“Practically, yes,” March agreed. “But that doesn’t mean a world wonder or a professional champion. It is more to the point that our diver should know the position of the rocks under the windows and the locality of the clear depths.” “Have you any proof of all this?” “I sure have. Footprints on the window sill, fingerprints on the window frame and a streak of red paint.” “Red paint?” “Yes, which I take to be the scratch of that Totem thing.” “Why do you take that?” “Well, to my mind, that Totem means something. You know the old original Totem Poles,—I’ve been looking up the matter,—had to do with clans or family fealty or something like that.” “You don’t seem to be entirely clear about it,” Lora said, with a little smile. “No, ma’am, I’m not. But I’m clear enough to make my point that whoever took that pole took it as a memento or mascot or whatever you like to call it of Sampson Tracy. I mean it made it all a personal matter, not the work of an ordinary burglar.” “No,” Kee agreed, “I can’t see the earmarks of an ordinary burglar.” “I see what Mr. March is driving at,” Maud declared. “He means that the murderer, whoever he was, was one who knew Mr. Tracy, and had known him intimately. One who was either a family connection or a housemate, and who killed his victim for personal reasons rather than for robbery or sordid motives.” “Yes, ma’am,” March spoke gratefully, “that’s what I mean, partly. And it seems to me like the work of a friend suddenly turned enemy or a calm, self-restrained nature that something roused to the pitch of homicidal mania.” “Ah, psychology——” began Lora, but March interrupted. “No, ma’am, I don’t hold with those modern, hifalutin sciences. Doctor Rogers, now, he knows all about such things, but you didn’t hear him referring to anything of the sort. No, I don’t mean psychology, but only just the natural working of a brain suddenly roused to ungovernable rage.” “For a reason?” “For a reason, of course. The reason doubtless being Tracy’s refusal of whatever boon the other was asking.” “Then this other may be a relative, a friend or a servant?” “Yes, always remembering it is a person with an ingenious brain and proficiency in diving and swimming.” “Count ’em up, then,” and Moore held up his hand and checked off on his fingers. “Ames, Everett, Griscom——” “Mrs. Dallas and Miss Remsen,” March finished for him. “Oh, leave out the women,” I said, trying to speak lightly, “they can’t dive like pearl fishers.” “Miss Remsen can,” March asserted, “and it may be that Mrs. Dallas can, though we don’t know for certain.” “Well,” Lora said, slowly, “give us some more evidence. You can’t sit up and reel off names of people. You might as well include Mrs. Merrill and myself.” “No, ma’am, you had no motive. You’re not mentioned in the will.” “But surely then, Mrs. Dallas had no motive. She expected to marry Mr. Tracy—why should she want to kill him?”