“You might and you might not,” said Moore, looking at him. “If Mr. Tracy wanted a private entrance to his suite for any reason, he would have had it built and kept the matter quiet.” “Not Sampson Tracy,” exclaimed Everett. “He was not a secretive man. I think I may say I knew all about his affairs, both business matters and private dealings, and he trusted me absolutely.” “Even so,” Moore told him. “But in the lives of most men there is some secret, something that they don’t talk over with anybody.” “Not Mr. Tracy,” Everett reiterated. “Even his engagement to Mrs. Dallas was freely talked over with me, both before it occurred and since. I know all about his habits and his fads and whims. And in no case was there ever an occasion for a secret passage to or from his rooms.” “Yet it may be there,” Kee insisted. “But if none can be found, then the murderer either escaped by the windows or——” “Or what?” asked Hart. “Or he had a steel wire contraption to turn the key from the outside. But this I don’t think likely, for the door has a rather complicated lock, and is far from being an easy thing to manipulate.” “You know the terms of his will, then?” the Coroner inquired. “Oh, yes,” Everett said. “At present his niece, Miss Remsen, is his principal heir. There are many bequests to friends and to servants, but the bulk of the estate goes to Miss Remsen. Mr. Tracy knew that his marriage would invalidate this will, which was why he had not changed it. He said that after his wedding with Mrs. Dallas, he would revise the will to suite his changed estate.” “Then, under his existing will, Mrs. Dallas has no legacy?” “Not unless Mr. Tracy made a change without telling me. He may have done that, but I think it very unlikely.” “You know of no one then, who had sufficient enmity toward Mr. Tracy to desire his death?” “Absolutely no one. So far as I am aware, he hadn’t an acquaintance in the world who was anything but friendly toward him.” Everett was dismissed and Billy Dean was called in. He was a pleasant-faced chap of twenty-three or thereabouts. His work was far from being as important as Everett’s. In fact he was really a high-class stenographer and office boy. He was good looking with big brown eyes and a curly mop of brown hair. He too, scoffed at the idea of a secret passage in the house. “Pleasure Dome has all the modern improvements,” he said, “but nothing like that. If there was such a thing, I’d have been through it in no time. I can ferret out anything queer of that sort by instinct, and there’s nothing doing. There’s no way in and out of Mr. Tracy’s suite but by that one hall door. I know that. And it has a special lock. He had that put on about six months ago.” “Why? Was he afraid of intruders?” “Don’t think so. But there had been some robberies down in the village and he said it was as well to be on the safe side.” “Then, Mr. Dean, in your opinion, how did the man who killed Mr. Tracy get out of his rooms?”