"No," said Arnold decidedly; "if a woman had done so, she certainly would not have risked my return." "Oh, I guess she knew you were scared to death. And perhaps she believed you had cleared out." "She would have heard the door close." "Not she. You closed it quietly, I reckon." "So quietly that Mulligan did not hear." "There you see." Luther took a turn up and down the room. "See here, I'm going to camp out here and search." "For what?" asked Calvert, puzzled. "For letters, pictures, diaries, and all that sort of thing." "You won't find any. Derrick discovered that everything had been removed, by the murderer no doubt, so that the reason for the crime would not be discovered." "That's so. And you hang on to the fact that it was a woman who engineered this job. A man wouldn't be so 'cute. She came right along when all was quiet and looted the house. But I guess Derrick's a fool. There may be all kinds of papers hanging round. And he didn't examine the dustbin. Now, I did, and I found a torn photo----" "Of Brand?" asked Calvert breathlessly. "No; of Mrs. Brand." Calvert looked disappointed. "Derrick has one already." "I guess so, and he don't know what use to make of it. I find on the photograph, very naturally, the name of the photographer." "Well, what of that?" "You make me tired," said Tracey impatiently. "I'm going to see if that man's got a photograph of the husband. Married people sometimes get taken together. If Mrs. Brand had a photo taken at this man's place, she would probably, when she wanted another, or to be photographed with her husband, go there. Don't you catch on? Besides, the husband may have gone with her without being taken. Oh, I'll get his picture." "But what good will that do?" "Well, it might put a clue into our hands. He may have loved the woman who stabbed his wife." "It's all theory," said Arnold impatiently. "And I guess it will be, till we get down to the bed-rock of the business," said the American dryly. "However--hullo Snakes, what's that row?" "It's a ring at the bell," said Arnold, peering out of the window. He then drew back with a look of surprise. "It's Jasher." "Great Scot! What's he come here for? All the better: we'll interview him. I'd like to see the sort of man you have running the biz. We might syndicate. Yes--oh I guess so." In a few minutes Jasher, round and rosy and fat and short of breath, was in the room, expressing his surprise at the sight of his employer. "I just came up to have a look at the house," said he; "and never expected to see you here, or Mr. Tracey either." "What's that?" queried Tracey, "you know my name?" "Jasher sat down and wiped his bald forehead. "I had the pleasure of seeing you out of the window of Professor Bocaros's house. You were walking with a young lady. He told me your name and----" "That's all right. Well, sir, I'm hanging out here, looking after this case. Yes, you bet I've taken a hand." "Jasher looked annoyed, and turned to Calvert.