ould have to look after Mr. Fleming; I
was afraid he would kill himself. It was a bad time to leave while Miss
Jane was missing. But--when I got to the White Cat I found him dead. He
was sitting with his back to the door, and his head on the table."

"Was the revolver in his hand?"

"Yes."

"You are sure?" from Hunter. "Isn't it a fact, Mr. Wardrop, that you
took Mr. Fleming's revolver from him this morning when he threatened you
with it?"

Wardrop's face twitched nervously.

"You have been misinformed," he replied, but no one was impressed by his
tone. It was wavering, uncertain. From Hunter's face I judged it had
been a random shot, and had landed unexpectedly well.

"How many people knew that Mr. Fleming had been hiding at the White
Cat?" from the chief.

"Very few--besides myself, only a man who looks after the club-house in
the mornings, and Clarkson, the cashier of the Borough Bank, who met him
there once by appointment."

The chief made no comment.

"Now, Mr. Knox, what about you?"

"I opened the door into Mr. Fleming's room, perhaps a couple of minutes
after Mr. Wardrop went out," I said. "He was dead then, leaning on his
outspread arms over the table; he had been shot in the forehead."

"You heard no shot while you were in the hall?"

"There was considerable noise; I heard two or three sharp reports like
the explosions of an automobile engine."

"Did they seem close at hand?"

"Not particularly; I thought, if I thought at all, that they were on the
street."

"You are right about the automobile," Hunter said dryly. "The mayor sent
his car away as I left to follow Mr. Wardrop. The sounds you heard were
not shots."

"It is a strange thing," the chief reflected, "that a revolver could be
fired in the upper room of an ordinary dwelling house, while that house
was filled with people--and nobody hear it. Were there any powder marks
on the body?"

"None," Hunter said.

The chief got up stiffly.

"Thank you very much, gentlemen," he spoke quietly. "I think that is
all. Hunter, I would like to see you for a few minutes."

I think Wardrop was dazed at finding himself free; he had expected
nothing less than an immediate charge of murder. As we walked to the
corner for a car or cab, whichever materialized first, he looked back.

"I thought so," he said bitterly. A man was loitering after us along the
street. The police were not asleep, they had only closed one eye.

The last train had gone. We