“I hope you’ve not bitten off more than you can chew,” said Phelan inelegantly. “I don’t think so.” “What did Gordon say for himself?” Chick inquired. Nick then told both what Gordon had stated, also his own reasons for the steps he had taken. “Either he did this, or he did not,” he said forcibly in conclusion. “I feel sure he did not. Who did kill this woman, then, and with what motive? We now will try to find out.” “Gordon’s story certainly is a plausible one,” Chick declared. “It explains his visit, his letter, and why the disguise was in his pocket. All were mystifying points, as well as seriously suspicious.” “But think what it doesn’t explain,” argued Phelan, still doubtful. “If others killed this woman after Gordon departed, and if he went directly home, as stated, how came blood on his garments, even in his overcoat pocket, as if that gory jimmy had been carried away in it? How came the jimmy under shrubbery in Gordon’s grounds? It must be the jimmy with which the woman was killed. Where are the Madison letters, if he didn’t get them, and why----” “Hold your horses, Phelan,” Nick interrupted, then hurriedly searching the open desk. “Don’t ask so many questions. They cannot be answered in advance of an investigation. We have only Tilly Lancey’s word for it, mind you, that a package of Madison’s letters were here, aside from the fact that some one broke into the desk. They are no longer here, at all events, for I have searched it thoroughly.” “By Jove, this may have been a job to kill two birds with one stone,” said Chick. “What d’ye mean?” Phelan growled. “A job not only to get the Madison letters, but also to do it in such a way to fix the crime upon Gordon and defeat him in the coming election.” “Humph!” grunted Phelan. “Could you find any evidence, Chick, that others were here last night?” Nick paused and inquired. “Not an atom, Nick.” “You searched----” “Everywhere,” Chick interrupted. “The only window tampered with is that through which Gilroy entered this morning. There is not a sign of anything more. If others were here, they must have been admitted by the woman herself or----” “Stop a moment,” Nick cut in. “Here is a partly written letter addressed to a woman named Cora, merely an invitation to dine.” “That’s Cora Cavendish,” said Phelan. “She has been Tilly Lancey’s running mate for a year. She’s a bird of the same feather.” “Where does she live?” asked Chick. “She has apartments in the Nordeck, in Forty-fourth Street. She’s a fly jade, if ever there was one.” “Possibly, then----” “Wait!” Nick again interrupted. “Here’s an important point. It convinces me that I am right.” “Right in what?” came from Phelan. “That Tilly Lancey did not write these words on the wall.” “Great Scott! Is that so? What’s the point?” Nick displayed the partly written letter found in the desk, then turned to the wall on which the incriminating words were inscribed.