Lanagan was staring, for once taken completely by surprise, so pat did the circumstance fit his theories. He glanced at his watch. His eyes were dancing with excitement. “That will be all, Mr. Macondray, unless Wilson wants you for anything,” he said. Wilson said he was through, and Macondray left the room. “Now, Jim, let’s see Marie again. I’m collecting red hair; it’s a fad I have acquired, and I want one or two of Mrs. Hemingway’s.” “I was never more serious in my life,” said Wilson, summoning the maid. He sent her for a brush containing combings of her mistress’s hair. She asked no questions, but did as ordered. The maid acted like a person in a trance. “Holding up to a certain point, and then she will drop like a plummet,” thought Lanagan, then aloud: “I guess we are all through here, Jim, except one last fling with the mother.” But there was no “last fling” with the mother. She had been given a hypodermic, the nurse said, and was sleeping. From a neighbourhood bar Wilson telephoned to Leslie, still waiting at police headquarters to get a last word from his men. The detective was still half decided to lock up both Marie and Macondray, but Leslie said no. Lanagan had borrowed Wilson’s magnifying glass and had spread out upon the bar the different pieces of red hair. He was so deeply engrossed in making comparisons that he failed to follow the startling one-sided conversation going on between Wilson and the chief. Wilson whirled around from the receiver as Lanagan, profoundly stirred, carefully tucked away his collection. “A child could see it,” he muttered to himself as Wilson called out: “Martin has spilled! Says he tricked the maid, who, by the way, is in love with him, into letting him into Elvira’s room. There he declared his love for her, demanded that she fly with him, and when she refused seized up the family revolver and shot her down, maddened by her command that he realise his place and return to the stables where he belonged. He escaped through the window after placing the revolver in her hand. They are going to book him now for murder.” Lanagan took a long time to digest this bit of surprising information. He made no comment other than to say: “You’re through for the night now, aren’t you, Jim? With Leslie vouching for Martin as the man?” “Yes,” replied Jim, “and now I’m off.” A moment after he had been left alone Lanagan had Leslie on the telephone. “Chief? Lanagan. Hop into your car and meet me at Farrelly’s. Bring Martin along. It’s quarter to one. Make time. And this is something absolutely between you and me; me and the _Enquirer_. Scoot now, Chief. I’ve something to interest you.” Since the incident in the room earlier in the evening Leslie had been restless about Lanagan. Within ten minutes the police automobile stopped at Farrelly’s. Leslie and Brady, with Martin walking between them, entered. Lanagan quickly led the way to the side room.