But before the detective began his promised verification, he elected to go again to the Gleason apartments. Here he visited Miss Adams, whose story, told him by Belknap, interested him. He used his best powers of persuasion on the spinster, and his wheedlesome ways, and pleasant smile made her affable and loquacious. By roundabout talk, he drew from her at last some descriptions of the callers or visitors at the Gleason apartment. She was loath to admit her curiosity, but she finally confessed that she occasionally hung over the stairway to watch matters below. She defended her deed by explaining that she was lonely, and a little diversion of any sort was welcome. “And, indeed, why shouldn’t I?” she asked; “it’s no crime to watch a body going or coming along the street, or into a house!” “Of course it isn’t,” agreed Prescott, sympathetically. “Now, whom did you see go into Mr Gleason’s apartment on the day of the murder?” “Two people.” “Two! Both at once?” “No; the lady came first.” “Oh, she did. Wait a minute—did you see Mr Gleason himself come in?” “I heard him.” “What time?” “After five. I don’t know any nearer than that.” “Go on, then. A lady came? When?” “Quite soon after Mr Gleason himself. I heard a light step on the stairs and I looked out.” “Describe her.” “She was a gay little piece. Big eyes, tomato-colored cheeks and a nose powdered like a marshmallow.” “Small? Young?” “Both; that is, very slim, but about average height. I looked mainly at her clothes.” “What were they?” “Mostly fur, and long gray stockings and a little round cap of gray fur.” “Squirrel fur?” “Yes, I guess so. Gray, anyway. A pert little thing she was, and yet pretty too, in a sort of way.” “What sort of way?” “Oh, fly, flippant—flirtatious.” “I don’t know—she just gave me that impression.” “Would you know her if you saw her again?” “I’m not sure—those little trots all look alike. But I’d know the clothes.” “Don’t squirrel furs all look alike?” “Perhaps—yet I think I’d know her. You don’t think she killed Mr Gleason, do you?” “Gracious, no! Do you?” “Well, I never saw her come out.” “But you weren’t on watch all the time, were you?” “No; of course not.” Miss Adams turned thoughtful. “But I didn’t hear her go out—funny.” “Who was the other caller?” “A man.” “After the girl came?” “Yes; soon after. He was a swagger, well-dressed chap; not very large, but tallish.” “Derby hat?” “No, sort of soft felt——” “Gray?” “Maybe—but more like olive green—dull olive.” “Overcoat?” “Yes, of course. Dark, plain, but with an air.” Prescott looked at the old maid interestedly. How should she know when men’s clothes had an air? “I’m very observant,” she said, catching his expression. “I’m fond of clothes, though I never had a smart gown in my life. But I know when people are well-dressed.” “The man went in then, before the girl came out?” “Why, yes; but I never saw or heard the girl come out.” “Did you see or hear the man come out?”