And that was the sticking-point with every theory. No one could think of or imagine any way to account for the exit of the criminal. Mrs. Pell had undoubtedly been murdered. Her injuries were not self-inflicted. She had been brutally maltreated by a strong, angry person, before the final blow had killed her. The overturned table, and the ransacked room, the empty pocket-book and handbag were the work of a desperate thief, and it really seemed absurd to connect the name of Iris Clyde with such conditions. More plausible was the theory of Bannard's guilt, but, again, how did he get away? "There is a possibility of locking a door from the outside," said Coroner Timken. "I've thought of that," returned Hughes, "but it wasn't done in this case. I've tried to lock that door from outside, with a pair of nippers, and the lock is such that it can't be done. And, too, Polly heard Mrs. Pell's screams at the moment of her murder--the criminal couldn't have run out, and locked the door outside, and gone through this room without having been seen by someone. You were in the dining room, Polly?" "Yes, sir, and I ran right in here; there was no time for anybody to get away without my seeing him." The facts, as testified to, were so clear cut and definite, that there seemed little to probe into. It was a deadlock. Mrs. Pell had been robbed and murdered. Apparently there was no way in which this could have been done, and yet it had been done. The two who could be said to have a motive were Iris Clyde and Winston Bannard. It might even be said that they had opportunity, yet it was clearly shown that they could not have escaped unseen. Bannard was further questioned as to his movements on Sunday. He declared that he had risen late, and had gone for a bicycle ride, a recreation of which he was fond. "Where did you ride?" asked Timken. "Up Broadway and on along its continuation as far as Red Fox Inn." "That's about half way up here!" "I know it. I stopped there for luncheon, about noon, and after that I returned to New York." "You lunched at the Inn at noon?" "Shortly after twelve, I think it was. The Inn people will verify this." "They know you?" "Not personally, but doubtless the waiter who served me will remember my presence." "And, after luncheon, you returned to the city?" "I did." "Reaching your home at what time?" "Oh, I didn't go to my rooms until about twilight. It was a lovely day, and I came home slowly, stopping here and there when I passed a bit of woods or a pleasant spot to rest. I often spend a day in the open." "You had your newspaper with you?" "I did." "What one?" "The 'Herald.'" But even as Bannard said the words, he caught himself, and looked positively frightened. "Ah, yes. There is even now a 'Herald' of yesterday's date in Mrs. Pell's sitting room."