“I don't believe it,” was Carter's energetic protest. “That Chinaman was about as smooth an article as I have ever seen. It's my idea he knew it was only a question of a day or so before he would have been traced. That's why he came around and told that yarn. There is no way of saying it is not so; his word is as good as ours.” He brought his fist down on the arm of his chair, then added: “But there is one thing I can do. I will wire my chief in Washington and get all the information there is about him. If he has been around the Embassy, the chief will have the dope on him.” “His story of Warren being dead, with the knife still in the body and the door open, makes the affair look a bit different than what we found,” I commented. Ranville carefully lighted a cigar, watched the first smoke ring circle above his head, and then said: “If we presume that his story is true, it opens up several interesting theories. Who took the knife from the body? Who closed the door?” and he paused. “And who killed him?” broke in Carter's disgusted voice. Rising to his feet, he stood before our chairs, his hands in his pocket, and said earnestly: “There's that story of his about the box with the ashes of Buddha in it. There were a number of boxes in the room. Who knows if he did not take it? For that matter, who can tell if anything was taken from Warren's library? We won't get very far as to discovering why Warren was killed until we find a motive of some sort. At present there is no one who can tell us if anything was taken from the library. No one knows anything about its contents anyway.” “Only the secretary,” was Ranville's dry comment, “and no one knows where she is.” As they both looked at me, I told them of my visit to the girl's aunt, and of what the woman had said. They listened until I was through, and then said that the most important thing the chief had to do was to find the secretary. Not only would she have to explain her statement, that Warren ought to be killed, but there was something else she could do. As she had worked with Mr. Warren, she must be familiar with the contents of his library. She alone could tell us if anything was missing. Until we knew that fact there was little we could go on. We discussed this for a while, and in the midst of our talk the telephone rang. Carter went out into the hall to answer it. He returned in a moment to tell me I was wanted on the phone. Taking the receiver, I found the chief of police on the other end of the wire. He had received—as he put it—a good tip as to where the missing secretary was. He mentioned that it was about twenty miles away, over the mountains, and asked if I would be willing to take my car and go with him. I told him I would be at the station in a few moments and rang off.