“It was closed and locked. Here is the key.” Trafford opened the door, revealing packages of letters, filling about half the space above the small drawer which was at the lowest portion. “You have examined these letters?” “Only sufficiently to be able to identify them. They relate to certain logging interests of firms employing Mr. Wing.” “And the drawer?” “You have the key: there’s nothing there but trinkets and a little personal jewelry.” There was a personal tone of resentment over the failure to recognise the distance between a detective and an attorney. Trafford opened the drawer mechanically, then closed it and took out indifferently one of the packages of letters. These he returned and closed and locked the door, which he examined again with care. Then he pushed to the heavy outer door, turning the knob slowly and as if he was studying the fall of the wards. “If it had been planned to leave no trace,” he said, as if to himself, “it would be a success. Have you a suspicion of the motive for this murder, Mr. McManus?” “So far as I can see, it was motiveless,” McManus answered. “I can only conclude that it was the work of a lunatic, or a mere murder fiend. It was, in my opinion, merely an accident that it was Mr. Wing and not some one else.” “I hadn’t thought of that aspect of the case,” Trafford said. “Is there any unfortunate creature of that kind about here?” “No, not that I know of; but might it not be a stranger that has wandered here?” “Did you ever hear of one of that class that was content with mere killing? It’s mutilation that characterises all such crimes. Its absence in this case is one of the most prominent features. By the bye: was the night of the tenth windy?” “On the contrary, it was a very still night.” “Not wind enough to blow that door shut?” pointing to the door into the side hall. “Certainly not.” Trafford walked around to the different windows and finally pulled down the shades and placed the lamp on the writing-desk. Then he went outside and studied the reflection on the shades. When he returned, he said: “I shall be absent a few days. Will you see to it, Mr. McManus, that the coroner doesn’t reconvene the inquest until I can be here? Until we find a motive for this crime, we’re going to make slow headway in finding the criminal.” “So long as you have charge of the case,” McManus answered, “I shall follow your wishes; but you may as well understand that I’m not going to be content with failure on any one’s part. You’re after the pay; I’m after punishment for the murderer. As long as our wishes run in the same line----” Trafford interrupted him: “When a case is placed in your hands, you expect to manage it, I assume. This case has been placed in my hands, and as long as it remains there, I shall conduct it in my own way. That doesn’t mean I won’t take advice; it simply means, I’ll be the one to decide what I’ll do with it.”