“Honest,” she said; “if I tell you who sent me, can I go home?” “Certainly you may. I’ve no right to detain you.” “All right, then, it was Mary Morton.” “Address?” She gave a street number in the Longacre district, and hurried away almost before Belknap finished writing it down. Thanking and remunerating the shopkeeper for the use of his premises, Belknap went directly to the address he had obtained. “Like as not she’ll be out,” he thought, “but if she is, I’ll go again. I’ll bet it’s one of Gleason’s lady friends, and though I’ve no idea she shot him—yet, she might have. Anyway, I’ll get a line on his gay acquaintances. It’s bound to be the owner of the collar, for her friend described it exactly, and gave the right maker’s name.” Reaching the address given him, Belknap felt a sudden qualm of suspicion. It did not look at all like a boarding house, theatrical or any other kind. In fact it was a shop where electrical goods were sold. “Upstairs, I s’pose,” Gleason mused, and went in. But nobody at that number could tell him anything of Miss Mary Morton. No one had ever heard of her, and Belknap was confronted with the sudden conviction that he had been made a fool of! “Idiot! Dunderhead!” he called himself, angrily, as he left the place. “I am an ass, I declare! That little snip jack took me in completely, with her honest gray eyes! Well, let me see; I’ve a start. That girl described that fur too accurately not to be the owner herself, and I’ll track her down again yet. It can’t be a hard job. I’ll see her picture in some theatrical office or somewhere.” But it was a hard blow, and Belknap felt pretty sore at Prescott’s jeers when he learned the story. “Anyway, it’s given us a way to turn,” said Belknap. “We’ve got the fur.” “Yes,” grinned Prescott, wickedly, “we’ve got the fur, and that’s as fur as we have got!” CHAPTER VII Barry’s Suspect After the funeral of Robert Gleason, Lane, his lawyer, went to the Lindsay home, for the purpose of reading to the family the will of his late client. There was no one present except the three Lindsays and Doctor Davenport. The physician was keeping watch over Millicent Lindsay, for her volatile nature and nervous condition made him fear a breakdown. But Millicent was quiet and composed, only an occasional quiver of her lip or trembling of her fingers betrayed her agitation. Phyllis’ eyes were bright with repressed excitement, but she, too, preserved her poise. Louis, however, was in a high state of nervous tension. He was jumpy and erratic of speech and gesture, and again, he would relapse into a sulky mood and become perversely silent. The little party gathered in the library and Lane read the will of Robert Gleason. The terms were simple. Except for bequests to some personal friends and some charities, the fortune was equally divided between Millicent, his sister, and Phyllis, her stepdaughter.