CHAPTER VII THE VOLUME OF MARTIAL The Medical Examiner, Doctor Marsh, the Detective Morton, and the Secretary of the late John Waring, Gordon Lockwood, looked at one another. Without any words having been spoken that might indicate a lack of harmony, there yet was a hint of discord in their attitudes. Doctor Marsh was sure the case was a suicide. “You’ll find the stiletto somewhere,” he shrugged, when held upon that point. “To find the weapon is not my business—but when a man is dead in a locked room, and dead from a wound that could have been self-administered, I can’t see a murder situation.” “Nor I,” said Lockwood. “Has the waste-basket been searched for the thing that killed him?” Acting quickly on his own suggestion, Gordon Lockwood dived beneath the great desk. Like a flash, Morton was after him, and though the detective was not sure, he thought he saw the secretary grasp a bit of crumpled paper and stuff it in his pocket. “Now, look here, I’ll make that search,” Morton exclaimed, and almost snatched the waste-basket from the other’s grasp. “Very well,” and Lockwood put his hands in his pockets and stood looking on, as Morton fumbled with the scraps. He emptied the basket on the floor, but there were only a few torn envelopes and memoranda, which were soon proved to be of no indicative value to the searchers. “I’ll save the stuff, anyway,” Morton declared, getting a newspaper and wrapping in it the few bits of waste paper. “Did you take a paper from this basket and put it in your pocket?” the detective suddenly demanded. Lockwood, without moving, gave Morton a cold stare that was more negative than any words could be, and was, moreover, exceedingly disconcerting. “Look here, Mr. Morton,” he said, “if you suspect me of killing my employer, come out and say so. I know, in story-books, the first one to be suspected is the confidential secretary. So, accuse me, and get it over with.” The very impassivity of Lockwood’s face seemed to put him far beyond and above suspicion, and the detective, hastily mumbled, “Not at all, Mr. Lockwood, not at all. But you don’t seem real frank, now, and you must know how important it is that we get all the first hand information we can.” “Of course, and I’m ready to tell all I know. Go on and ask questions.” “Well, then, what do you surmise has become of that five hundred dollars and that ruby stickpin? Doesn’t their disappearance rather argue against suicide?” Lockwood meditated. “Not necessarily. If they have been stolen—” “Stolen! Of course they’ve been stolen, since they aren’t here! I don’t see any safe.” “No, Doctor Waring had no safe. There has been little or no robbery in Corinth, and Doctor Waring rarely kept much money about.” “Five hundred dollars is quite a sum.”