“He won’t do a thing,” Pollard said, with an indulgent smile. “He’s on a wild goose chase. I’d like to help you, Mrs Lindsay, but I confess I don’t take any stock in the girls. Now, have you any old letters or papers of your brother’s that you can look over. I feel that in those you might find a past acquaintance or some old quarrel or altercation that might show you a way to look. This is only a theory, but it’s as plausible as any other I’ve heard put forth.” “It is, Mr Pollard,” Millicent agreed. “I’ve none of Robert’s papers here—they’re all at his rooms still. And I suppose Mr Lane has charge of them. But I can get them, and I shall do just as you’ve advised. Of course, there may be something divulged that way, but I doubt if my brother had an enemy out West. He was a much-liked man——” “I know that,” Phyllis interrupted, “but you must admit, Millicent, that even well-liked men may have enemies. There’s lots about a man’s private life that would contradict the general impression of him.” “That’s you all over, Phyllis! You never lose a chance to cast a slur on my brother’s memory. I should think you would have a little gratitude to the man who left you a fortune.” “I have, Millicent. And you must not misconstrue my words as you do. I am anxious, too, to find your brother’s murderer. And if, as Mr Pollard suggests, it may be some Western acquaintance, we must try to find him. And Mr Gleason’s private letters and papers may reveal much.” “Yes, I suppose so. Now, with Phil Barry after the chorus girl, and Mr Pollard’s suggestions of hunting among the letters, we, at least have something to do. I shall send word to Mr Lane at once that I want all the papers from Robert’s desk.” She went away to telephone, leaving Phyllis and Manning Pollard alone. “It’s a mere chance,” said Pollard, thoughtfully; “it may well be that Mr Gleason would destroy any letters that are indicative of the sort of thing we’re looking for.” “I don’t think so,” the girl returned. “I imagine Mr Gleason would have kept such papers. You see, I knew the man better than you did. You hardly knew him at all, did you?” “No; I never met him more than two or three times, and that in the most formal way.” “Yet you threatened to kill him!” “Don’t put it that way, Miss Lindsay—please. My idle words have been repeated till I’m tired of hearing them! I did say I disliked the man—and I did. That’s all there was about it.” “I disliked him, too,” said Phyllis, slowly. “I always had a nervous dread of him. I don’t know why, but he always affected me unpleasantly, even when he was most kind.”