“Yes, he’s a fine suspect, but a bit intangible. Perhaps he wrote the note I signed!” “Don’t jest, Philip. I’m—I’m so miserable.” Phyllis bowed her face in her hands and cried softly. “Don’t—don’t, Phyllis, darling. For heaven’s sake, keep out of the muddle.” “But you dragged me into it! You came here checking up on my movements. Why did you do that?” “I told you why. Because Ivy Hayes said you were there.” “Oh, yes—so she did. I forgot that. Well—maybe I was—maybe I was——” “Phyllis, hush. You’re talking wildly. And here’s another thing. Where was Louis that afternoon?” “Phil Barry, you stop! Are you going to accuse the whole family? Why don’t you ask where Millicent was?” “I ask about Louis because I’ve been told he was there.” “And I was there! And Ivy Hayes was there! And the man from the West was there! Quite a party!” Phyllis laughed shrilly—not at all like her usual gentle laugh, and Barry watched her in alarm, lest she grow hysterical. “I won’t,” she said, divining his fear. “I’m not hysterical, but I’m distracted. Oh, Phil, do help me!” “Of course I will, little girl,” Barry held out his arms. “Come to me, Phyllis, let’s forget all the horrible things of life and just love each other—and belong.” “No,” she drew away from him. “Not yet. If your name must be cleared—so must mine.” “But your name isn’t even mentioned.” “Yes, it is,” Phyllis said, speaking in a dull, slow way, “yes, it is—and the worst of it is, my name can’t be cleared.” “Hush,” Barry cautioned, “somebody’s coming in.” The street door closed, and a moment later, Manning Pollard made an appearance. The conversation, though general, was not spontaneous, and after a short time, Barry took his leave. Though he did not consider Pollard an actual rival of his in Phyllis’ favor, yet he felt disgruntled when the other was present. And, too, he wanted to go off by himself to think over what Phyllis had said. He knew her too well to imagine for a moment that she was merely upset by the whole situation and wanted the investigation to be stopped. He knew she had some definite and imperative reason for begging him to quit searching and also that she meant something when she said her own name could not be cleared. That remark, of course, could not be taken at its face value, but all the same, it meant something—and he must find out what. Manning Pollard was confronted with the same question. Apparently unable to control her nervous fear, Phyllis said, at once: “Oh, Mr Pollard, can’t you help me? I’m in such trouble. That Miss Hayes says I was at Mr Gleason’s the day of the murder!” “And were you?” “No!—or, well, maybe I was. But that has nothing to do with it. Can’t you hush up the Hayes girl? Must she tell of it, if I _was_ there?” “It would be a pretty difficult matter to stop her mouth.” “But if I paid her?”