“Of course, the murder of a man of Warren's prominence was startling enough in itself. As a rule, men of his type are not murdered. Then I began to wonder. There seemed on the face of it but one logical explanation. Could he have been killed because of something he might have done in China, by some enemies he might have made while there? When Carter told me of the visit made by the Chinaman, I began to wonder if he might be the killer. In the end I decided that he could not have been.” “I don't see how you have decided that,” broke in the chief. “Two things formed my opinion. The cross upon the forehead was the first one. A Chinaman might have killed him, but if he did, he would not have marked the body after death with a cross. Then came the story of the box. We found there was a box of opium in the library. Patton's information regarding the boxes given Warren in China checked up with the story the Chinaman told. But one box of opium was not enough for a crime of that type. The Chinaman could have secured the box at the time he was first in the library; that is, if he had not been forced to leave.” “To leave?” questioned Carter. Bartley turned to his friend. “Carter, did you not think it rather queer that the Chinaman left the library as quickly as he did? He had discovered Warren was dead. To him that was of little account. But it seems that either he must have seen some one returning to the building or else heard some one near the room. One thing he could not afford to have happen: that was take any chance he would be accused of the murder. That's why he left.” I saw Ranville nod, and Bartley continued: “Patton told us that Mr. Warren never had the time to examine the gift of three boxes which had been given him at the last moment. The Chinaman told the truth. He was but an odd coincident in the case, but it was sufficient for a short while to throw us all away from the real motive. Then when I heard your stories, I began to have a faint suspicion—” “You did,” interrupted Carter. “Of what?” Bartley laughed. “A faint suspicion that perhaps you had not told me every single detail. As the affair stood, we were up against a stone wall. Warren had been killed—but there was no motive for the crime. Of course, that was absurd. I began to wonder if you had overlooked anything. And then I decided there was but one way I could see any light in this crime. It was to apply some modern psychology—try and discover the type of a man who would commit such an absurd murder. That is—it was to us, but to the murderer it was not. And then, all at once, you told me very clearly what type of a man I must look for.” “We did not,” was Carter's quick comment. “Do you remember that bit of paper you found near the body? That paper with the letters ‘Anani’?” We nodded. “For some reason none of you tried to figure out what those letters might mean. They did mean something, though the word was not completed. Did you ever hear of ‘Ananias’?”