"Then I do insist," and Winifred's heightened color and wrathful eyes only enhanced her beauty. Clancy spread his hands in a gesture inherited from a French mother. "Very well," he said. "You are required to give evidence concerning the death of Mr. Ronald Tower. Now, I cannot say any more. I have a car outside. You will be detained less than an hour. The same car will bring you back, and I think I can guarantee that your employers will raise no difficulty." The head of the firm growled agreement. As a matter of fact the staid respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had sustained a shock by the mere presence of the police. Murder has an ugly aspect. It was often bound up in the firm's products, but never before had it entered that temple of efficiency in other guise. Clancy sensed the slow fermentation of the pharisaical mind. "If I had known what sort of girl this was I would never have brought a policeman," he muttered into the great man's ear. "She has no more to do with this affair than you have." "It is very annoying--very," was the peevish reply. "What is? Assisting the police?" "Oh, no. Didn't mean that, of course." The detective thought he might do more harm than good by pressing for a definition of the firm's annoyance. He turned to Winifred. "Are you ready, Miss Bartlett?" he said. "The only reason the Bureau has for troubling you is the accident of your address." Almost before the girl realized the new and astounding conditions which had come into her life she was seated in a closed automobile and speeding swiftly down-town. She was feminine enough, however, to ply Clancy with questions, and he had to fence with her, as it was all-important that such information as she might be able to give should be imparted when he and Steingall could observe her closely. The Bureau hugged no delusions. Its vast experience of the criminal world rendered misplaced sympathy with erring mortals almost impossible. Young or old, rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, the strange procession which passes in unending review before the police authorities is subjected to impartial yet searching analysis. Few of the guilty ones escape suspicion, no matter how slight the connecting clue or scanty the evidence. On the other hand, Steingall and his trusty aid seldom made a mistake when they decided, as Clancy had already done in Winifred's case, that real innocence had come under the shadow of crime. Steingall shared Clancy's opinion the instant he set eyes on the new witness. He gazed at her with a humorous dismay that was wholly genuine. "Sit there, Miss Bartlett," he said, rising to place a chair for her. "Please don't feel nervous. I am sure you understand that only those who have broken the law need fear it. Now, _you_ haven't killed anybody, have you?" Winifred smiled. She liked this big man's kindly manner. Really, the police were not such terrifying ogres when you came to close quarters with them.