“Nor along the thick carpet of the hall——” went on March, as if he had not been interrupted. “You’re trying to say I lie,” Ames cried out. “But it is true. I will not say, then, what the sound was, but I did hear a slight sound outside my door a little before two o’clock——” “Did it waken you?” March spoke eagerly. “N-no, I was awake—I think. But I heard it distinctly, though very faintly. It was like——” “Yes, what was it like? You said, like a step.” “No, not like a step—like a gliding, shuffling movement and a—a——” “Go on.” “Like a stick or something dragged across my door.” “Dragged?” “Oh, I mean, drawn across my door,—here, like this.” Ames, with a petulant gesture, picked up an ivory paper cutter from the table and drew it leisurely across a cupboard door, making a slight rattling sound. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head satisfiedly, “just like that.” “As if some one were passing your door, and idly drew across it something he had in his hand?” “Yes, just that.” “Why haven’t you told this before?” “I attached no importance to it. In fact, I had forgotten it.” “And what brought it again to your mind?” “Nothing especial. I was going over the events of that night, to think if there was anything else I could tell Mr. Moore. I didn’t know he was going to throw me!” Keeley laughed outright. Ames spoke so like an aggrieved child. “I haven’t thrown you, Mr. Ames,” he declared. “I’m sure you and I are going to work together. I’m awfully interested in the chap who drummed along your door. I believe it was the murderer himself.” “You do!” Ames turned a friendly look on Kee. “Then you can run him down?” “I hope so. Now, tell us, who is it you’re shielding?” “Nobody. Honest. But this sound in the hall was worrying my conscience.” “I see. I see.” And I knew that Keeley Moore had crossed Harper Ames definitely off his list of suspects. Doubtless he was right. Kee was seldom wrong. But I was worried. I was getting to the pitch where I was always worried—about Alma. Oh, if only I hadn’t seen her go to Pleasure Dome that night! Or if I could find an innocent reason for her going. Or if she hadn’t denied on the witness stand that she did go. Anyhow, it was plain to be seen that not only Keeley Moore but Detective March had exonerated Ames in their minds, and that because of Ames’s own frank relation of a hitherto suppressed bit of evidence. “All a fake,” I said, angrily, to myself. “He’s pulling wool over their eyes!” But I knew better. Even to my untrained intelligence, Ames’s story had rung true. He had heard the sound in the hall, and no one who heard his tale could doubt it. Then Ames rose to go, and somehow, I found myself by Maud’s side walking down to the gate with our caller. “Do come over again, Mr. Ames,” Maud said, hospitably, as she bade him good-bye. And then Ames went off and March came along on his way out.