“Quite true,” acknowledged Thorne, and his manner showed disappointment. “Too bad, doctor; I had hoped that you might give us some light on Brainard’s death, as you were up and awake practically all night on Monday.” “There was one other person up, also--Miss Deane,” volunteered Noyes, and Thorne’s piercing eyes bored into him. “Even she, in the next room, heard no sound--while I was down here.” “How did you know Miss Deane never detected any sound in Brainard’s bedroom?” demanded Mitchell swiftly. “I read it in the newspapers.” “That brings me to another point.” Mitchell bent forward in his chair in his eagerness. “You left here early Tuesday morning, ostensibly to catch the steamer _St. Louis_, which you say you missed--then where have you been staying since then, and how did you leave this country place early Tuesday morning without anyone seeing you, and get into Washington?” “That is my affair, Mr. Mitchell, and I question your right to quiz me on the subject.” Noyes’ face hardened, and there was a glint of anger in his eyes. “Here’s my authority.” Mitchell displayed his badge. “I’m in charge of this case, and I consider you a material witness, and as such you are amenable to the law.” “You forget I am a British subject.” “That won’t prevent my getting legal authority through the State Department, if necessary, to summon you to court when this case goes to trial,” retorted Mitchell. “Take it from me, you can’t dodge the issue.” “I am not striving to dodge it.” Noyes spoke with angry emphasis. “Surely, gentlemen, you are not striving to fasten the crime on me?” Thorne, watching him intently, wondered at the almost fanatical light that leaped for an instant into Noyes’ deep sunken eyes, then died out as Mitchell responded. “I am seeking information to clear up the mystery surrounding Brainard’s death,” he said roughly. “If it involves you, so much the worse--for you.” “Tut! No threats are necessary,” broke in Thorne. “You go too far, Mitchell,” meeting the detective’s stony glare with composure. Then he turned courteously to Noyes. “You and Miss Deane are the only ones known to have been up and about this house on Monday night, between midnight and early morning; and we are seeking to learn from every source the identity of the third person who was also up and about--” “A third person?” Noyes looked at him, startled. “What third person do you refer to?” “The murderer,” dryly. “The quest sifts down to you and Miss Deane, doctor; Miss Deane has cleared herself of suspicion”--with emphasis--“while you--” “Have not.” Noyes eyed his inquisitors with sharp intentness. “Kindly state your reasons for intimating that I killed a man whom I only met for the first time on Monday evening--barely ten hours before he was found murdered in his bed.”