“To begin with, Nick, Gordon refused to say where he was at eleven o’clock last night. Kennedy then told him about the murder and placed him under arrest. To make a long story short, for I have not all of the details, Gordon’s evening suit, which he admits having worn last night, was found spattered with blood.” “H’m, is that so?” “There are stains of blood in one pocket of his overcoat, also, as if the jimmy was disjointed and thrust into it after the murder. You can see for yourself that the weapon used by the assassin is missing.” “Yes, so I have noticed.” “In the other pocket of Gordon’s overcoat was a disguise, a false beard and mustache. They----” “One moment,” Nick interrupted. “Gordon saw all of this evidence, I suppose.” “Yes, certainly.” “What did he say about it?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “He refused positively to make any statements whatever,” Phelan explained. “He said he would not do so until after he had conferred with you. Regan then allowed him to telephone to you, and, while waiting for Gordon to get ready to accompany him, he phoned these facts to me.” “Where is Gordon now?” “On his way to police headquarters, if not already there,” said Phelan. “Both Regan and Kennedy went with him.” “Taking the evidence mentioned.” “Yes, certainly.” “And that’s all you know about the case?” “Isn’t that enough?” Phelan asked bluntly. “What more would you have? It tells the story plainly enough.” “What story?” inquired Nick tentatively. “What is your theory?” “It can be told with a breath,” Phelan declared. “Gordon came here to get something from this woman. His letter shows that he had an appointment with her at eleven last night. She refused to give him what he wanted, evidently something which he knew was in this desk. He came prepared to get it at any cost.” “I follow you,” Nick nodded. “When he found that she would not give it up, he killed her with the jimmy and then broke open the desk with it. Here are stains of blood on the desk, showing that it was forced after the murder was committed.” “That appears probable,” Nick allowed. “Gordon probably found what he wanted, and then fled,” Phelan went on. “The woman afterward revived sufficiently to realize the situation, also that she was near her end. She must have been too weak to rise, or to make herself heard. But she dragged herself near enough to the wall to write these few words on it with the tip of her finger, dipped in the pool of blood. The smooches of blood on the carpet show plainly that she dragged herself over the floor. She evidently died, or fainted, before she could complete what she would have written. That’s my theory, Carter.” “Very good,” said Nick, a bit dryly. “All that seems very logical, Phelan, and you’re some theorist. I will look around a bit, however, and see what more I can find.” “Go ahead,” Phelan nodded. “The day is young.” It then was only half past nine.