Guardedly, Lane spoke of the strange story the doctor had told and Prescott caught the drift at once. “Where’d you get that dope?” he asked, his shrewd eyes scanning Lane’s face. “It isn’t dope—if you mean evidence; it’s merely scouting for possible clews.” “Yes, and it may be a boomerang clew! It may rebound against the man that started it. Who did?” “Nobody in particular,” and Lane looked stubborn. “Yes, they did, now,” persisted Prescott. “Somebody started that lead, and did it on purpose. Who made the suggestion? Manning Pollard?” “No,” said Lane. “I’m not sure I know who spoke about it first.” “Well, _I’m_ sure you know, and you’d better tell. Unless you’re shielding somebody yourself. Better speak up, Mr Lane.” “All right, then, it was Philip Barry. I believe it’s wiser to say so than to conceal it. You can’t suspect him.” “Why can’t I? I can suspect anybody that can’t prove his innocence. And I’ve been thinking about Mr Barry myself. Isn’t he in love with the heiress?” “What heiress?” “Miss Lindsay—half heiress of Mr Gleason’s big fortune.” “What if he is? I could name a dozen young men in love with Miss Lindsay. She’s a belle and has numberless admirers.” “Yes, but Philip Barry’s a favored one, I’ve heard. Now, didn’t he know Miss Lindsay would inherit?” “I don’t know whether he did or not.” “You knew it—you drew up the will.” “Yes.” “Did you tell anybody?” Lane stared at him. “I’m not in the habit of babbling about my clients’ affairs!” he said, coldly. “Of course not. But did it leak out in any way—say, in general conversation? Such things often do. It was no real secret, I suppose.” “I treated it as one,” said Lane. “Of course, I considered it confidential.” “Of course,” put in Belknap. “Lawyers have to be close-mouthed people, Prescott.” But Prescott would not be downed. “I know all that, Mr Belknap, but listen here. The news of that inheritance might have leaked out in a dozen ways. Not purposely, of course, but by chance. Wasn’t anybody ever in your office, Mr Lane, when Mr Gleason was there, talking about it, or didn’t you ever mention it in conversation with some intimate friend, say?” Lane thought back. “No,” he said, decidedly. “Unless—yes, one day, I remember, Manning Pollard was in my office when Gleason came in. Gleason only stayed a few minutes, but he did refer to his will, and after he went, I think I did speak of it to Pollard.” “Did he ask you about it?” “No, I’m sure he didn’t. I think I volunteered an observation on the queerness of the Western man, and, as Pollard didn’t like him, anyway, very little was said.” “But the terms of his will were spoken of?” “Yes, incidentally. Pollard is a close friend of mine, and I may have been a bit confidential.” “There you are, then,” and Prescott nodded his sagacious head.