Davenport’s tone was sarcastic, and his smile was not pleasant. But, as Prescott reflected, nobody likes to be wrongfully suspected. A fleeting thought went through the detective’s mind that if Doctor Davenport had killed Gleason he might have done so when he went down there at seven o’clock. But that would mean that Nurse Jordan told a string of falsehoods, and the whole affair would have been a most complicated proceeding. No, if the doctor were the murderer, he would not have called up Pollard to get that address. But did he do that? Prescott went away and went straight to a telephone booth and called Pollard. “What?” Pollard said as he heard the query. “Called me up to ask Gleason’s address? Why, no—oh, yes, he did. I remember now. He did, and I gave it to him. Why?” “Tell you some other time,” said Prescott. “Good-by.” CHAPTER IX Ivy Hayes “I’ve no faith in the police, no faith in detectives and no faith in anybody!” This wholesale skepticism was voiced by Millicent Lindsay, and addressed to her small audience of friends gathered in her library. “It’s outrageous,” she went on, “nearly a week has passed since my brother’s murder, and no real step has been taken to find his murderer.” “Steps have been taken,” said Louis, “but they all seem to have been taken in the wrong direction.” “At any rate they led nowhere,” Millicent went on. “Nobody knows anything; nobody can explain the mystery of the two shots. Nobody knows of any motive for the crime.” “You’ve ceased to suspect Phyllis, then,” Philip Barry said, his smile a little forced as he eagerly awaited the answer. “I have and I haven’t,” Millicent returned, speaking slowly. “Of course, it seems absurd to think a young girl like Phyllis would do such a dreadful thing—but—she won’t tell where she was, and, too, she didn’t like my brother—at least, she didn’t welcome his offer of marriage, and if she knew of his will, and I think she did, why shouldn’t I suspect her?” “Well, quit suspecting her,” Louis growled. “Phyllis is as innocent as a baby. You’re off your head, Millicent, to dream of such a thing.” “All right, why won’t she tell where she was at the time of the crime, then?” “She doesn’t have to. Nobody really suspects her, and her affairs have no reason to be inquired into. That right, Barry?” “Yes, of course. I think Phyllis would be wise to say where she was at the time. But, I say, Millicent, I’m going to get busy myself, and do a little detective work. Like you, I feel the investigations so far have led nowhere.” “Have you a suspicion——” began Louis. “Not a suspicion, exactly, but a pretty strong notion of which way to look. I won’t say what it is, for I had another hunch, that pretty much fell through; but now I’m going to work on a new line, and I think I may unearth something.” “You won’t,” said Millicent, despondently. “You’re all alike—dig up a lot of evidence and then never prove anything from it. Do tell me, Phil, what way your suspicions turn.”