“I’ve looked him up,” and Wise’s form came into view around the corner of the hall. He joined the group that still stood by the door of the Binney apartment. “I’ve looked into the Crippen connection with the Bun deal, and there’s nothing doing. Binney and Crippen were on the outs but not because of Buns. _They_ were settled some time before the murder. Still, Crippen did want the recipe, and was willing to buy that without the bakery or any paraphernalia of the business.” “Is that so?” and Vail seemed interested. “Wouldn’t Binney sell that?” “I’m told not.” “Who told you?” “Crippen’s people,—down at his office. I talked with a secretary, and I’ve talked with some of the ‘Crippen’s Cakes’ directors. They want the recipe and nothing else.” “Queer,” mused Zizi, “that a recipe should be so valuable! Why can’t they buy a bun and analyze it, and so find out how it’s made?” “That’s been tried,” Vail informed her. “But the secret can’t be learned that way. There’s an unknown ingredient, or the things are put together in some unknown order or way,—but no one has yet been able to imitate successfully the Binney Bun. I’m a bread man, and I know that.” “Well, if you’ve struck off Crippen’s name, where do we stand?” Richard said, looking gloomily at Wise. “We stand pat for the women,” the detective declared. “And _I_ have from the first. I can’t doubt or disbelieve a dying statement,—can you, Mr Vail?” “Surely not. That is, on general principles. But if this pursuit of women leads to——” “No matter where it leads,” Pennington Wise said, firmly, “the trail must be followed up. Murder demands a life for a life. The danger is that suspicion may be directed toward the wrong women. But that is our great care, and I can’t think it will happen.” “It must not happen,” said Vail, sharply, and, with a sympathetic glance at Richard Bates, he went away. “Now, Mr Bates,” said Wise as the others returned to the sitting-room and closed the door, “I’ve been pretty busy and I’ve some good news for you. I think we can say positively there is no danger of suspicion coming to rest on your aunt or her companion, Miss Gurney.” “Thank God,” cried Richard fervently. “The matter of the paper-knife is, I think, just as Miss Prall explained it; she did give it to Sir Herbert to be mended, and he did have it in his pocket the night he was killed.” “And the assailant did use it?” asked Zizi. “Yes; or so it seems to me. But all this has nothing to do with the owner of the knife, for you see, Binney himself was the temporary owner to all intents and purposes.” “Then that makes the deed seem unpremeditated and impulsive,” said Bates. “Yes, it makes it seem so,—though it may not have been. But since my day’s work, I’ve gathered suggestions and testimony,—though no material evidence, to turn my thoughts strongly toward the women on the seventh floor, Mrs Everett and her——”