Others than Lane were of this mind, for when the lawyer reached the Lindsay home, he found Belknap and Prescott both there, and the Lindsay ladies, as a result of their visitors’ questions, both in a highly excited state. “I’m glad to see you, Mr Lane,” Millicent cried, as Lane entered; “do help Phyllis and me. These men are saying awful things to us!” “To me,” Phyllis corrected. “They’ve nothing against you, Millicent.” Phyllis looked exhausted. Apparently, she had had all she could stand of the detectives’ grilling, and she was at the end of her self-control. “You must excuse me a few minutes,” she exclaimed, starting up, and without another word she left the room. “You were rather blunt, Prescott,” Belknap said. “You must remember Miss Lindsay is a delicate, sheltered young lady, and unaccustomed to hear such rough speech as you gave her.” “No matter,” said Prescott, doggedly. “If she killed Gleason, such talk is none too bad for her. And if she didn’t, it can’t hurt her.” “What!” cried Lane. “Miss Lindsay kill Mr Gleason! Man, you must be crazy!” “Oh, no, not that,” Prescott said, quietly. “But when a young lady goes to a man’s rooms half an hour before he is killed, when she at that interview learns for the first time that she is heiress to half his fortune, when she is overheard in altercation with the man a very short time before he is shot, when no other person is seen there at the time or anywhere near it, when the young lady doesn’t care much for the man, when he wants to marry her—and she knows if she refuses she’ll lose the inheritance—well, isn’t that about enough?” “First,” asked Lane, “are your statements all proved facts?” “Facts don’t have to be proved,” Prescott flared back. “But my statements are facts, as you mostly know, yourself. We have Miss Hayes’ word for it that Miss Lindsay was at Mr Gleason’s about six.” “She says she wasn’t,” Millicent broke in, angrily. “Now, look here, Mrs Lindsay,” said Belknap, “the very day of the crime you accused Miss Lindsay. Why do you now try to defend her?” “Oh, she never did it,” wailed Millicent. “Never! Never! When I said she did, I was out of my head. Just at first, you know, I was so stunned I scarcely knew what I was saying.” “Well, you know now. Was Miss Lindsay here at home at six o’clock that night?” “I don’t know——” “You do know. Answer.” “Well, then, she wasn’t—but that doesn’t prove she was down in Washington Square!” “Leave us to do the proving. You answer questions.” “Now, don’t frighten the lady,” Lane advised, frowning at the detective’s manner. “She will answer your questions—or I will.” “All right, then, you answer. What does Miss Lindsay want twenty thousand dollars for—and in a hurry, too?” “Does she want that sum?” “She does; and she’s bound to get it. Wants her inheritance right off. What for, I say?” “And I say, I don’t know,” Lane replied. “But there are lots of things the modern young woman wants money for——”