“Now you look here!” said Miss Letitia, angrily. “I can’t answer forty-seven questions at once! Nor other people can’t, either. You talk more slowly, sir, and more rationally.” But Corson heeded her not at all. He turned to Bates. “Your uncle, eh? You his heir?” “Yes, he is!” Miss Prall answered for him, and Corson’s roving glance took her in and returned to Bates. “Where were you when he was killed?” “In bed,” replied Richard, shortly. “Oh; all right. Now, I’ll take charge of this paper, for there’s little doubt but it’s mighty important.” He folded it carefully into his pocket-book. “Was this gentleman—er, addicted to ladies’ society?” “That he was,” Moore spoke up, involuntarily. “I didn’t ask you,” said Corson. “I asked Mr Bates.” “Why, yes,” said Richard, “he did like the society of ladies,—but most men do.” “We’re not discussing the matter, Mr Bates,” and for once Corson looked steadily at him, “we’re just looking into it. And—” he paused, impressively, “and these immediate, right-away-quick questions are pretty good first aid, as a rule.” “Go ahead, then,” and Richard folded his arms, in a resigned manner. Doctor Pagett motioned the two ladies to take seats on the red velvet sofa and seated himself also. “There’s no doubt,” Corson went on, “that this writing is the true explanation. Dying men don’t leave anything but truth as a last message. It seems pretty steep to believe that women managed this affair, but that’s the very reason he made such a desperate effort to let it be known.” “And he tried to tell me who it was,” broke in Moore, irrepressibly. “He did?” and Corson’s eyes flashed toward the speaker. “What did he say? Did he mention any names? How did you come to be listening? Were you here when——” Miss Prall interrupted. “If you’d listen a minute, and not talk all the time, you might learn something, Mister Detective!” “Thank you, ma’am. Answer me, Moore. Just what did this man say after he was hurt,—that you heard?” “He said ‘Get—get—’ and that was all, except that he tried hard to say a name,—or it seemed like that,—and he said something like something beginning with a J.” “Well, you’re guarded in your statements. But I understand. I suppose he was struggling for breath, really——” “He could just speak and that’s all. He kept saying ‘J—J—’ and then he gave a gasp and died.” “How do you know he died?” “Why, he sort of relaxed—limp like,—and stopped trying to speak.” “And he seemed to be after some name beginning with J,—say James or John.” “That’s the way it sounded.” “All right. Now, how long had you been absent from this place when you returned and found him?” “Just long enough to take Mr Vail up to his floor,—the tenth.” “Vail? Who’s he?” “One of our tenants. He lives on the tenth floor. He came in and I took him up——” “And came right down again?” “Yes; and when I got down, I saw the—the heap in the lobby.” “You knew at once who it was?”