“You came here last night, Miss Deane.” It seemed more a simple statement of fact than a question, and Dorothy treated it as such and made no reply. Mitchell moved his chair nearer the sofa before asking, “Did I understand you to say that your sister was resting this morning--or ill?” Dorothy started; ill, why should the detective imagine Vera was ill? “She is resting,” she responded. “Your ignorance of nurses’ hours of duty proves a clean bill of health, Mr. Mitchell. Night nurses must sleep in the daytime, especially when the day nurse is late in reporting for duty.” “But Mrs. Hall has been back for some time,” persisted Mitchell. “And it is now nearly one o’clock. Are you quite sure that your sister is still asleep? I am under the impression that I saw her in the upper hall talking to Miss Porter fifteen minutes ago.” Dorothy considered the detective in silence. What had aroused his sudden interest in Vera? “If you will give me your message,” she said, “I will go upstairs and see if my sister is awake.” “Thank you,” replied Mitchell. “But I must see your sister--” “When?” “Now.” Hearing a step behind him, Mitchell spun around as Murray stopped by the back of his chair. “Mrs. Porter desires you to step into the library, sir,” he announced. “You also, Miss Dorothy,” and, wondering why her presence was required, Dorothy followed the detective into the library. A disorderly pile of newspapers lay on the center table in front of Mrs. Porter, whose air of displeasure and heightened color Dorothy rightly attributed to the display type which heralded the news accounts of the mysterious death of Bruce Brainard. “Upon my word,” Mrs. Porter’s gold lorgnette performed an incessant tattoo on the table. “The unbridled license of the press of today! And your paper, Dorothy, is most sensational,” addressing her directly. “How could you permit it?” “But, dear Mrs. Porter, I’m only society editor--I have no authority except over my particular section of the paper,” protested Dorothy. “I am deeply sorry if--if the article offends you.” “It not only offends--it’s offensive!” fumed Mrs. Porter. “I spoke hastily, Dorothy; I admit you are in no way to blame, but I’ll place the matter in my lawyer’s hands, and the owners of the paper shall smart for hinting that we are a band of murderers.” “Surely it does not go as far as that?” ejaculated Mitchell. “It implies it.” Mrs. Porter favored him with an angry look. “I see the article gives you, Mr. Mitchell, as authority for the statement that Dr. Noyes is being sought by the police. How dare you insinuate that he may be guilty? I gave his reason for his abrupt departure at the inquest; the jurors did not hold him in any way responsible for the crime or bring a verdict against him.”