Mitchell smiled skeptically. “Come, come, you don’t think those two former society girls made a counterfeit bill which would deceive a bank teller? Why, Anthony, it takes years to perfect a good counterfeit.” “I know it,” grumbled Anthony. “I don’t suspect them of being the actual counterfeiters, but they may be affiliated with him, possibly innocently, and be putting money in circulation without being aware of the deception.” “That’s an ingenious theory,” acknowledged Mitchell. “Can you tell me who the Deane girls go with?” asked Anthony. “You’ve been watching the Porter house ever since the discovery of Brainard’s murder.” “They haven’t been going with anyone in particular,” grumbled Mitchell, not altogether liking the other’s tone. “Vera Deane, the nurse, stays close indoors, and Dorothy Deane is mostly with Millicent Porter and Hugh Wyndham. They haven’t seen any outsiders since I’ve been here. I’ve always thought, however, that Vera Deane knows more than she will admit about Brainard’s murder, but so far she has been too slick for me to catch her tripping.” “When is Miss Deane off duty?” Mitchell looked at his watch. “She should be at leisure now.” “Excellent.” Anthony rose. “I’ll return and ask to see her. Come with me--?” “I can’t.” Mitchell eyed his companion sharply; in spite of rivalry they had always been friends, and he badly wanted advice. “Did you hear Cato blurt out that Bruce Brainard was in this house on Monday evening? It must have been before he went to dine at the Porters’, because he never left that house alive.” “Well, what if he did come here before going to the Porters’?” Anthony stared at the detective. “What’s there in that to get excited about?” “Why hasn’t Thorne ever spoken of knowing Brainard? Why has he never alluded to Brainard’s visit on Monday?” Mitchell’s excitement, until then bottled up, rose to fever heat. “Thorne and I have discussed every phase of the murder, and he has never once said that he even knew Brainard by sight. I don’t understand such conduct, unless--” “Go slow,” cautioned Anthony hastily. “Just because the doctor doesn’t take the world into his confidence about his numerous patients doesn’t mean that he is a murderer.” “Wait,” urged Mitchell. “Brainard’s throat was cut with a razor which no one in the Porter household can identify--or will identify,” he supplemented. “The razor belonged to a set. This morning I found five razors, the mates to the one on Brainard’s bed, hidden in the muzzle of an old cannon on this place, and I am convinced Beverly Thorne knew they were in the cannon.” “Did you see him place them there?”