“I do,” emphatically. “There’s your motive, doctor--jealousy. Now, consider all the facts,” catching sight of Thorne’s dubious expression. “Miss Porter’s engagement to Brainard was to be announced on Tuesday, but it leaked out at the dinner Monday night. Noyes may have had no idea that she was engaged to another man, and the news awakened a desire to be revenged on Brainard. It is possible that Miss Porter encouraged Noyes’ attentions, and he lived in a fool’s paradise. It’s said, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Well, my profession has taught me that men evince the same strong dislike to such treatment--and such motives frequently lead to murder.” “You are building up a specious case against Noyes,” remarked Thorne. “But whether your conclusions rest on a firm foundation remains to be seen. Frankly, I was prepossessed in Noyes’ favor this afternoon; he is a man evidently of deep feeling, and, judging by appearances, living under great strain.” Thorne spoke more slowly. “Noyes is not the type of man to commit cold-blooded murder.” “Tut, doctor, murder is not confined to a type!” retorted Mitchell. “If it were we would have an easy time detecting criminals. And they don’t go around labeled ‘criminals’ in real life any more than they do in fiction. It’s generally the least suspected person who is guilty in everyday life, and the clues are to be found in the victim’s past.” “Exactly!” exclaimed Thorne. “Why not inquire into Brainard’s past?” “Jones has that in charge and I’m expecting a report daily,” answered Mitchell. “I’ve learned everything there is to know concerning Brainard in Washington. He stood well in his profession, had some private means, and was counted a good fellow at the club, and was a great ‘dinner man.’” “The latter means nothing,” commented Thorne cynically. “A suit of respectable evening clothes often covers a family skeleton in Washington society.” “In this instance I haven’t heard the bones rattle,” laughed Mitchell. “But it may be--” he paused abruptly. “That Deane girl bothers me.” Thorne’s hand, outstretched to grasp his glass tumbler, remained poised in air. “She need not trouble you,” he said, taking up the glass. “I’ve thought over our former conversation about her, Mitchell, very carefully, and have come to the conclusion that I was wrong.” His gray eyes held his companion’s gaze as his clear, resonant voice continued: “I believe that Miss Deane was not in Craig Porter’s bedroom when Brainard was murdered in the room next to his.” “Where was she then?” “Perhaps in her own bedroom or downstairs.” “Then why doesn’t she say so?” “Because by admitting that she left her patient she would lay herself open to dismissal for neglecting her professional duty.” Mitchell smiled skeptically. “Better be dismissed as an incompetent nurse than be charged with murder. But you jump to conclusions, doctor. I did not allude to Miss Vera Deane a moment ago, but to her sister, Dorothy.” “Dorothy!”