“By Jove, Lockwood,” Cray, exclaimed, as he closed the door behind him, “there’s a new way to look, which seems to promise to straighten out a lot of things. Do you know that little piece over at your boarding house, named Austin?” “I know her slightly. What about her?” From Lockwood’s voice no one would suspect that his heart was pounding desperately. “Well, she was here late Sunday night! What do you know about that?” “I don’t know anything about it,” returned Lockwood, coldly, “and I don’t believe it. For if she had been here I should have known about it. I was here myself, just outside the study door, until eleven. You don’t mean later than that, do you?” “Dunno. The Bascom spinster tells the story—” “Then don’t bank on it. With all due deference to Miss Bascom, I know she is not always a reliable source of information.” “But she says she saw the girl coming over here late that night—” “She didn’t! It’s not true! What under the heavens would she have come for?” “What does any girl visit a man for?” Cray gave an unpleasant wink, and Lockwood with difficulty controlled an insane desire to spring at his throat. “And, beside, she is even now in possession of the missing five hundred dollars and the ruby pin.” “I don’t believe it!” “See here, Mr. Lockwood, it doesn’t matter to anybody whether you believe these things or not. Miss Austin has the valuables, and I’m going over there now to inquire how she got them. Also, it just occurs to me that those small footprints leading across the field, are directed toward the Adams house, and may have been made by a woman as likely as by our hypothetical small-footed man.” “Those are Nogi’s footprints.” “How do you know?” “Common sense. Even if Miss Austin did come over here for any reason she would have come by the street, not across the snowy field.” “Apparently she chose the field. So I’m going to ask her why.” “All right, Cray, but you must admit you’re illogical, inconsequent and inconsistent. You think I killed Doctor Waring, because I have a sharp, round penholder, and owe some large bills. Then, because a gossiping old maid comes over here and babbles, you fly off at a tangent and accuse an unprotected girl of absurd and unbelievable crime.” “Oho! Interested in the siren yourself, eh?” “No; I’m not—if you mean Miss Austin. That is, not personally.” Few men could have told this lie with such a convincing manner but Lockwood’s phlegmatic calm stood him now in good stead, and his air of obvious indifference carried conviction. “But,” he went on, “I am sorry for her. It’s nobody’s business who or what she is, yet those women over at the Adams house are one and all possessed to find out something against her. I only want to advise you, Cray, if you talk to anybody over there, get Old Salt himself. He’s more fair minded than his wife or the other women.”