“I know,” impatiently; “but I’ve read detective stories, and ‘most always, the murder is committed in what they call ‘a hermetically sealed room,’ and yet somebody did get in!” “There’s no such thing as a hermetically sealed room! Don’t you know what hermetically sealed means?” “Yes, of course I do, literally. But that phrase is used--in detective stories, to mean an inaccessible room. Or a seemingly inaccessible one. But always it comes out that it could be entered.” “That’s all very well in fiction, ma’am; but it won’t work in this case. Why, I looked over those door locks myself. Nobody could get in.” “Well, leaving aside the way they got in, let’s see whom we can suspect. There’s two men that I know of who are dead in love with Mrs. Embury--and I daresay there are a lot more, who can see a silver lining in this cloud!” “What--what do you mean?” Shane was fascinated by the lovely personality of Mrs. Desternay, and he began to think that she might be of some real help to him. Though a skilled detective, he was of the plodding sort, and never had brilliant or even original ideas. He had had a notion it would have been better to send Driscoll on this errand he was himself attempting, but a touch of jealousy of the younger and more quick-witted man made him determine to attend to Mrs. Desternay himself. “Well, Mr. Stupid, if you were in the presence of Mrs. Embury and Mr. Elliott and Mr. Hendricks,--as you said you were--and didn’t size up how matters stand with those two men, you are a queer sort of detective!” Her light laughter rippled pleasantly, and Shane forgave her reproof by reason of her charm. “Both of them?” he said, helplessly. “Yes, sir, both of them!” She mimicked his tone. “You see, Mr. Shane, it’s an old romance, all ‘round. When Eunice Ames was a girl, three men fought for her hand, the two we’ve just mentioned, and Mr. Embury, who was the successful suitor. And he succeeded only by sheer force of will. He practically stole her from the other two and married her out of hand.” “I suppose the lady agreed?” “Of course, but it was a marriage in haste, and--I imagine that it was followed by the proverbial consequences.” “What do you mean?” asked the dull-witted Shane. “That they repented at leisure. At least, Eunice did--I don’t believe Sanford ever regretted.” “But those two men are Embury’s friends.” “Sure they are! Oh, friend Shane, were you born yesterday? I thought detectives were a little more up-to-date than that! Of course, they’re all friends, always have been, since they made mud-pies together in their Boston backyards.” “Did you belong to that childish group? “Me? Lord, no! I’m Simon Pure Middle West! And I glory in it! I’d hate to be of New England descent--you have to live up to traditions and things! I’m a law unto myself, when it comes to life and living!” “And you met Mrs. Embury?”