But Wiggly Price was not so sure. If Haskins, as it seemed, knew he was dying, why should he lie? There was one possibility why he should; it might have occurred to him that he still had a chance to cheat death, and he had cunningly concocted this yarn out of the whole cloth. Thoughts and theories leaped through Wiggly's mind. If Haskins' story, improbable as it sounded, were true, the Greenacres mystery had been returned to its first status, and suspicion returned even more strongly to Victor Sarbella. Guilt lay between the artist and Joan Sheridan. Again the newspaper man thought of the girl's agitation when told that suspicion had turned away from Sarbella, her relief and yet bewilderment when she had heard that circumstances pointed to Haskins, the crook; and he thought, too, of the black hairpin. "You're lying, Haskins," Tish said again; "but what gets me is that you didn't make a break for it after the shooting." The wounded man stirred slightly. "I--I tried--to make--my get-away," he whispered, "but there was two guys comin' up the front stairs, an' I hadda dodge back--to--the attic." "Haskins," burst out Wiggly, "the person you saw coming out of that room--was it a man or a woman?" But Don Haskins shook his head feebly. He made no other response. A little later, while Tish still plied insistent and exasperated questions, the man's body twitched and relaxed; then a gush of crimson poured from his mouth. "He's dying!" cried Wiggly and made a leap toward the door to summon Doctor Bushnell. It was too late. Haskins' eyes had opened and were fixed glassily upon the ceiling. He was dying with his last, stubborn silence unbroken; and the Gilmore tragedy was yet to be solved. CHAPTER XXV THE SKEPTICISM OF SERGEANT TISH The doctor had found Constable Griggs' injury worse than he had anticipated, for Haskins had struck a vicious blow with the doorknob wickedly concealed within the toe of his sock; there was a bad skull fracture that threatened fatal results. With Bates to help him, Doctor Bushnell had placed Ham Griggs upon the discarded couch and had just completed a painstaking examination, when Wiggly Price came pounding up the third floor stairs to the storeroom. "Quick, doc!" panted the newspaper man. "Haskins is dying; he's got another hemorrhage--a worse one. I'm afraid he's a goner." The doctor motioned to the butler. "You stay here with the constable, Bates," he ordered. "I'll be back in a moment; we've got to get this man to the hospital. He's dangerously hurt, Price; a bad skull fracture." As he spoke, he was following the reporter back down the stairs. "I'm not surprised about Haskins. But there was nothing more than I could do for him, and Griggs needed me, too." "The other doctor, the surgeon, you telephoned for----"