"I'm not keeping it from bursting; but I can't explode it until I get it properly charged. I see you're hoping I never will." "Not with that charge!" I said fervently. "Well, we won't talk about it now," said Godfrey, smiling at my earnestness. "After the coroner had looked over the ground and got his data, we lugged the body upstairs and examined it. It was that of a man of about fifty, well-preserved, but showing marks of dissipation. The tip of the little finger on his left hand was missing, as Clemley had said. From his complexion, hair, and general appearance I should say that he was undoubtedly an Italian. I've already told you how he was killed." "And you couldn't identify him." "No." "Nothing in his clothes--no letter, or anything of that sort?" "Not a thing. There was some loose money in the trousers pockets, a knife, a small comb, and a few other odds and ends, but no watch nor pocketbook nor papers. However, I believe there had been. I fancied that the inside pocket of the coat had been turned out and then hastily shoved in again. One of the vest buttons was unbuttoned, and the lower left-hand pocket of the vest certainly showed that a watch had been carried in it." "You mean these things had been removed?" "I certainly do." "But what was the motive of it all?" I demanded desperately. "I don't know; I can't see clearly; but I'm sure of one thing, and that is that it will lead back to Marcia Lawrence." "I don't believe it!" I retorted. "I don't----" The door opened and the clerk came in. "Somebody wants you at the 'phone, Mr. Lester," he said; "long distance," and he led the way to the booth. It was Mr. Royce, and not until that moment did I remember that my absence from the office was unexplained. "I _was_ a little worried at first," he said, in answer to my question, "but when I saw that special from Elizabeth in the _Record_ this morning, I began to understand, especially when I called up your landlady, and found you'd left the house in a hurry last night after getting a telegram." "Yes, it was from Godfrey." "What's up? The clerk down there told me this morning that you'd come in about daybreak looking like you'd been digging a sewer, and that a policeman was guarding you in your room." "Yes, I was suspected of murder for a while, but I'm not under guard any longer. I'll get back to the office as soon as I can." "Oh, take your time--I'm getting along fairly well. Of course I've read the papers--there's no connection between this affair and that other one, is there, Lester?" "Godfrey thinks so," I answered, glancing around to make sure that the door of the booth was securely closed. "He thinks the dead man was Miss L.'s husband, and half believes she killed him." I could hear Mr. Royce's inarticulate exclamation of disgust and anger. "But of course that's all moonshine," I added.