“I don’t agree with you that it’s ‘of no importance,’ whose locked door he tried to open,” snapped the chief. “It is highly important in every way. If--” “Then I can clear up the mystery,” said Vail wearily. “My own bedroom is next to Creede’s. That is the room in which Chase was sleeping.” “Ah! Then--” “Only,” pursued Vail, “my loyal friend here is mistaken in saying I tried the door. I didn’t try that or any other door.” “I never said you did, Thax!” protested Clive eagerly. “I said I heard a rattle, as if a door was being tried. It may have been a door somewhere rattling in the wind, or it may have been--” “On a windless night?” cut in the chief. “Or did the killer of Willis Chase try first to get into his room by way of the door and then, finding that locked, enter the room later by the open window? In that case--” “_Shame!_” It was Doris Lane who broke in furiously upon the chief’s deductions. “Oh, it is _shameful_!” she hurried on, her eyes ablaze, her slender body tense. “You are trying to weave a filthy net around him! And this poor sick blundering friend of his is inadvertently helping you! Thaxton Vail could no more have done a thing like that than--than--” Choking, she glanced at her aunt for reënforcement. To her astonishment old Miss Gregg had lost her momentary excitement and was sitting unruffled, hands in lap, a peaceful half-smile on her shrewd face. Apparently she was deriving much pleasing interest from the scene. “But, Chief!” stammered the luckless Clive, looking miserably at Vail. “I can’t even be sure it was Thax whose steps I heard up there. It may have been any one else’s. I only spoke of it to corroborate him. Oh, why didn’t Chase stay in the magenta room? There’s no way of climbing into that from the ground. If only Thax hadn’t made him change rooms--” “_Will_ you be quiet?” stormed Doris, aflame with indignation. “Isn’t he suffering enough from these senseless questions; without your making it worse?” “Hush, Doris, dear!” soothed Miss Gregg. “Don’t interfere. I’m sure Reuben Quimby is doing very well indeed--for Reuben Quimby. His questions aren’t stupid either. A few of them have been almost intelligent.” “Thanks, dear little girl,” whispered Vail, leaving his seat of inquisition and bending above the tremblingly angry Doris. “It’s _fine_ of you. But you mustn’t let yourself get wrought up or unhappy on my account. I--” “There’s something else, Chief,” boomed Joshua Q. Mosely, “something that maybe’ll have a bearing on this, in the way of character testimony. I can swear to the prisoner’s homicidal temper. See this swelling on my chin? He knocked me down early in the evening. Mrs. M. and all these others can testify to that. The prisoner--”