A moment later Doctor Bushnell had returned with Victor Sarbella. Ham Griggs turned and stared intently at the guest of Greenacres, who had himself well under control. "The doctor tells me that you wish to see me," murmured Sarbella. "I am at your service." "You betcha I want to see you," grunted the constable, motioning to a chair that faced the sheet-covered lounge. "What do you know about this case?" Sarbella let himself into the indicated chair, facing the shrouded body without flinching. "Nothing," he answered steadily. Griggs whipped the automatic from his pocket and thrust it before the man's eyes with what might have been considered an accusing gesture. "Ever see this before?" he demanded, and, when Sarbella nodded, he went on with a triumphant exclamation: "Oh, you admit it, do you?" "Yes," answered the artist, "I saw it on the floor, where it must have fallen from her hand, after she shot herself." "She didn't do no such thing," the constable retorted belligerently. "It was murder." Sarbella's head jerked up, and his hands suddenly froze rigidly about the arms of the chair. Into his intense black eyes there came a startled, narrow-lidded gleam that Doctor Bushnell, watching him closely, decided could have been guilt. But he recovered himself quickly. "I don't believe it," he said flatly. "I begin to understand. You are hinting that I----" "Matter of fact, now, ain't this your gun?" broke in Ham Griggs. "No use lyin'; we can trace it easy enough." Sarbella did not become angry; he did not bluster. "I do not know what has given you this ridiculous idea," he said quietly, "but I shall make a statement that, in so far as I am concerned, covers everything. The gun is not mine; I have never seen the gun until, aroused by the pistol shot, I saw Gilmore's wife dead. Never in my life had I ever seen the woman until I was introduced to her before dinner last evening. It did not for a moment enter my mind that it was other than suicide. If, as you claim, it is murder, I did not do it, and I do not know who did, or why. That is all I have to say." His tone had a firm finality that was discouraging to further questioning; over the room there fell a silence, a silence so tense and absorbed that none of the three men heard the automobile that sped into the Greenacres driveway and came to a halt beneath the portico. Constable Griggs reached behind him and drew the sheet from the dead woman's face. Even the bosom of her crimson-stained silk robe was exposed to view. But no cry of guilty horror came from Sarbella; in fact, he seemed a little contemptuous of this dramatic play. His face was stonily hard. Below, the taxicab bearing Wiggly, otherwise Jimmy Price, had arrived at Greenacres, and Wiggly, bidding the driver wait, leaped across the porch to the entrance. His finger pressed the bell button with one brief, curt ring. He waited grimly.