the matter with me. But I didn't kill any one in the world!"

"There, sit down, little girl, and don't get frightened. This gentleman
and I have come to learn the truth--not to punish you for something you
didn't do. Start with the beginning and tell all you remember."

Shirley's gentle manner was so unexpected, his voice so inspiring that
she relaxed, sinking to the floor, as Shirley caught her limp girlish
form in his arms. He placed her on the couch again, and she regained
her composure under his calm urging. Little by little she visualized
the details of the gruesome evening and narrated them under the magnetic
cross-questions of the criminologist.

She had met the elder Van Cleft in the tea-room of a Broadway hostelry,
by appointment made the evening before at Pinkie Taylor's birthday
party. After several drinks together they took a taxicab to ride uptown
to a little chop house. Did she see any one she knew in the tea-room? Of
course, several of the fellows and girls whom she couldn't remember just
now, buzzed about, for Van Cleft was a liberal entertainer around the
youngsters. She had five varieties of cocktails in succession, and
she became dizzy. In the taxicab she became dizzier and when next she
remembered anything definite she was sitting on the stool in the garage
where she had been arrested. That was all. As she reached this point
there came a knock on the door with a call for Van Cleft.

"You Van's son!" she screamed. Then she fainted, while Shirley caught
her, calling an assistant to care for her, as he followed Van Cleft
downstairs to answer the telephone. "You know your cues?"

The millionaire nodded, as with trembling fingers he caught up
the instrument and knelt on the bare floor to hold it close to the
phonograph, which Shirley was engineering, with a fresh record in place.

"Hello! Hello, there, I say. Hello!"

Shirley strained his ears, to hear this time a rough, wheezy voice which
caused the two men to exchange startled glances, as it proceeded: "Is
this you, Howard, my boy?"

"What do you want? I can't hear you. The telephone is buzzing. Louder
please!"

Shirley nodded approbation, as the machine ran along merrily.

"Now, can you hear me. Ahem! Can you hear me now? Is this Howard Van
Cleft?"

"Yes, go ahead, but louder still."

"Now, can you hear me? This is your father's dearest friend,
Howard,--this is William Grimsby speaking. I am fearfully distressed and
shocked to learn of hi