“For whom? Can’t you get all the deductions you want, and let me clean up? We can’t have the tenants coming down to a hall like this! If there’s any evidence in these blood spots, make a note of it. You know yourself they can’t be left here all day!” This was reasonable talk, and Corson agreed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll make pencil marks around where the spots are,—pencil won’t wash off, you know,—and as I can’t see any trace of footprints, I suppose there isn’t anything further to be learned from the condition of the floor.” “Thought you Tecs got a lot from looking at the scene of the crime,” Moore jeered. “You haven’t deduced a thing but that the man was stabbed,—and Dr Pagett told you that.” Corson took the taunt seriously. “That finding of tiny clues, such as shreds of clothing, part of a broken cuff-link, a dropped handkerchief, all those things, are just story-book stuff,—they cut no ice in real cases.” “I’ll bet Sherlock Holmes could find a lot of data just by going over the floor with a lens.” “He could in a story book,—and do you know why? Because the clews and things, in a story, are all put there for him by the property man. Like a salted mine. But in real life, there’s nothing doing of that sort. Take a good squint at the floor, though, before you remove those stains. You don’t see anything, do you?” Elated at being thus appealed to by a real, live detective, Moore got down on hands and knees and scrutinized the floor all about where the body of Sir Herbert had lain. There was nothing indicative to be seen. The floor of the lobby was always kept in proper condition and beyond the slight trace of dust that naturally accumulated between the diurnal washings, the floor gave up no information. So the gruesome red stains were washed away, and once again the onyx lobby took on its normal atmosphere. “How you going to work on the case?” asked Moore, eagerly interested. “I’m going to get the truth out of you!” declared Corson, so suddenly and brusquely that Moore turned white. “What!” he cried. “Yes, just that. You know a lot about the matter that you haven’t told,—so you can just out with it!” “Me? I don’t know anything.” “Now, now, the thing is too thin. How could Binney get in here, and then his murderer come in and have the whole shooting-match pulled off in the short time it would take you to run Vail up to the tenth floor and drop your car down again?” “But—but, you see, I—I stood quite a while talking to Mr Vail after we stopped at his floor.” “What’d you do that for?” “Why, we were talking about the book I was reading——” “You were both talking—or you were talking to him?” “I guess that’s it. I was so crazy about the book I’d talk to anybody who’d listen, and Mr Vail was real good-natured, and I guess I let myself go——” “And babbled on, till he was bored to death and sent you away.” “Just about that,” and Moore grinned, sheepishly. “I’m terribly fond of detective stories.”