odds and ends, "and nobody touched it. The door was locked from inside and so was the window of the bedroom. They tell me he always slept with the door and window locked." "How did he get air during the night?" asked McCall.