From outside the library came the sound of hurrying feet, as Wiggly Price came down the stairs, two steps at a time. Just outside the library he paused, screened behind the portières. Across his arm was a woman's silk dressing gown, and in his hand was a handkerchief, caught up at the corners and sagging with the weight of the broken vase and the particles of candle tallow. "Just the psychological moment!" he said under his breath. "It's made to order." "And there is nothing more that you can add, Miss Sheridan?" asked Doctor Bushnell. "There is nothing more that I can say," she answered. "That will be all," murmured the doctor. Wiggly Price entered the room, billowing aside the portières, as he swept past them, and his ears were wiggling for all they were worth. The silk dressing gown across his arm added to the dramatic effect of his entrance. "Just a moment, Miss Sheridan!" he exclaimed. "What you really mean is that there is nothing more you want to say. But I am very much afraid that you will have to say something, whether you want to or not." Doctor Bushnell leaped angrily to his feet, his eyes snapping. "What do you mean by this, Price?" he shouted. "I forbid----" "I demand," broke in Wiggly, "that Miss Sheridan be forced to explain several things, including why she tried to clean spots from the sleeve of this dressing gown that she was wearing last night." Joan had started to her feet, but sank limply back in her chair, a moan upon her lips. "Look at her face!" cried Wiggly. "Isn't that proof enough for you? Don't look at me--look at her!" Joan's face was chalk white, and she swayed in her chair and would have fallen, had not the assistant district attorney leaped forward to support her. "Look at this dressing gown!" went on Wiggly in a rush of words. "Look at the sleeve, here. I just took it out of her closet a minute ago; the odor of a cleaning fluid, chloroform, can still be detected. And it didn't take out the spots. She didn't know that cold water was the best thing to remove bloodstains." He swung upon Joan. "Do you deny, Miss Sheridan, that these are bloodstains? Do you deny that you attempted to remove them after the murder?" Joan's mother screamed shrilly. "It's a lie!" she moaned. "It's a lie. He's trying to make it appear that my little girl----" A merciful unconsciousness gathered her in. Doctor Bushnell, dazed to a point of speechlessness, stared from the accusing newspaper man to Joan. There could be no denying the wild terror that gripped her. "If she does deny it," went on Wiggly, "a chemical analysis will establish that it is blood--human blood." Doctor Bushnell at last found voice. "Joan," he cried, "do you understand what this means? This man is virtually accusing you of murder. In Heaven's name, say something!" But Joan Sheridan, her lips twitching, shook her head. "I--I didn't--do it!" she whispered. "I didn't do it, but I have nothing to say--absolutely nothing to say."