“There isn’t. It’s my uncle’s writing, undeniably. He was found with the pencil just falling from his nerveless hand. There’s no escape from all that. I’ve been over and over it. There’s no chance of the chorus girls or house girls,—oh, I’ve been over all the possibilities,—and there’s only Mrs Everett left. Honestly, Wise, I’d rather it had been my aunt! That may sound dreadful to you, but after all, she’s only my aunt, while Mrs Everett is Dorcas’ _mother_! And I’d rather bear sorrow and disgrace myself than to have my little love bear it. Can we drop the whole thing?” “Not very well now. Bates, are you in any coil with Molly?” “Molly? The chambermaid? No. Why?” “Good! I believe you. She says you married her.” “What does she say that for? Is she crazy? But it doesn’t bother me; I’ve troubles of my own. I can’t think anybody will believe her.” “No; she said it to shield someone else. And of course, a man. So, that’s our one hope. Who is that man?” “What matter? We’re looking for a woman.” “But the man might be a help. Why could Melly make a man marry her, unless he were desperately afraid of what she could tell?” “But it may all have no connection with our case.” “I’ve got a hunch it has. And I’m going to find out. And, first of all, I want to go over the ground again of scrutinizing the place where Sir Herbert died.” “No evidence there. The floors have been scrubbed many times.” “But the marks remain.” The marks that had been drawn round the blood spots at the scene of the crime were still faintly visible, and Wise knelt down to study them. It seemed utterly useless to Bates, for what could possibly be gained from scrutinizing the floor where the dead man had lain? Yet Pennington Wise found something! The body had fallen at the base of one of the great onyx columns, near the side wall of the lobby. In fact, the head and shoulders had fallen against the wall, as if the victim had been driven back by his pursuers till he could go no farther. And, after scanning the floor, Wise’s eyes traveled on to the onyx wall itself, to the heavy surbase of wide, smooth onyx blocks, and on the pinkish, mottled surface his trained eyes descried a pencil mark. “Gee!” he cried, explosively, “oh, I say!” Quickly he ran for the paper the dead man left, stripped from it the protecting glass panes, and with the utmost care he laid the paper itself against the onyx block that showed a pencil mark. His eyes bulged with surprise, his face flushed with excitement, and he jumped up from the floor, where he had pursued his quest unnoticed save for a disinterested passer-by. “Bates!” he cried, as he returned to the little reception-room and found the young man still there and still in deep dejection, “Oh, Bates!” “What?” and Richard lifted his head to see the excited detective brandishing the paper in a wave of triumph. “What do you think? Listen, man, put your whole mind on this! When Sir Herbert was stabbed he fell to the floor.” “Yes.”