er. "You knew it."

Benjamin Clymer, who had been gazing alternately at the dead man and
vaguely about the room, looked startled at the abrupt question.

"I knew Turnbull had bad attacks of the heart; we all knew it at
the bank," he stated. "But I understood the disease had responded to
treatment."

"There is no cure for angina pectoris," declared Rochester.

"No permanent cure," amended Stone, and would have added more, but
Rochester stopped him.

"Now that you know Turnbull died of angina pectoris there is no
necessity of sending for the coroner," Rochester spoke in haste, his
words tumbling over each other. "I will go at once and communicate with
an undertaker." But before he could rise from his chair the sandy-haired
man, who had conducted a whispered conversation with the deputy marshal,
advanced toward the group.

"Just a moment, gentlemen," he said, and turned back a lapel of his coat
and displayed a metal badge. "I am Ferguson of the Central Office. Do
you know the deceased?"

"He was my intimate friend," announced Rochester before his companions
could reply to the detective's question, which was addressed to all.
"Mr. Clymer, here, can tell you that Jimmie Turnbull, cashier of his
bank, was well known in financial and social Washington."

"How came he here in this fix?" asked Ferguson with more force than
grammatic clarity.

"A sudden heart attack--angina pectoris, you know," replied Rochester
glibly, "with fatal results."

"I wasn't alluding to what killed him," Ferguson explained. "But why was
the cashier of the Metropolis Trust Company," he looked questioningly
at Clymer whom he knew quite well by sight, "and a social high-light,
decked out in these clothes and a wig, too?" leaning down, the better to
examine the clothing on the dead man.

"He had just been held for the Grand Jury on a charge of
house-breaking," volunteered the deputy marshal. "I reckon that brought
on his heart-attack."

"True, true," agreed Rochester. "The excitement was too much for him."

"House-breaking" ejaculated the detective. "Dangerous sport for a man
suffering with angina pectoris, aside from anything else. Who preferred
charges?"

"The Misses McIntyre," answered the deputy marshal, to whom the question
was addressed. "Like to interview them?"

"Yes."

"No, no!" Rochester was on his feet instantly. "There is no necessity to
bring the twins out here--it's too tragic!"

"Tragic?" echoed Ferguson. "Why?"

"Wh