She stared at him in undisguised astonishment. “Certainly,” she said, rather blankly. “Celine, will you bring my red evening coat, please?” The maid did so at once; it flamed there in the gray light of that rainy morning like some monstrous scarlet poppy. Barrison lifted a shimmering, brilliant fold, and looked at it. “It’s a gorgeous color!” he said, rather irrelevantly. “Scarlet!” whispered Kitty, in a strange tone. “And to think I was wearing _that_ last night. I do not believe that I shall ever feel like wearing scarlet again! You are going, Mr. Barrison?” “Yes; you have been very patient with me, and very forgiving for having been the bearer of such bad news. Good-by. I won’t even try to express the sympathy——” “Don’t; I understand. Mr. Barrison, _why_ did you want to see this coat?” “It was just an impulse!” he declared quickly. “You forgive me for that, too?” She bent her head without speaking, and the two men went away. “Tony,” said Jim Barrison, when they were in the street once more, facing the wet blast, “it’s no lie to say that facts are misleading.” “It’s no lie to say they very often mislead _you_!” retorted Tony, somewhat acidly. He felt the loss of sleep more and more, and was fretful. Also, he was hungry. “What wild-goose chase are you off on now?” “None; I’m going round in circles.” “You said it!” “It’s a fact,” continued Barrison, unheeding, “that the little woman back there was genuinely shocked and upset by hearing of Mortimer’s death.” “Rather!” “But it is also a fact—also a fact, Tony—that that evening coat of hers is damp this morning, and it didn’t begin to rain till after midnight!” CHAPTER XVII BLIND TRAILS “Mind you,” Barrison went on hastily, “there are a hundred explanations of a thing like that; it isn’t, strictly speaking, evidence at all. Only—I couldn’t help noticing! Now, Tony, I want you to go home and go to bed—see?” “It’s lucky you do!” said Tony. “Shut up! Go to bed and sleep your fool head off; and then—get back there to the Golden Arms, and find out who saw Miss Legaye come in last night; what time it was, whether she seemed excited, and—_what she wore_! That last is the most important. Make up to the maid. You can bribe, torture, or make love to her; I don’t care which. Only find out everything you can. Get me?” Tony grunted, and departed. Jim turned his face toward Forty-fourth Street. He knew that John Carlton usually breakfasted at the Lambs’ Club, and he needed his help. Also, he thought tenderly of the prospect of a mixed grill. Barrison could get along with very little sleep, when he was on a case, but he had to have food. Carlton was at breakfast, devouring, with about equally divided attention, bacon and eggs and the morning papers. He welcomed Jim with much excitement and a flood of slang.