"Hold on; the Carew carriage returned here a few minutes before one o'clock--when the Senator was found dead inside it. That only left Winthrop less than half an hour to get from the club to Mrs. Owen's residence, a considerable distance, and commit the murder." "It's not impossible for a man in a motor," declared Brett sharply. "I thought Senator Carew only kept horses," exclaimed Douglas. "And so he did, but Winthrop owns an Oldsmobile roadster. I was here at the house when he arrived this morning. The machine has a cover and wind-shield, so he was fairly well protected from the rain. As I said before, Winthrop will have much to explain. I hope you will have an undisturbed night, Mr. Hunter; I told Joshua and the nurses to call you if anything is needed." "Don't worry about me," laughed Douglas, as the two men stepped into the hall. "I've camped out in much worse places than this room." "Well, good night. I'll be here the first thing in the morning," and Brett pulled open the door and ran down the steps. As Douglas replaced the night latch on the front door, Joshua joined him. "I brunged yo' dis 'comfort'," raising a soft eiderdown quilt, which he carried tucked on his left arm. "I thought yo' might like it over yo' on der sofa." "Thanks very much," exclaimed Douglas, taking it from him. Joshua followed him to the library door. "I ain't goin' ter bed," he explained. "I couldn't sleep no-how," the soft, drawling voice held a touch of pathos, "Marse James was mighty kind ter me--and thirty years is a mighty long time ter be 'sociated in de fam'bly. So I jes' reckon I'll sit on der window-seat in der hall. Ef yo' want anythin' jest let me know, Marse Hunter." "All right, Joshua. I'll leave this door open, so you can call me if I am needed. Good night." Douglas placed the door ajar, and walked over to the well-filled bookcases, and, after some deliberation, selected a book and sat down in the revolving chair. The book held his attention and he read on and on. He finished the last chapter and tossed the volume on the table, then glanced at the clock, the dial of which registered two-thirty. The upholstered davenport, which stood with its back resting against the length of the desk table, looked inviting, and Douglas rose, extinguished the light, and walked over and lay down. After placing several sofa cushions under his head he pulled the eiderdown quilt over him, as he felt chilly. The added warmth and the softness of the couch were most grateful to his tired body. He was drowsily conscious of the clock striking; then his last thought was of Eleanor Thornton--beautiful Eleanor Thornton--strange that they should meet again; why, he had actually run away from her in Paris--a few minutes more and he was sound asleep. [Illustration: "He made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and darted forward"]