“No,” said Jim. “I didn’t want any one to see it, so tucked it away without a look.” “Take it along with you,” said Lowry unexpectedly. “You may be able to spot the owner.” Barrison seized the tiny weapon with avidity; it was too dark where they stood for him to see clearly, and he said, with open eagerness: “What is the initial? That of any of the principals in the case?” “Of two of them,” said the inspector, as he turned to round a corner. “It’s M. Good night.” CHAPTER XIII THE INITIAL The inspector’s announcement gave Jim Barrison food for thought. Then why had Lowry let Sybil go with no further examination? They would have to establish next her possession of a weapon, and the fact that she was sufficiently practiced in the use of firearms to have hers marked with her initial, and—— But just then he discovered that it had begun to rain at last; big drops heralded the storm that had been threatening all the evening. Under the circumstances, his library at home would be a pleasanter place for speculation than the corner of a street. He turned up his coat collar and ran for a Sixth Avenue car. As he passed the clock outside a jeweler’s shop, he saw that it was ten minutes past one o’clock, and suddenly he was conscious that he was tired. The evening had been a long one, and hard on the nerves. He stood on the back platform, and let the rainy winds blow about him. His dinner coat was getting noticeably wet, but he wanted to think and breathe. How hot the theater had been! The smell of a singularly vile cigarette close beside him made him turn in a disgusted sort of curiosity to see what manner of man could smoke it. It turned out to be Willie Coster, who had boarded the car when he did. “Hello!” said Jim. “Didn’t see you before. I thought you left the theater before we did.” “I had,” said Willie, puffing deeply on his rank weed. “I stopped at the corner to get this.” Unblushingly he indicated an object done up in brown paper, which he carried under his arm. There was not the slightest doubt that it was a bottle of quart dimensions. Barrison recalled the legend that Coster always got drunk after a first night. He could not help smiling at the serious deliberation with which he was going about it. “I see!” he said. “Well, it’s been a pretty trying time for you, a thing like this, coming on top of all your hard work on the piece. I dare say you feel the need of something to brace you.” Willie shook his head. “That’s a nice way of putting it,” he said soberly; “but it won’t wash. No, sir; the fact is, I mean to get drunk to-night. I never touch anything while I’m working, and when my work’s done, I consider I’m entitled to a little pleasure.” “I see,” Barrison said again. “And does getting drunk give you a great deal of pleasure?”