"Go up to the bedroom at the head of the stairs," she directed. "Mandy," to the colored woman who, aroused by the noise of tramping feet and voices, appeared at the top of the staircase. "Show them into the spare bedroom and help them get the bed ready for Mr. Rodgers. I'll telephone at once for Dr. McLean." Twenty minutes later Kitty stood with clenched hands waiting for the surgeon's verdict. She had paced the hall until physical exhaustion had called a halt. "Will he live, doctor?" she asked. "Don't keep me in suspense." And the agony in her eyes caused McLean to hurry his usually slow speech. "Yes, if there are no complications--" Kitty waited to hear no more. Turning abruptly, she stumbled toward her own room--she could not face any one just then. She had reached the end of endurance. "Miss Baird," Mitchell's stern voice caused her to falter just outside her bedroom door. "Who shot Edward Rodgers?" "I don't know," she stammered. "We were coming home through Rock Creek Park and a car dashed by us. I was blinded by its headlights. I heard a report--" she caught her breath sharply. "I turned and found Mr. Rodgers sitting unconscious--wounded as you found him. I brought him home--ah, I can't talk to you now--go--go!" And she half walked, half staggered across the threshold of her bedroom and into Mandy's sympathetic arms. Mitchell went slowly downstairs and out into the street. Allen, his chauffeur, was standing by Edward Rodgers' car, and at sight of the inspector waved a beckoning hand. "See here, Sir," he said, turning the rays of his electric torch into the body of the roadster. "See that!" Mitchell stared at the revolver for several seconds. It lay just under the gear shift. Putting on his gloves, Mitchell picked it up gingerly. "Have you handled the revolver, Allen?" he asked. "No, sir. After the doctor and the nurse came, I returned here and put out the headlights which Miss Baird had left burning; then I saw the revolver lying just there on the floor of the car." A step behind him caused Mitchell to turn around. "Hello, what have you there?" asked Ben Potter. "A revolver." Mitchell held it so that Allen's torch fell directly upon it. "And a revolver which has been recently discharged judging from the smell of burnt powder." Potter whistled, then bent down for a better look. "By heaven!" he exclaimed. "That's Kitty's revolver. I had her initials engraved upon it--see--" And turning the revolver slightly, Mitchell was able to decipher the letters on the plate: "K.B." CHAPTER XVIII ELUSIVE CLUES