"Pretty positive, eh?" "Absolutely, sir. Besides, take the matter of the overcoat the--the--body has on. Even if what you think was so, sir--that it was a woman dressed up like a man--and if he had gotten rid of the women's clothes, where would he have gotten the clothes to put on?" "H-m! Sounds logical. How about the suit-case you said this woman had?" "Yonder it is--right on the front beside me, where it has been all the time." "And you tell us that between the time you left the Union Station and the time you got here a man got into the taxicab, was killed by the woman, the woman got out, and you heard nothing?" "Yes, sir," said Spike simply. "Just that, sir." "Rather hard to believe, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. That's why I called the police." Chief Leverage was shivering under the impact of the winter blasts. "S'pose we take a look at the bird, David," he suggested, nodding toward the taxi. "That might tell us something." Carroll nodded. The men entered the taxi, and Leverage flashed a pocket-torch in the face of the dead man. Then he uttered an exclamation of surprise not unmixed with horror. "Good Lord!" "You know him?" questioned Carroll easily. "Know him? I'll say I do. Why, man, that's Roland Warren!" "Warren! Roland Warren! Not the clubman?" "The very same one, Carroll, an' none other. Well, I'm a sonovagun! Sa-a-ay, something surely _has_ been started here." He swung around on the taxi-driver. "You, Walters!" "Yes, sir?" "You are sure the suit-case is still in front?" "Yes, sir." "Well"--to Carroll--"that makes it easier. It's the woman's suit-case, and if we can't find out who she is from that, we're pretty bum, eh?" "Looks so, Erie. You're satisfied"--this to Walters--"that that is her suit-case?" "Absolutely. It hasn't been off the front since she handed it to me at the station." Carroll swung the suit-case to the inside of the cab. It opened readily. Leverage kept his light trained on it as Carroll dug swiftly through the contents. Finally the eyes of the two men met. Carroll's expression was one of frank amazement; Leverage's reflected sheer unbelief. "It can't be, Carroll!" "Yet--it is!" "Sufferin' wildcats!" breathed Leverage. "The suit-case ain't the woman's at all! It's Warren's!" CHAPTER III "FIND THE WOMAN" The thing was incomprehensible, yet true. Not a single article of feminine apparel was contained in the suit-case. Not only that, but every garment therein which bore an identification mark was the property of Roland Warren, the man whose body leered at them from the floor of the taxicab.