“Yes,” said Prescott, eagerly, “I was here right away, quick, you know. They took the body to the Funeral Rooms, early this morning. But he was in his shirt sleeves—day shirt——” “Yes, here are all his evening clothes on the bed in the next room. Was he going to the Lindsay dinner?” “Yes, he was. I believe he said it was to be the occasion of the announcement of his engagement to Miss Lindsay——” “Does she say that?” “She does not! She denies it.” “Then you’d better keep still. You have no gumption, Prescott. Don’t you see you mustn’t say those things?” “Oh, bother! let up on knocking me, and get down to business. Don’t touch the telephone or revolver. I’ve had them photographed for fingerprints.” “Yes, that’s good.” Belknap was getting more genial. “Anybody been through his papers?” “No; Lane is his lawyer, Fred Lane. He’s coming here to-day to look over them.” “All right.” Belknap was already absorbed in the loose papers scattered on the desk. “Several notes from ladies.” “Yes, I noticed them. Old Gleason had a few friends in the chorus, I judge. But, unless they have any bearing on the case, there’s no call to exploit ’em, eh?” “No, of course not. Nor any reason to mention them to the Lindsays.” “They’ll know all there is to know. You can’t fool ’em. Miss Phyllis is as wide-awake as they come, and the Mrs is nobody’s fool. The boy, I don’t think much of. Say, aren’t you going up there? Don’t you want to see them?” “Later, yes. But me for the other tenants here, first. Here’s where Gleason lay, was it? Near the telephone table—look here, if the first shot did for him, how could he telephone to the doctor that he was wounded?” “Oh, I don’t know! I don’t believe that dope about the doctors knowing which shot came first. And, as you say, it couldn’t have been the fatal one first, or how could he have phoned? Anyway he could only have called the doctor if it was a suicide. You don’t think, do you, that the murderer would stand by and let him call up!” “Scarcely. That’s why I haven’t given up the idea that it was a suicide.” “Never mind, Oscar, you will. Why, that man was too happy to kill himself. His friends all say so. No, he was shot, all right, but the two shots make a mystery that I can’t get yet.” Belknap frowned deeply, and thought for a few moments. “Great mistake,” he said at last, “to reason from insufficient data.” “Another of your ‘familiar quotations,’” chaffed Prescott. “Another good rule,” retorted the attorney, and went out in the hall. Prescott followed and together they went to the Mansfields’ apartment. “We’ve been thinking it over,” Mrs Mansfield said, after she had admitted her callers and taken them to her living room, “and my husband and I feel we ought to tell all we know.” “You certainly ought to,” Belknap assured her. “Well,” the blonde head nodded mysteriously, “that man, Gleason, he was a gay old bird.” “Just what do you mean, Mrs Mansfield? Speak plainly,” adjured Belknap.