“Don’t say that,” Lane interrupted her, “nobody for a minute supposes you killed anybody. Mrs Lindsay herself doesn’t. It’s hysteria that makes her say so. But, she _can_ make trouble. And, so, I want you to think carefully, and have your evidence ready. Where were you last Tuesday at about half-past six or seven o’clock?” Phyllis thought. “Here, I think,” she reiterated. “I was out—and I came home and dressed for the dinner party.” “What was the dinner hour?” “Eight.” “And you were dressing—how long?” “Oh, I don’t know—an hour, probably.” “That leaves some time yet to be accounted for. Where were you just before you came home?” “Look here, Mr Lane,” Phyllis’ eyes flashed now, “I won’t be quizzed like that! If I’m suspected of a crime——” “You aren’t,” Lane repeated, “but if Mrs Lindsay accuses you of a crime, you must be prepared to defend yourself.” “Wait till she does, then,” said Phyllis, curtly, and lapsed into silence. But Louis looked disturbed. “What can Millicent do, Lane?” he asked. “She can’t make up any yarn that will implicate my sister, can she?” “Oh, no; probably not. All she can do, is to show that Miss Lindsay knew what she would inherit, and, therefore, can be said to have a motive for the——” “Rot! As if Phyllis would shoot a man to get his money!” But Louis Lindsay’s looks belied his words. While showing no doubt or distrust of his sister, he had all the appearance of a man deeply anxious or alarmed at his thoughts. “And, besides, Phyl knew nothing about the will—did you, Sis?” Phyllis looked at him without replying, for a moment, then she said, “Hush, Louis; don’t keep up the subject. I’m going straight to Millicent—and if she’s able to talk to me, I’ll find out what she means.” Phyllis left the room, and his business over, Lane went away from the house. As he walked along the street, he mused deeply on the matter. Of course, Phyllis was in no way concerned in the crime—but Lane couldn’t help thinking she knew something about it—or something bearing on it. What could it be? How could that delicate, exclusive girl be in any way mixed up with the deed done down in Washington Square? Lane made his way to the Club. He knew he’d find a lot of his friends there at this hour, and he wanted to hear their talk. He was not surprised to find a group of his intimates discussing the Gleason case. “Now the funeral’s over,” Dean Monroe was saying, “the detectives can get busy, and do some real work.” “They can get busy,” Manning Pollard agreed, “but can they do any real work? I mean, any successful, decisive work?” “You mean, discover the murderer,” Lane said, joining in the talk at once, as he took his seat among them. “Not a hard job, to my mind,” Dean Monroe said, slowing inhaling his cigarette’s smoke. “_Cherchez la_ chorus girl.” “Oh, I don’t know——” said Pollard.