A grunt of elation escaped Constable Griggs, as he stared triumphantly at the artist; this reporter had supplied the missing link between the dead woman and the suspect. Victor Sarbella's body stiffened and relaxed, as his shoulders moved with a sigh of weariness and defeat. The secret which he had guarded with his silence was out. CHAPTER XV SARBELLA SPEAKS No longer was Wiggly Price an interloper, an unwelcome intruder facing eviction; for, instead of asking for facts, he was supplying facts, and extremely vital facts they seemed to be. Both the constable and Doctor Bushnell, since the Sarbella case stirred no memories, were both eager for further enlightenment. "Yes," said Wiggly, "I am sure of it now; this woman was the girl in the Sarbella case. I think I must have written five or six columns about it; queer that I shouldn't have spotted her the minute I put eyes on her, but a fellow's memory does slip sometimes. The minute I heard the name just now it all came back to me with a rush." "I knew you was hidin' something," grunted Constable Griggs, fixing Victor Sarbella with a stern eye. "I had a feelin' that you was lyin' about never havin' set eyes on 'er until last night. I guess you killed her, all right--that was the reason you wouldn't talk. Guess you thought you was pretty slick." He turned to the newspaper man. "I guess it wasn't nothin' short of Providence that let you get into the house just now. Queer, ain't it, how things is always turnin' out?" "My statement," said Sarbella, his voice husky, "was entirely true. I had never seen the woman until last night--when my friend introduced her as--as hees wife. She--she the wife of my good friend!" "I guess you think we're a lotta country boobs to swaller a thin yarn like that. Never seen her before, huh? That's likely--I guess not." Doctor Bushnell looked eagerly at Wiggly Price, impatient to hear what was meant by "the Sarbella case." "Let's hear what he's got to say, Griggs," he urged. "Sure," nodded Ham Griggs; "talk right up, mister. I guess we're all wantin' to hear it--except Sarbella. You've put us on a hot trail, all right, young feller." "For all I know," said the reporter, "he may be telling the truth about never having seen the woman before. It sounds reasonable enough, as you shall see. "The Sarbella case got into the newspapers a little over two years ago. There was a young chap--handsome kid he was--a violinist. Born in Italy--forget what place--and came to New York in concert work. His first name"--he frowned meditatively--"I think it was Andrea." "Yes, it was Andrea," muttered Victor Sarbella. "Poor Andrea! And that woman--death was too good for her!"