conscience and interest in the "case" combined prompted lyon to call upon dr. barry early the next day and inquire how mrs. broughton was.

"just about as ill as she can be," the doctor answered grimly. "i had left special orders that she was not to see anyone. what in thunder did you mean by forcing yourself upon her in that way?"

"i didn't. she sent for me."

"sent for you? what for?"

"she wanted to ask me something about the fullerton case."

"are you serious?"

"certainly."

"and was that what you had been talking about when she had that attack?"

"yes, in general. she used to know lawrence, and what she particularly wanted to know was whether his situation was serious. she did not seem hysterical at all, or even specially nervous, until she went off suddenly at the end into that awful laughter."

"well, if she should send for you again, you are not to go without letting me know first. frankly, i consider that her reason is trembling in the balance, and the greatest care will be necessary to pull her through the crisis safely. i have a trained nurse with her now, and she is not to be allowed to see anyone till the danger point is passed."

"i wish you would let me know when i may safely call upon her."

"that won't be for some time yet. what do you want to see her about?"

"she entrusted me with a commission. i want to report upon it."

"she probably won't remember it when she recovers. i don't consider that she was really responsible for what she may have said or done yesterday. she has had some sort of nervous shock that has shaken her entirely out of the normal. it will take a long time before she is herself."

"when did she call you in?" lyon asked abruptly.

"tuesday afternoon. why?"

"oh, i just wondered how you came to know so much. good-by."

he went away with a sense of bafflement. that mrs. broughton was in some way connected with the tragedy, and that the nervous shock from which she suffered dated from that evening, seemed to have been made so patent that he had all the eagerness of the hunter to run the facts down. and yet to do so under the present circumstances was almost brutal. how could he raise a breath of suspicion against a woman who was trembling on the verge of mental derangement as a consequence of what he had seen or had possibly had a share in? and yet if the truth would serve to clear two innocent people from suspicion, could he justify himself in not speaking? more and more he felt inclined to entertain the idea that the woman he had seen running across the street was mrs. broughton. if he could but establish this as a fact and so clear lawrence's mind of the conviction that it was miss wolcott, he felt that lawrence would probably be able to clear himself of the shadow under which he rested without difficulty. brutal or not, he must get the facts,--quietly if possible, but he must get them. it would be more brutal to let the innocent suffer than to fix the crime upon the guilty, however sympathetic he might feel toward the latter. he determined to go quietly on and gather what information he could without at present sharing his suspicions with anyone. with this end in view he went to the wellington, fullerton's home.

he hunted up the elevator boy in the first place, and soon established a thoroughly satisfactory understanding with him on the basis of some theater tickets.

"now i want to see how good a memory you have, johnny. you know that lady who came to see mr. fullerton that evening,--"

"yes, sir, i remember all about her."

"did you know who she was?"

"no, sir, she kept her veil down all the time. but she was an elegant lady. she had on a dress that swished when she walked, and an elegant muff and coat."

"what were they like?"

"why, just fur."

"there are lots of kinds of fur. did you notice particularly?"

"why, dark fur, i guess," johnny answered hopefully. "yes, elegant black fur."

lyon saw he was improvising and passed on to another point.

"what time did she come?"

john brightened into positiveness. "half past seven. i know that for sure, because that was when i told her she would be apt to find him, and so i was watching out for her when she came."

"oh, then she had been here before?"

"yes, she came twice in the afternoon, but mr. fullerton was out. i told her she would find him for sure if she came at half past seven, because he wouldn't be going out in the evening before eight, but she was so anxious that she came again about four o'clock. i knew he wouldn't be here then, and it was just as i said."

"when you told her to come at half past seven, didn't she look at her watch?"

"yes, she did!"

"what kind of a watch was it?"

"a little watch. i don't remember. but, gee, it was on a dandy chain all right!"

"i don't believe you remember the chain any better than you do the watch."

