“Seems to me you’d better not jump at conclusions too continuously. And are you logical? You suspect Miss Lindsay with no evidence—only because she chanced to go out when you wanted to see her. Yet when I come and give myself up, you refuse to believe my confession. Can you not say, at least, that it needs investigation? Isn’t it your habit to look into the matter of a serious confession?” Belknap stared at him. But Millicent Lindsay cried out: “Oh, Phil, I’m so sorry! Do you know, I felt it was you all along. And I like you so much! But when I learned about the letter you wrote to Robert—you did write it, didn’t you?” “Yes,” said Barry. “Well, as soon as I heard about that, I knew you did it. You never liked Robert, but that was mostly because you thought he would get Phyllis away from you. But to kill him! I can hardly believe it—and yet, I’ve felt sure of it for some time!” The doorbell rang, and in a flurry of tears and agitation Millicent ran away to her own room. The newcomer was Pollard, and as he entered he observed the serious attitude of the two men. “What is it?” he asked, simply. “I’ve just confessed to the Gleason murder,” said Barry. “What did you confess for?” “Because I did it. What does any one confess for?” “Usually because he didn’t do it. The real murderer rarely confesses.” “Just what I think,” Belknap said; “Mr Barry has an idea that Miss Lindsay will be accused, and he has confessed to prevent it.” “That it, Phil?” and Manning Pollard looked Barry squarely in the eyes. “Take it any way you like, Pol,” Barry said. “I make my confession, I give myself up—now let the law—if such a thing exists—take its course. And there’s that letter. You know I wrote it, Pollard. You know I must have written it. There’s no other possible theory. You know I left you about six—or a little before. You know I’ve no alibi—and there was time enough for me to go down to the Gleason place and get back for the dinner party.” “You rattle it off like a lesson, Phil. How did you go down there?” Barry stared, but quickly said, “Taxi.” “Did no one see you go in?” “Not that I know of. Shut up, Pollard.” Pollard shut up, and Belknap asked a long string of questions. These Barry answered, but even then, Belknap did not arrest him. The attorney went away, leaving the matter in abeyance, for, as a matter of fact, he had no idea Barry was telling the truth. “Shielding somebody?” Pollard asked as soon as Belknap had gone. Barry look at him. “I confessed,” he said. “Yes; I know. To shield Phyllis—or Louis?” “Don’t, Pol.” “Own up, old chap. Or perhaps you suspect them both.” “I do! How did you know? They were there together. There was trouble. Louis sent that telephone message—after the shooting—and he muddled it. It’s all been a muddle ever since!” “It surely has,” agreed Pollard. “But I’m not sure you’ve chosen the best way to clear it up.”