"Miss Baird," he commenced, and Kitty almost cried out at the formality of his address, "has told you how the revolver might have been 'planted' in my car to incriminate her. To be exact it was thrown into the car by the person who shot me, and with it a handkerchief." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a piece of linen, bloodstained and torn. "You bound my head, did you not, before you started to drive me home?" turning to Kitty. "Yes." "My nurse--" Rodgers was speaking more clearly, "showed me the handkerchiefs which Dr. McLean had removed to put on a proper bandage," touching his head. "Look at that handkerchief, Mitchell--and tell us what you see." Mitchell spread out the costly linen so that all could view it. "A woman's handkerchief," he remarked. "There's an initial in the corner--the letter--" holding it closer--"the letter 'P.'" In the utter stillness that followed he laid down the handkerchief. "'P,'" he repeated musingly--"Potter." A cry escaped Nina Potter and she shrank back in her chair, her face buried in her hands, shaking from head to foot. "Not that," she gasped. "Not that!" Ted Rodgers bent forward. "'P' stands as well for 'Parsons,'" he commented, and got no further. "Yo'se done said it!" gasped a voice behind them, and Oscar, perspiration trickling down his black face, came forward, his arm tightly clutched by Welsh, the plain clothes' detective. "Dar's de woman who done up ole Miss," shaking his fist in Mrs. Parsons' face. "I see'd her acreepin' away from here on Monday mawnin,' an'--" "You--you--Oscar!" Mrs. Parsons' voice rose and cracked. Again she tried to speak in her natural tones--"Oscar!" Kitty cried out--a chord of memory had been touched-- "It was you I heard trying to bribe Oscar!" she exclaimed. "You!" Mrs. Parsons turned with livid face to Charles Craige. "Charles--they--she--stop her!" She reeled backward and Craige, awakening from his stupor, flung Mouchette toward Kitty and reached forward to catch Mrs. Parsons as she swayed dangerously near the edge of her chair. The Angora cat, roused suddenly from her sleep, missed Kitty by the fraction of an inch and alighted in Mrs. Parsons' lap. As the terrified woman attempted to throw her down, the cat sank her claws into her bare arm, tearing the delicate flesh with gash after gash. The men sprang to Mrs. Parsons' aid, but too late. Her screams gave place to a gurgling cry and she sank back a dead weight. Mitchell, kneeling by her side, stared at her convulsed features in horror as his hand went to her wrist. "By God! She's dead!" he gasped in awe. His glance traveled downward. "Look--look at the cat!" His shaking finger pointed to where Mouchette sat licking first one paw and then the other. A streak of blood was flowing from where she had gashed herself in her fury. Suddenly they saw the cat stiffen, throw back her head convulsively, roll over and lie still.