"yes, i do. it was a long chain that went around the neck and she wore it outside of her coat, dangling, with a purse at the end. the watch was inside the purse. the chain was gold, with red stones in it here and there, and they sparkled like anything."

lyon recognized the fidelity of the description. mrs. broughton had worn a long chain of enameled gold links, set with rubies magnificent enough to have excited the admiration of even less appreciative observers than an elevator boy. it would be crediting too much to coincidence to suppose that there could be another chain of so unusual a style worn by someone else that day.

"had that lady ever been here before?" he asked.

johnny was positive on that score. "no, she was a stranger. the first time she came, early in the afternoon, she didn't know where his room was, and i took her around and rang the bell for her myself. i never seen her before. she had a funny way of talking,--'misteh fullehton,'"--and he mimicked the soft evasion of the "r" that had characterized mrs. broughton's speech.

"good for you, johnny. you are doing well. now do you know when she went away?"

"she and mr. fullerton went out together about eight o'clock."

"now think carefully about this. was there any other lady who came to see mr. fullerton that afternoon?"

"no."

"or in the forenoon or in the evening? any time at all on monday?"

johnny looked a little uncertain of his ground.

"they don't always say who they want. they just say 'second floor,' or 'fifth,' you know. and sometimes they walk up."

"then if there was anyone else who came to see mr. fullerton that day, you wouldn't know about it?"

johnny dived into his memory.

"there was another lady here that evening, but i don't know who she wanted to see. she didn't say."

"when did she come? what do you know about her?"

"she came just after the lady with the long chain, because i met her in the hall as i came back from ringing mr. fullerton's bell. i thought she was going to the stewarts' apartment because there isn't anyone else at that end of the hall except the stewarts and mr. fullerton. then when mr. fullerton and the lady came out and went down together, this other lady was in the hall again. i held the elevator for her, but she turned her back and i went down."

"did you take her down later?"

"no, she must have walked down."

"can you describe her? did you see her face?"

"na, she had a veil on."

lyon inwardly anathematized the feminine expedient of wearing veils.

"can't you remember anything about her?"

"i didn't see her close," he said apologetically.

"have you told anybody else about mr. fullerton's visitor, johnny?"

"mr. bede was here, asking me all about her the next day."

"did you tell him the same things you have told me?"

"i didn't tell him about the chain. i didn't think about her looking at her watch until you reminded me."

"oh, well, that isn't important," said lyon, carelessly. "did you mention the other lady to mr. bede?"

"no. was she a-comin' to see mr. fullerton, too?"

"not that i know of. what made you notice her, by the way?"

"she was a stranger. most people that come here i know."

"you've done very well, johnny. now i want to see the janitor. what's his name?"

"mr. hunt."

he proceeded to look up mr. hunt, and preferred his request that he be allowed to inspect the rooms of the late mr. fullerton, but he found that functionary disposed to make the most of the temporary importance which the tragedy had conferred upon him.

"them rooms is locked up. the public ain't admitted. the police has took the key."

"but you have a duplicate key, you know."

"and what if i have?"

"why, you could let me in for half an hour."

"what for should i do that? this ain't no public museum, and i ain't no public information bureau to answer all the fool questions that people as ain't got nothing else to do can think of asking."

"i dare say that people have been imposing on you," said lyon, with that serious and sympathetic air which served him so well on occasion. "but that's the penalty which you have to pay for being a man of importance. i like to meet a man of your sort. you're not the kind to let every curiosity seeker in. but this is different. you know i am writing this case up for the news and i think i'll have to have your picture for the paper, with a little write-up. no reason why you shouldn't get something out of all this. you let me into those rooms for half an hour, and i'll see that you have a notice that your wife will cut out and frame."

he had his way in the end, of course, and hunt, grumbling but gratified, took him up by the back stairs, admitted him, and locked him in, with the warning that he would come personally to let him out in half an hour.

