"Elope with Miss Gresham?" Barker paused; then a slow, calculating smile creased his lips. "Miss Gresham--her he was engaged to! Dog-gone if I don't believe you've hit the nail on the head, Mr. Carroll!" "What nail?" "About her bein' the woman in the taxi. You know some fellers is like that--they'd a heap rather elope with a woman they're crazy about than stand up in a church and get married. They're sort of romantic." Barker was waxing loquacious. "You know, you must be right. Fact, if you put it right up to me, I'd say there wasn't no doubt that Miss Gresham was the woman in the taxicab." "I had that idea," responded Carroll slowly. "But what I can't understand, Barker, and what you might help me figure out, is this--why should Miss Gresham kill Mr. Warren?" "Huh! Ask me somethin' easy, will you? I never was good at riddles." Leverage marveled at the change in the two men. Apparently Carroll had swallowed hook, line, and sinker. Of course, Leverage was pretty sure that he had not; but he was also sure that Barker thought he had. And Barker was volunteering information--plenty of it--that was absolutely valueless. For the first time he was forcing the conversational pace, and Carroll seemed serenely content to drag limply along. "Reckon she might have been jealous of him?" drawled Carroll. "Jealous? Maybe. I ain't sayin' she wasn't. Of course, she must have heard a good many things about him and other women; and when a woman gets downright jealous there ain't much sayin' what she wouldn't do. Not that I'm sayin' Miss Gresham croaked him. I ain't sayin' nothin' positive; but if you're askin' me who he'd most naturally elope with, why I'd say it was the girl he was engaged to marry. If he wasn't going to marry her, what did he ever get engaged to her for?" Carroll nodded. "Certainly sounds reasonable." He paused, and then: "Where were you about midnight last night?" "I was"--Barker's figure stiffened defensively, and his eyebrows drew down over the deep-set eyes--"I was just shootin' some pool." "Shooting pool?" "Un-huh!" "Where?" "At Kelly's place." "Where is that?" The man hesitated, flushed, and then, somewhat sullenly: "On Cypress Street." "That's pretty close to the Union Station, isn't it?" "Not so close." "About how far away?" Again the momentary hesitation. "'Bout a half-block." "And you were shooting pool there?" "Sure I was! I c'n prove it." Carroll grinned disengagingly. "You don't need to prove anything to me, Barker. And for goodness' sake get the idea out of your head that I'm suspecting you of anything. I had to talk matters over with you. You knew more about the dead man than any one else; but I couldn't think you had anything to do with it, could I? You're not a woman!" Barker grinned sheepishly. "That's all right, Mr. Carroll. And as for me bein' a woman--well, you're sure a woman killed him, ain't you?"