"We've been presuming all along, Tish," he said almost breathlessly, "that the vase was broken when some one bumped into the table. It's a dozen feet from the table to this spot; it isn't reasonable to think that one of the pieces could have shattered for such a distance. As a matter of fact, Tish, there's something that I've been a blockhead not to think of before. This rug is pretty thick; it's only three feet from the top of the table to the floor, and yet that vase is broken into a hundred and one pieces. And here's a bit of it twelve feet away!" "Humph!" grunted Tish. "What do you make of it anyhow?" "Maybe the Gilmore woman threw it at Haskins," suggested the detective, puffing out his cheeks and frowning; "maybe she saw what was coming, picked up the vase, and flung it at his head--something like that, huh?" "Y-yes," Wiggly admitted hesitatingly; "that might explain it being broken into so many pieces, but that doesn't explain the tallow. I've got a feeling that those are the two things that are going to add up to four." "Oh, forget the tallow!" Tish muttered peevishly. "What's a little tallow got to do with a murder--or a smashed vase, for that matter? You better stick to digging up news and let this Sherlock business alone." Wiggly shook his head stubbornly. "It's a puzzle, Tish, but I'm going to stick until these peculiar little things you scoff at are explained." He again took up his search, but further results were nil. Tish was growing impatient. "I'm going back downstairs," he announced. "Wonder where this door leads to?" murmured the reporter, as he reached for the knob. It did not yield to his touch, but the key was in the lock; a moment later he was looking within Kirklan Gilmore's sleeping chamber. "Ah!" he mused. "She had the door locked against her husband. Wonder if that means there was discord in the new love nest?" Sergeant Tish snorted derisively. "Next," he said with withering sarcasm, "you'll be trying to hang it onto the husband--and him downstairs when the shot was fired." "Oh, not at all," Wiggly answered without resentment; "that was just an aside." He entered the room, gave it a brief survey, and then, satisfied that it had nothing to offer him, returned, closing the door and relocking it behind him. "Nothing in there that could interest us, Tish. The net result so far seems to be one black hairpin and a few pieces of tallow candle--perhaps a broken vase. I'm not so sure but that you've given a pretty logical explanation of the vase." He sighed in discouragement. "Not much to go on, eh? Wish I could figure out the tallow thing." "Forget it," advised Tish. "If we could only get Miss Sheridan to talk. Wish I had the authority to put her through a sprout of questions!" Tish tenderly massaged the wrist of his injured arm; the bandages interfered with his circulation.