"Amos often discussed his cases with me," she added. "And Gentleman Jake's statements had aroused him to an unusual degree. He was thunderstruck at the effrontery of the crime and at its cleverness." "It was a clever scheme," acknowledged Mitchell, "and probably succeeded through its very boldness. But, pardon me, Madam, you have brought forward no proof to substantiate your story." "I am coming to that." Mrs. Parsons rose and walking over to a closet, beckoned to the inspector. Opening the door, she knelt down before a small safe used to hold her table silver. From one of its compartments she took out a worn envelope. "I forgot to tell you," she stated, shutting the door of the safe, "that the fellow convict who gave the tip to Gentleman Jake was up for burglary. Some time previous to his arrest he had entered Edward Rodgers' apartment in San Francisco and, among other things, stolen these papers. He sent them to my husband when released from the 'pen.' See for yourself," and she handed the envelope to Mitchell. Returning to his old seat, Inspector Mitchell shook the contents of the envelope on the table, then laying it down he picked up a yellowish paper, which bore the signature: "John Holt" written over and over. The reverse was a letter in a stiff, Spencerian handwriting: Dear Rodgers: Call at my office to-morrow. I plan to destroy my last will, and would like you to locate my nephew, Leigh Wallace, for me. Yours, John Holt. Without comment Mitchell laid aside the letter and picked up another paper. It bore the same signature, traced in varying forms of completeness, and in one corner the name, "Leigh Wallace," was repeated again and again. The third and last paper was in the stiff handwriting of the letter signed by John Holt, and read: I, John Holt, being in good health and of sound mind, do hereby revoke all other instruments and do declare this to be my last will and testament. I give and bequeath to my nephew, Leigh Wallace-- The remainder of the page was blank except for a large smudge of ink. Inspector Mitchell laid the three sheets of paper side by side and examined them with care. "Leigh Wallace," he said smilingly. "Is he any relation to the Major Leigh Wallace over whom Miss Baird and her niece, Miss Kitty, are said by Oscar to have quarreled on Sunday shortly before Miss Baird's murder?" "He is the same man." Mrs. Parsons pushed aside the vase of flowers standing on the table so that she could obtain an unobstructed view of Mitchell and the papers lying in front of him. "Strange, is it not, that Major Leigh Wallace and Edward Rodgers should both be in Washington and both interested in the Baird murder?" "Why strange?" Inspector Mitchell was not to be drawn. "All Washington is interested in Miss Susan Baird's death."