She didn't need to add a word to that. I got her in the instant. That examination of hers in Clayte's room at the St. Dunstan; the crisp, new-looking bedding, the unworn velvet of the chair cushions; the faded nap of the carpet, quite perfect, while that in the hall had just been renewed. Even had the room been done over recently--and I knew it had not--there was no getting around the total absence of photographs, pictures, books, magazines, newspapers, old letters, the lack of all the half worn stuff that collects about an occupied apartment. No pinholes or defacements on the walls, none of the litter that accumulates. The girl was right; that room hadn't been lived in. "Beautiful," I said in honest admiration. "It's a pleasure to see a mind like yours, and such powers of observation, in action, clicking out results like a perfectly adjusted machine. Clayte didn't live in his room because he lived with the gang all his glorious outside hours. There was where the poor rabbit of a bank clerk got his fling." "Oh, yes, it works logically. He held himself down to Clayte at the St. Dunstan and in the bank, and he let himself go to--what?--outside of it, beyond it, where he really lived." "He let himself go to Steve Skeels--won't that do you?" "No," she said so positively that it was annoying. "That won't do me at all." "But it's what you got," I reminded her rather unkindly, and then was sorry I'd done it. "It's what you got for me--and I thank you for it." "You needn't," she came back at me--spunky little thing. "It isn't worth thanking anybody for. It's only a partial fact." "And you think half truths are dangerous?" I smiled at her. "There isn't any such thing," she instructed me. "Even _facts_ can hardly be split into fractions; while the truth is always whole and complete." "As far as you see it," I amended. "For instance, you insist on keeping the gang all under Clayte's hat--or you did at first. Now you're refusing to believe, as both Worth and I believe, that Steve Skeels is Clayte himself. I should think you'd jump at the idea. Here's your Wonder Man." She leaned back in her chair and laughed. I was glad to hear the sound again, see the dimples flicker in her cheeks, even if she was laughing at me. "A wonderful Wonder Man, Mr. Boyne," she said. "One who does things so bunglingly that you can follow him right up and put your hand on him." "Not so I could," I reminded her gaily. "So you could. Quite a different matter." She took my compliment sweetly, but she said with smiling reluctance, "I'm not in this, of course, except that your kindness allowed me to be for this day only. But if I were, I shouldn't be following Skeels as you are. I'd still be after Clayte." "It foots up to the same thing," I said rather tartly. "Oh, does it?" she laughed at me. "Two and two are making about three and a half this afternoon, are they?"