“There!” triumphantly. “It is not easy to state the time, when you paid no special attention to the occurrence.” “You’ve proved your point, Miss Adams!” Belknap exclaimed, looking at her with new interest. “I wish you _had_ noted the time—you would have done so accurately.” “Yes, I should have. But I didn’t. Now, when I tell you that’s all I know about the whole matter, will you go away and leave me in peace?” “No; Miss Adams, I won’t!” “Why not?” and to Belknap’s satisfaction she turned a shade paler. “Because, I am sure you do know more. You are too cute to be so ignorant. Your smartness has overreached itself. You’re trying to disarm me by the appearance of absolute frankness, and you almost did so—but—I’ve—well, I’ve got a hunch that you know something else.” “I swear I don’t,” and Miss Adams set her thin lips in a tight, straight line. “You go away.” “I’m going, I’ve much to do. But I warn you I shall return. You know something, Miss Adams, something of importance, but I do not think you are yourself implicated. Moreover, what you know frightens you a little, and you don’t want to tell it. Now, if I can get all the information I want, without yours, well and good. If not, I shall come back for yours. And don’t try running away—for you won’t get far!” “Are—are you going to have me watched!” she gasped. “No—not quite that. But if you attempt flight, we may have to follow you.” As a matter of fact, the astute Belknap had sized up the old maid pretty carefully, and was convinced that what little she knew was unimportant to him, though it doubtless seemed vital to her. Also, he had no time just now, to persuade or wheedle her, and he feared frightening her would do little good. So, he concluded to wait and see what else he could find out, before seeing her again. A woman on the floor above could easily know something definite, yet somehow Miss Adams did not impress him as doing so. He went downstairs, and looking in the door, said, “Come on, Prescott, let’s go up to the Lindsays’ and start out right.” “All right. Wait a minute, come in here, will you? We’ve got word from the photographer, and there are no fingerprints on the revolver or on the telephone except Gleason’s own.” “What! Suicide? No, not possible, if the fatal shot was fired first.” “It was. I just called up Doctor Davenport, and he hedged at first, but then he acknowledged it was true. The shot in the shoulder was fired after the man was already dead. Now, what do you make of that! Why, in heaven’s name shoot a dead man?” Belknap looked thoughtful. “It’s a deep game somebody’s playing,” he said. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. Come along, let’s get busy. Guard everything mighty carefully, Kelly. Don’t let anybody in, but people who belong. Our criminal is a slick one, and no obvious measures go, this time. No fingerprints! Some expert, that murderer!” CHAPTER VI The Fur Collar