“You must not believe everything you read in the newspapers,” remarked Mitchell, meeting her irate glare with unruffled good nature. “My precise statement to the newspaper men implied nothing against Dr. Noyes. The reporters simply picked him as the first possible ‘suspect.’” “Kindly disabuse their minds of any such idea. Dr. Noyes, besides his professional ability, is a man of high character and proven courage. He would not stoop to murder,” declared Mrs. Porter hotly. “Besides, there is no possible motive for his killing Bruce Brainard--they never even met before Monday night.” Mitchell remained discreetly silent, and, after watching him in growing resentment, Mrs. Porter announced vehemently: “Mr. Brainard committed suicide. In ascribing his death to murder, the police err.” “What leads you to believe he committed suicide?” demanded Mitchell. “His morbid tendencies, his--” She stopped abruptly. “He must have been suffering from mental aberration.” “All suicides are temporarily insane,” agreed Mitchell. “Otherwise they would not kill themselves; but, Mrs. Porter, in Brainard’s case the medical evidence went to prove that the wound in his throat could not have been self-inflicted.” “Fiddle-de-dee! I don’t place any reliance on that deputy coroner’s testimony.” Mrs. Porter indulged in a most undignified sniff. “Was Dr. Beverly Thorne present at the autopsy?” “No.” Mitchell moved nearer the center table. Mrs. Porter’s altered manner at the mention of Beverly Thorne’s name had not escaped the detective’s attention. Apparently Mrs. Porter was far from loving her neighbor like herself. The family feud, whatever it was about originally, would not be permitted to die out in her day and generation. Mitchell dropped his voice to a confidential pitch: “Come, Mrs. Porter, if you will tell me what you have in mind--” Mrs. Porter’s frigid smile stopped him. “I can hardly do that and remain impersonal--and polite,” she remarked, and Dorothy, watching them both, smothered a keen desire to laugh. “It is my unalterable opinion that Bruce Brainard, in a fit of temporary insanity, killed himself,” added Mrs. Porter. “Ah, indeed! And where did he procure the razor?” “That is for you to find out.” Mrs. Porter rose. “Do that and you will--” “Identify the murderer,” substituted Mitchell, with a provoking smile; in the heat of argument she might let slip whatever she hoped to conceal. “No, prove my theory correct,” Mrs. Porter retorted, rising and walking toward the door. She desired the interview closed. “Have you the key to Mr. Brainard’s bedroom?” “Yes, Mrs. Porter.” “Then kindly return it to me.” And she extended her hand. “The room must be cleaned and put in order.” “Not yet,” retorted Mitchell. “It was to prevent anything being touched in the room that I locked the door. After the mystery is solved, Mrs. Porter, I shall be most happy to return the key.”