ntually bring the murderer to justice."

Professor MacDonald winced at the word. He turned toward Van Cleft, on
sudden thought, remarking: "Howard your mother and sister may need the
comfort of your presence. I will chat with your friend until the Coroner
comes."

The physician sank into a library chair. The criminologist quietly
awaited his cue. He lit a cigarette and the minutes drifted past with no
word between them. The doctor's gaze lowered to the vellum-bound books
on the carven table, then to the gorgeous pattern of the Kermansha at
his feet. Once more he studied the face of his companion, with the keen,
soul-gripping scrutiny of the skilled physician. As last he arrived at a
definite conclusion. He cleared his throat, and fumbled in his waistcoat
pocket for a cigar. A swiftly struck match in Monty's hand was held
up so promptly to the end of the cigar, that the doctor's lips had not
closed about it. This deftness, simple in itself, did not escape the
observation of the scientist. He smiled for the first time during their
interview.

"Your reflex nerves are very wide awake for a quiet man. I believe I can
depend upon those nerves, and your quietude. May I ask what occupation
you follow, if any? Most of Howard's friends follow butterflies."

"I am one of them, then. Some opera, more theatricals, much art gallery
touring. A little regular reading in my rooms, and there you are! My
great grandfather was too poor a trader to succeed in pelts, so he
invested a little money in rocky pastures around upper Manhattan: this
has kept the clerks of the family bankers busy ever since. I am an
optimistic vagabond, enjoying life in the observation of the rather
ludicrous busyness of other folk. In short, Doctor, I am a corpulent
Hamlet, essentially modern in my cultivation of a joy in life, debating
the eternal question with myself, but lazily leaving it to others to
solve. Therein I am true to my type."

"Pardon my bluntness," observed MacDonald, watching him through
partially closed eyes. "You are not telling the truth. You are a busy
man, with definite work, but that is no affair of mine. I recognize in
you a different calibre from that of these rich young idlers in Howard's
class. I am going to take you into my confidence, for you understand the
need for secrecy, and will surely help in every way--noblesse oblige.
This man Cronin, the detective, was rather crude."

"He is honest and dependable," replied Shirley, loyal