“Well, let's put that out of the question and say revenge,” suggested Carter. “That would look more reasonable,” Ranville commented. “A man of Warren's type would, of course, have made enemies. And the two odd things about the murder—the position in which we found the body and the cross on the forehead—seem to suggest revenge. You cannot tell what he might have done while he was in China. He may have made enemies there.” “That suggests the Chinaman who the housekeeper says came to the house about six,” was my remark. “Maybe and maybe not,” was Ranville's quick retort. “I admit that six o'clock is pretty near the time Warren was killed. Also, why a Chinaman should wish to see him is something which must be looked into. But I have had a good deal of experience with criminal Chinese in our Limehouse section of London. They are capable of the most devilish torture, the weirdest kinds of murder. But I fail to remember a single case where they ever marked their victim after death. And no Chinaman, it seems to me, would ever mark his victim with a cross. Of course, once in a while you run into one who goes wild, and there is no telling what he might do. But as a rule, though they will in seeking revenge impose the most cruel tortures on some of their victims, they do not as a rule mark them after death.” “Disfigurement after a killing is often the work of a frenzied woman,” was Carter's shrewd remark. “That's true, Carter. Women, far more than men, are apt not to be satisfied with murder alone. When a woman in a sudden passion kills a man, she often, while the rage is on her, goes further.” “And that makes one think of what the housekeeper said about the secretary,” was my comment. There was a moment's silence, broken by Carter's saying: “I wonder what the housekeeper meant by that remark. She certainly shut up like a clam when we tried to question her. There is something back of it—at least back of the housekeeper's attitude.” “Well,” came Ranville's voice, “there is one thing sure; I think I am right when I say that whoever killed Warren was some one who knew him. He sat in that chair, the one across from the desk, and I think perhaps I am right when I add that he might have gone to Warren's side to say good-by and then plunged the knife into him. But why he paused to arrange the body on the floor and to make the cross on his forehead I cannot say, but—” Just what he might have added I do not know. We were interrupted by the dog suddenly rising to his feet and starting to growl. Deep, heavy growls at some object we could not see. Then came the sound of footsteps on the walk, and a deep voice came from the lawn: “Hearing voices, Mr. Carter, I could not resist stopping.”