"Just you hold your horses a little while, doc," he growled. "Gimme a chance, can't you? You don't expect me to clear this thing up in the battin' of an eye, do you? Mebbe if I'd been on the ground long as you have, an' talked to all the folks in the house, like you've done, I'd have got somewheres by this time." "Yes--maybe," murmured Doctor Bushnell. "Well, anyhow," retorted the constable, "I allow to ask a heap of questions. I ain't gonna stand here suckin' my thumb. Where's Gilmore?" "I gave him an opiate, Griggs; the poor chap's a nervous wreck--naturally. Give him a chance to pull himself together. It would be rank cruelty to subject him to an inquisition until he's had an opportunity to come out from under the first shock. Remember, he had been married but a few weeks; a terrible blow, Griggs." "Who else did you say was in the house?" "Bates, the butler, the elder Mrs. Gilmore, Miss Joan Sheridan, Mrs. Gilmore's daughter by her first marriage, and a Mr. Sarbella, a guest from New York. Mrs. Gilmore is in a state bordering on nervous prostration, and, as her physician, I should certainly refuse to admit her to be questioned just now." "Seems like to me," grunted the constable, suspicion in his voice, "they don't mebbe want to be questioned. The other three--they got prostrations, too?" "No; there is nothing to prevent your cross-examining the others." "The butler feller, you said he was downstairs with Gilmore when the gun was shot off?" "Yes, that's right." "An' that the two womenfolks an' this--whatcha say his name is?" "Sarbella, Victor Sarbella." "Sounds dago. So you say that Sarbella an' the two women was upstairs?" In his slow-witted, blundering way, Ham Griggs was arriving at the obvious. "That bein' the case, doc, I guess--hum--I reckon we better have a look at this Sarbella. I hope you ain't give him no chance to escape?" "I'll call him," responded Doctor Bushnell, "but do you want to question him here?" "Best place I can think of, doc; if he done it he'll kinda give himself away by bein' in the presence of the victim." "Up to date," imparted the physician, "Sarbella thinks we believe she took her own life." "That's good; we'll spring a surprise on 'im. Go get 'im, doc." When Bushnell had responded to this command, Ham Griggs stepped to the lounge and drew back the edge of the sheet, staring at the beautiful face below him. He was surprised at the woman's beauty. "Sure was a swell looker," he said to himself and drew the sheet back in place. With his stubby, thick fingers clasped behind his back, he took a turn across the room, so intent with his sluggish thoughts that he did not notice the trodding of his heavy shoes upon a bit of dark porcelain that lay upon the rug near the table which stood by the north wall--a bit of porcelain no larger than a silver dollar. It splintered beneath his weight, with a faintly crunching sound. In his preoccupation he did not hear it.