left alone, lyon looked about him with a great deal of curiosity and interest. fullerton was a sufficiently important person in himself to give interest to his rooms, apart from the accident that a mystery had settled down upon his death. and these were not the conventional rooms of the average well-regulated and commonplace man. there was a mingling of oriental luxury and slovenliness, of extravagance and threadbare carelessness, that was a curious index to the owner's mind. the first room was evidently a combined study and lounging room, for it contained a revolving book-case filled with law books, a large table with papers and books spread promiscuously upon it, a couch, several luxurious easy chairs, a curious oriental cabinet high upon the wall, a dilapidated rug in which lyon caught his foot, and a table with all the paraphernalia of a smoker. the feature of the room that especially attracted his attention, however, was the pictures. these were not of the character that one would have expected to find in a lawyer's private study. instead of the portraits of jurists and law-givers, the walls were adorned with pictures of ballet girls of varying degrees of audacity. some were so extreme that lyon was distinctly startled. from the pictures, his eye wandered to the book-case at the head of the couch. no law books here, where he threw himself down to smoke at his ease, but novels, french and english, at least equalling the pictures in audacity. evidently fullerton had not had the tastes or tendencies of a galahad. he could hardly have received his clients in this telltale room. yet the open law books on the table indicated that he did occasionally do some studying here. lyon was struck with the title of the first book he saw, and still more so when he found that of the half dozen lying open or with markers in them on the table, all dealt with the same subject,--divorce. the reason seemed clear when he picked up the file of legal papers on the table and found them to be a complete transcript of the vanderburg divorce case. evidently, for some reason or other, that matter had been uppermost in his thoughts of late. as he put the papers down, a filmy, crumpled-up handkerchief on the table caught his eye. it called to his mind the handkerchief which mrs. broughton had pressed to her lips the evening before to conceal their nervous trembling, and he was not surprised, when he unfolded it, to find the initials "g.b." woven into the delicate embroidery.

"well, what do you make of it?"

the amused voice from the bedroom door made lyon start, for he had supposed himself entirely alone. he spun about and faced a quiet little man, who was regarding him with a rather satiric interest.

"hello!" he said. "i didn't know you were there."

"you were not supposed to," the other man retorted. "you are not supposed to be here yourself, you know. are you trying your hand at amateur detective work?"

"i'm looking for material for a lively story," said lyon, with his most ingenuous air. he had at once recognized bede, a detective connected with the police force. of course he had known that the police would be working on the case, but the actual presence of this shrewd-eyed, silent detective gave him a feeling akin to panic. could bede read his thoughts and tear from him the secret he was most anxious to guard,--miss wolcott's connection with the affair? it was absurd to think so, and yet the idea made him absurdly nervous. he thrust the thought down to the bottom of his mind and faced bede with a blank aspect. "help me out, can't you? give me some interesting bits to work up for the public. what have you discovered so far?"

bede laughed softly. "for the public?" he came over to the table and picked up the handkerchief which lyon had thrown down. "you were interested in this, i noticed. have you any idea who g.b. is?"

"i am a stranger in waynscott," said lyon casually. "besides, my circle of acquaintances would hardly coincide with mr. fullerton's, i fancy."

"oh, fullerton had more than one circle of acquaintances. he was engaged to be married a few years ago to a young lady belonging to one of the most eminently respectable families of hemlock avenue. ah, you knew that, i see, though you are a stranger in waynscott."

"i think i have heard it mentioned," said lyon carelessly, though his heart shook to think he had unconsciously betrayed so much. "one hears all sorts of rumors about the man."

"for instance--?" bede asked politely.

"oh, nothing that would be news to you. by the way, what theory have you to offer in regard to his coat being on wrong side out?"

"what do you make of it yourself?"

"nothing. i'm entirely at sea."

bede smiled a little and dropped his guarded air. "well, he didn't turn it after he was hit, that's evident. death was practically instantaneous. and the girl didn't turn it,--"

"the girl?"

"the woman you saw running across the street."

"oh!"

bede did not smile at the startled monosyllable. he only took quiet note of it, and went on without a break,

"--because a woman wouldn't touch a man who had been struck dead at her feet in the street. she would simply run away at once."

lyon nodded attentively.

