“You know all about it, Bates. Binney wanted to sell his Buns to anybody who would pay enough. Of course, in the event of your sticking to your refusal to Bun with him. If you’d agree to do that, he told me, he’d have no reason to sell. But he didn’t want to carry it on alone, nor did he want to go in with anybody else. He wanted to sell outright to me, but his price was prohibitive and he wouldn’t ease up on it a bit, so there was nothing doing. That’s all our story.” “What did he want to sell you?” “The good will, the bakery and fixtures,—in England,—why, the Buns, the Binney Buns, lock, stock and barrel.” “Didn’t he have the recipe for sale?” “I don’t know. I assume that was included in the business, of course. As I couldn’t dream of meeting his figures, we didn’t go into details.” “Did Crippen?” “Dunno. I never heard what kind of a discussion they had. But what are you getting at? Why drag in Crippen?” “Oh, hang it all, Vail, I don’t want to drag in anybody; and yet I’d be willing to drag in anybody, if I had a trace of suspicion against anybody. For, unless a new suspect turns up pretty quick, I’m afraid they’ll pitch on my aunt.” “Ridiculous!” “I know it seems so to you and me, for we know Aunt Letitia, but these strangers, this Wise and Miss Zizi, here,” bowing in her direction, “they are already looking——” “Now, Mr Bates, that’s too bad!” cried Zizi, her black eyes shining with real sympathy, as she saw the young man’s distress. “Please be sure Mr Wise and I never look seriously in any direction unless something definite points us that way. And by elimination not many suspects are left.” “Who are eliminated?” asked Vail, gravely. “We have cut out all thought of the chorus girls, and the girls employed in this house,” Zizi began. “All the house girls?” asked Vail, quickly. “I’m not sure about that, but I mean the elevator girls, the telephone girls, the news-stand girls and the pages. I don’t know anything about the upstairs maids, chambermaids, cleaners, and such. But there’s been no suggestion of those.” “Why should there be?” said Bates, impatiently. “I know myself, no stupid little servant killed my uncle. It was done by some one with brains, with power, with influence. He was not a man to be killed for some petty reason; he was a man of big interests in a business way, and of wide experience socially. His murderers—or murderesses—must be found, but I don’t think we’ve got on the right track yet.” “And do you think Crippen is a promising way to look?” asked Vail, scrutinizing Bates’ anxious face. “I don’t know. But he was mixed up in the Bun matter; he hadn’t finished the deal, as you had, and as one or two other companies had, and it seems to me he ought to be looked up, at least, before we go on.”