“Did he, then, assume that you could be bought in that fashion.” Phyllis colored, but she replied, “Yes, he did. But, mostly because he knew how desperately I wanted money for my brother. And, too, it isn’t a gracious thing to say—but Mr Gleason was not such an attractive man that he had much reason for being accepted outside of his wealth.” “I see; and he had made the existing will recently?” “Within a month or so.” “Who knew of it?” “No one, I believe,” Millicent said, “but Phyllis and Louis and myself—except, of course, the lawyer who drew it.” “Mr Fred Lane?” “Yes.” “Wasn’t he one of that group of men who were discussing murder at the Club that day?” “Yes,” Millicent looked inquiringly at him; “but you don’t dream that Mr Lane——” “Why not?” “Oh, nonsense, Fred Lane and my brother were good friends.” “At any rate, it is to the men of that group that I shall first direct my investigations. Few of them really liked Mr Gleason. Forgive me, if I seem unkind, Mrs Lindsay, but I cannot work if trammeled by too great consideration for your feelings.” “Don’t stop for that, Mr Wise. I quite understand. And I know my brother was not a favorite with the Club men. He was too different. He was out of the picture. They had little in common. Now, in so far as that is of assistance to you in forming your theories, use it, for it is quite true. My brother was a far better and worthier man than most of them, but his ways were different and he did not show to advantage when among them. If Phyllis could have cared for Robert he could have made her very happy, I know. But that’s all past. What I want now, is to avenge my brother’s death. To discover and punish his murderer, no matter who he may be. I beg of you, Mr Wise, spare no time, pains or expense to ferret him out.” “Indeed I shall not. Can you think of any grievance or reason for enmity toward Mr Gleason on the part of those men I refer to?” “Only one reason, Mr Wise, and that applies to several. They were jealous of his attentions to Miss Lindsay.” “Oh, Millicent!” Phyllis cried, in protest. “It is true. Miss Lindsay is a belle, and all the men of that group were her admirers—or almost all. Doctor Davenport, is, of course, excepted, and Mr Lane. They are married men.” “Leaving Mr Barry, Mr Pollard and Mr Monroe.” “Yes; and they surely cannot be suspected. You have declared Mr Barry innocent, Mr Pollard was in his own home at the time of the crime, and Dean Monroe—why, he hasn’t even been thought of.” “Has he been inquired of as to his whereabouts at the time?” “I don’t know, I’m sure. Has he, Phyllis?” “I don’t know. But it’s silly to think of Dean! Why, he scarcely knew Mr Gleason.” “But he is devoted to you?” Wise asked the question so casually that Phyllis answered, frankly, “Yes, he is. That is, he has asked me to marry him.” “And you refused?” “I did. But, Mr Wise, is it necessary to tell you such things?”