“Would you, indeed, sir?” cried young Lynch hopefully. The inspector suddenly looked at him and said dryly. “So that’s what you did? Suppose you tell me all about it. You heard the shot, and——” “If you please, sir,” protested the young man eagerly and rather unhappily, “it wasn’t the shot; leastways, I didn’t know about how many shots there’d be. It was the scream. I heard the shots, one after the other, and then the scream—a dreadful scream, if you please, sir. And, of course, I thought first of all of Mr. Mortimer, and there being danger, and—and all that. And I run forward, sir, a few steps, through the dark, wishing to be of some use, and——” “And to get the twenty-five dollars?” “Well, sir, that perhaps; of course, I’m not saying that wasn’t in the back of my mind. But what I was thinking of first was that there was trouble, and that I might be needed.” “That’s all right; I believe you.” Lowry spoke shortly, but not at all unkindly. “The point is that, within half a second of the time of the shooting, you had left this particular point, and run in the direction of the shots. In other words, Lynch, this door was unguarded.” “Unguarded, sir!” Lynch was aghast, and truly so. “Unguarded, sir! But I had been at my post all the evening! No one had gone in or out——” “No one had gone in or out during the evening, I am absolutely convinced. But, after the murder, any one who chanced to be there could have gone out. Isn’t that so?” “But——” The young guard’s troubled eyes began to measure the distance between the door and the stage steps, just as the detectives had done before. “Ah!” said Lowry. “You see why I spoke of the narrow passage which would have to be traversed. It would be very narrow, indeed. Any one who wanted to get from those steps to the communicating door would have to pass you at very close quarters, Lynch. And yet—the thing could be done. The thing could be done. I have not lived so long without learning that it is these unlikely, well-nigh impossible things that come off in the smoothest way of all. All right, Lynch, I’m obliged to you. It’s not your fault. You were a bit overzealous, but I don’t think we’ll put you in jail for that. However you look at it, you’ve shown us one way in which the murderer might have escaped.” He turned and crooked his arm in that of Barrison. “Now, we’ll go and interview the stage doorkeeper,” he said. Together he and Barrison attacked old Roberts, who confronted him at the entrance with a look of mingled apprehension and bravado. His round, flabby face was rather pale, and he gave the impression of a weak old child trying to act like a brave man. “What do you want of me, gentlemen?” he demanded, in a tone that broke timidly in spite of himself.