“Yes, tell him to stow his carcass somewhere out of sight. He ain’t there to advertise the fact he’s on guard.” “If he gets in the shadow under the roof of the boat-house,” said Bassett, “he can command the whole length of it and not be seen from either side.” “That’s the dope. The neck of this bottle’s the causeway and it’s going to be corked good and tight to-night.” Anne’s door closed without a sound. The three men turned back from the entrance. “Is that woman gone up-stairs yet?” Rawson murmured to his assistant as Williams stepped to the middle of the room and watched the gallery. He continued to watch it till Flora and Miss Pinkney appeared and finally were shut away behind their several doors, then he looked at Rawson and nodded. “Now,” said the district-attorney to Bassett, “I want you to show me where that pistol was.” Bassett indicated the desk: “In the third drawer of the desk. Miss Pinkney is certain it was there this morning.” “And you know it wasn’t there when you looked after the shooting?” Rawson went to the desk as he spoke. “I can swear it wasn’t.” Rawson pulled out the drawer and thrust in his hand. “Well, it’s here now,” he said, and drew out a revolver. He held it toward them on his palm. They stared at it, for the moment too surprised for comment. Rawson broke it open; there was one empty chamber. “Can we get into some room where there’s more privacy than this place?” he said. “I want some more talk with you, Mr. Bassett.” Bassett directed them to the library. He put out the living-room lights and followed them. IX BASSETT was prepared for what he had to tell. During the long wait for the officers of the law his mind had been ranging over it, shaking bare from unnecessary detail the chain of events that had ended in murder. It was impossible to conceal the situation between Sybil and the Stokeses; he could not if he had wished it and he did not wish it. A girl had been brutally done to death, a girl innocent of any evil intention, and his desire to bring her murderer to justice was as strong as either Williams’ or Rawson’s. And they could get the facts better from him than from the muddled stories of the others, their minds clouded by prejudice and hearsay. He hoped that what he said would be coldly unbiased, the naked truth as he knew it. That his revelations would involve a woman whom he liked and pitied would not induce him to withhold what ought to be known. Chivalry had no place in this grim drama. As he had discharged his duties as director of a theatrical company rent by passions and dissensions, he now prepared to discharge them as the most responsible and fair-minded member of the group.