"Sarbella done it!" he shouted. "He killed the Gilmore woman; he shot her to get even. He shot her--with this gun." Dramatically he dragged forth the automatic pistol and waved it almost wildly. "And you've gone and messed things up by lettin' him think he had a chance to get off--darn your hide!" The outburst was checked by the opening of the door which led into the council room from the outside entrance, and there entered a short, rotund man who wore his hat perched upon a bandaged head. "Where's the chief of police?" was the stranger's greeting. "I'm the constable; it amounts to the same thing in Ardmore," Griggs answered shortly, "but I ain't got no time to be bothered." The corpulent little visitor moved back the edge of his coat, revealing a badge of the New York police department. "I'm Detective Sergeant Tish--New York headquarters," he announced. "Your name Griggs? You telephoned last night to the Consolidated Taxicab Company that you'd picked up an abandoned taxi on one of the roads near Ardmore?" "Yes, I did," grunted Constable Griggs, "but I ain't got no time to bother about taxicabs now. I've got a murder on my hands." "And I want to get my hands on a murderer," shot back Sergeant John Henry Tish. "That taxicab was stolen by----" "Don't give a hoot if it was!" shouted the constable. "The taxi's at Presley's garage. Go get it, if you want it." He even forgot that he had expected to receive a ten-dollar gift from the taxicab company. Sergeant Tish, however, was not to be put off so easily. He projected his short, portly form closer and occupied a chair beside the council table, with the air of having something to say and being determined to say it. He wasted no time. "Listen!" he commanded, wagging a pudgy forefinger with a forceful gesture. "This is just as important to me as your case is to you. See this?" He tapped his bandaged head. "The man I'm after did this to me, and I'm going to get him. He knocked me cold--after I had the nippers on him, see? I've got to get him. "There may be some time when you'll want a favor from the New York department. I want a little information--and a little courtesy. I'm no windbag, and I won't keep you long." "All right," grunted Constable Griggs. "What is it you want?" "Thanks," said Sergeant Tish. "First, where was it that you picked up the machine?" "Out on the Hudson Road, 'bout half a mile from the village proper. I called Presley's garage an' had 'em drive the bus into their shop--and that's all I can tell you about it, every blessed thing. I notified the taxicab company." "Sure, I know that, and they flashed it right to headquarters. There was a general alarm out for that taxi. So it was run into the garage--under its own power, huh? That means Haskins didn't ditch the car because something went wrong with the engine. That may help some. Pretty swell folks live out on the Hudson Road, eh?" Griggs nodded. "Most of 'em is rich," he agreed; "either rich or pretty well fixed."