“Oh, Lord,” Barry groaned, “you’re the limit, Millicent! You are quite capable of believing every one of us killed Gleason! Why do you except old Pollard from your mind? He said he was going to do it, you know.” “Yes; that’s why I know he didn’t! If he had intended it, he wouldn’t have said so.” “I say, Mill, you do have flashes of insight,” Louis said, “that’s the way I look at it.” “But I saw Pollard down in the vicinity of Gleason’s place today,” said Barry. “Now, what was he doing down there?” “Drawn back to the scene of his crime!” Louis chaffed. “They say that’s always done. No; Phil, you can’t hang anything on Pollard. Prescott checked up his movements at once. Also, I want you to drop Ivy Hayes’ name. For my sake, old chap, do let up on that. Now, what about yourself? Explain that letter, boy.” “I can’t,” Barry looked troubled. “Oh, bosh. Why not own up you wrote it, but you didn’t mean murder and didn’t commit murder. That’s the truth, you know.” “No, Louis—I didn’t write it.” “’Scuse me, but your tone and look are not those of a man telling the pure unvarnished. Now, I know that nobody on this green earth could have written that signature but Philip Barry himself. And I also recognize the typewriter you used. As Prescott says, typing is as traceable as penmanship, and that note was written on the machine in the writing room at the Club. It’s been there for years, and we all write on it now and then. So you see, Phil, you’d better be careful what you say.” “Be quiet,” Phyllis warned them; “here comes Mr Pollard; I don’t suppose you want him to hear this.” “Why not?” said Louis, but Barry checked him with a look as Pollard came in. “May I come?” he said, as he greeted the women. “I’m starving for a cup of tea, and you asked me to come informally and unbidden——” “Of course we did,” Phyllis smiled; “sit down, tea is imminent.” “I’ve been writing my head off all day,” Pollard went on, as he took an easy chair. “Haven’t even been out for a breath of air——” “Why—” Phyllis was about to say that Barry had seen him down near the Gleason home, but she stopped herself in time. She had no wish to trip up Phil Barry—indeed, her feelings prompted her to shield him—but surely, surely, he had falsified in this instance! Why? There was but one answer. Barry was trying to make Pollard again suspected. Notwithstanding Barry’s insistence on Pollard’s alibi, a stray hint, such as he had given about seeing him down town, made things questionable again. Quickly changing the subject, Phyllis made the conversation general, and though the Gleason matter cropped up now and then, other topics were mentioned. Also, Phyllis returned to her great desire to get some of her inheritance at once. “Why, surely you can,” Pollard said; “how much do you want? Can’t I advance you some?” “No; I want twenty thousand dollars, and I don’t want to say what for.”