"Nothing's happened--exactly," Wiggly answered cautiously, knowing that the constable would in all probability resent any intimation of Sarbella's possible innocence. Even a seasoned detective, once he has made up his mind, does not relish the idea of being shown that he had been wrong. In Griggs' case, it would be a hard blow to his exuberant vanity. "But, as you may realize, our evidence against the man is so far purely circumstantial." "Oh, don't you worry about that," the constable said complacently; "he'll come through with a confession, after he's had a good taste of jail. Stubborn as a mule he is so far, but he'll break down; they all do." "Isn't it thrilling!" broke in Etta, pouring coffee. "It's what you call a big story, isn't it?" Wiggly gave a smiling nod. "It's about the best murder story I've ever worked on." Etta beamed. "It was I who called up your editor and told him about it," she announced. "The thunder you did!" grunted Ham Griggs. "If it's a scoop," promised Wiggly; "I'll tell the city editor to have the business office mail you a fat little check for the tip." "Oh, no! I didn't do it for any mercenary reasons. But, if the editor wants to say something nice about my play----" "Eh--your play?" "I expect it to be produced this fall. It's nearly finished; I have promised to let a New York producer stage it." "Yes, I see," murmured Wiggly gravely. He had the good sense not to indulge in a smile, but his ears moved faintly. "And I'll certainly speak to the dramatic critic about it--I certainly will." Under his breath he added: "Lord, what the play bug does to people!" Etta was so excited by what she considered the total success of her plan to establish a cordial personal relationship with the press that she tipped a cup, spilling hot coffee over the back of her father's hand. "The murder at Greenacres has given me the inspiration for another play," she said. "It shall be a mystery play; they're so popular in New York." "A good mystery is about the most interesting thing in the world," declared Wiggly, dropping a spoonful of sugar and stirring vigorously. "And the Gilmore tragedy--fawther has just finished telling me all about it--isn't it dramatic?" "It certainly is, Miss Griggs," agreed the reporter, wishing the girl were in Halifax. "And to think," she rushed on, "that Kirklan Gilmore's new wife was such an awful woman. So pretty, too; I saw her only the other day. You know it was such a surprise when he married her. Mrs. Huggins--she's a seamstress and used to sew for the Gilmores--thought it was certain that he would marry Joan; such a sweet girl, Joan." Wiggly's wandering thoughts suddenly became centered upon what the gushing Etta was saying. "Joan?" he murmured.