He bent forward and read from the sheet of paper merely the following lines: “_To the Right Reverend Bishop Cassidy, Washington, D. C._ “MY DEAR BISHOP: I feel compelled to ask your consideration of a matter of which I have just become informed. Though the sacred secrecy of the confessional forbids----” That was all, written with a firm and flowing hand, and Nick straightened up and turned to his companion. “Yes, this settles it, Fallon,” said he. “Father Cleary was writing when his assassin entered. Observe that he quickly dropped his pen, instead of placing it in this tray with the others.” “Yes, obviously,” Fallon agreed. “Plainly, then, he was startled, or even alarmed by some unexpected noise. That would not have been the case, Fallon, if his bell had rung, either that of the front or the side door.” “But he may not have been alone at that time,” suggested Fallon. “The person by whom he was killed may have been here.” “That is not probable,” Nick quickly objected. “This letter which he began to write denotes that he was alone, also that some person had just left him, or only a short time before, and by whom serious information of some kind had been imparted to him, so serious that he felt compelled to write about it to Bishop Cassidy.” “It must in that case have been something relating to the church.” “Not necessarily. I do not, in fact, think that it was.” “Why so?” “Notice the next line: ‘Though the sacred secrecy of the confessional forbids,’” Nick pointed out. “There he stopped and dropped his pen. Forbids what? We know that it forbids his revealing what is imparted in confession. That seems to have been the source of the information about which he intended to write, judging from the beginning of the letter. It may not, of course, have been part of a penitent’s confession. It may have been something indirectly related with it, or referring to a confession.” “I see,” Fallon nodded. “There seems to be no way to definitely determine.” “Not at present,” Nick replied, folding the sheet of paper and putting it in his pocket. “Let’s go a step farther.” Nick turned and took up the lamp on the table, shaking it gently and peering into the chimney. “Empty,” said he tersely. “The wick is turned up and charred. The lamp burned until the oil was exhausted. The assassin did not extinguish the light. He left in a hurry, no doubt.” “He remained long enough to close the door leading into the hall,” said Fallon. “The housekeeper found it closed this morning.” “Father Cleary may have closed it when he received his first visitor.” “You think there were two?” “I do,” said Nick. “Here together?” “No. One came after the other had departed.” “But why did he close the hall door after letting them out?” questioned Fallon, a bit doubtfully. “Mrs. Kane’s statements imply that she usually found it open in the morning.” “I don’t think that he let them out, not both of them at least,” said Nick. “Here is another door.”