"and the man wouldn't have had time to do it after the girl ran away, because you were so near that you would have seen him if he had lingered in the neighborhood. he must have disappeared almost immediately."

"not very gallant of him to run off in an opposite direction and let the girl shift for herself."

"oh, i don't know. the girl had to get out of the way, and alone, as soon as possible. besides, the man may not have run off in an opposite direction. he may simply have jumped off into that low, vacant lot until the gathering of a crowd gave him a chance to get away without being conspicuous." he was watching lyon closely, but that young man's surprise was too genuine to be mistaken. "therefore, to return to the question of the coat," he continued, "it is pretty clear that he must have turned it himself."

"but why?"

"as a disguise. to escape being recognized by a young woman who had seen him in a black coat a very short time before. it is possible that he trusted too much to the disguise and so came too near, and so provoked the quarrel which ended so fatally. even a mild-tempered man doesn't like to be spied upon when he is, we may assume, making love on his own account."

"it seems to me you are assuming that lawrence killed him, and then building up a scene to fit that theory," said lyon hotly.

"what makes you think i am assuming it was lawrence?--because i suggested he was making love on his own account?"

lyon felt that he had been trapped. "well, aren't you assuming it to be lawrence?" he asked bluntly.

but bede was never blunt.

"at any rate, we must assume that it was a man who struck the blow."

"why must we?"

"a woman doesn't kill in the open, even where she hates. she has the cat nature. she strikes from ambush, unless attacked. and she doesn't carry a man's cane, even for purposes of defense, much less for purposes of offense."

"there's one point about that cane business that i wonder whether you noticed," said lyon, thoughtfully. "lawrence swore that he had it in the state law library a few days ago, because he remembered poking a book down from a high shelf with it,--which is as characteristic of lawrence as it must have been bad for the book. but he couldn't swear that he took it away with him, because he got into a dispute with fullerton and he doesn't remember what he did. now, isn't it possible, and even probable, that being excited by that discussion he walked off without his cane, and that fullerton, seeing he had forgotten it, picked it up and carried it off, meaning to return it, and then forgot about it, and then, either intentionally or absent-mindedly, carried it with him that fatal monday night on his walk? that would explain how lawrence's cane got to be there, without involving lawrence."

bede had listened with the closest attention. "that is a very ingenious theory," he said thoughtfully. he walked back and forth across the room a couple of times, revolving it in his mind. "it is certainly a plausible explanation. fullerton's antagonist may have wrested the cane from his own hand and struck him with it, as you very cleverly suggest. but i don't see that it alters the essential elements of the case."

"not if it removes lawrence's connection with the cane?"

"the cane is not a vital point. as you have ingeniously demonstrated, it would be possible to explain it away. the essential point is somebody's antagonism to fullerton. a casual stranger does not walk up and hit him a blow of that nature, either with his own cane or with one snatched from the hand of his victim."

"a man of fullerton's character would be sure to have enemies," said lyon, argumentatively.

"but not all of his enemies would be roused to murderous fury to see him in company with a particular young lady."

in spite of himself, lyon started. "then you think you have identified the young lady?" he asked.

bede was watching him closely, with a hint of a lurking smile.

"you don't ask with whom we have identified her? quite right. of course i couldn't tell a representative of the press. but i don't mind saying that we have theories as to her identity."

lyon's heart sank. "based on what facts?" he asked, doggedly.

"oh, all that will come out in due time. i'll ruin my professional reputation if i let you lead me on to gossip any more." his serious manner contradicted the hint of irony in his eyes, but lyon guessed that the eyes came nearer to telling the truth. "by the way, mr. lyon, how did you get into these rooms?"

"oh, i'm in the habit of getting in where i want to go."

"good for you. but i'll have to instruct hunt as to his duties. you won't get in so easily the next time."

and lyon fully admitted the truth of that statement the next time that he did get into those rooms.