They passed into the small room where James Cunningham had met his
death. Broad daylight though it was, Kirby felt for an instant a
tightening at his heart. In imagination he saw again the gargoyle grin
on the dead face upturned to his. With an effort he pushed from him
the grewsome memory.

The chair in which the murdered man had been found was gone. The
district attorney had taken it for an exhibit at the trial of the man
upon whom evidence should fasten. The littered papers had been sorted
and most of them removed, probably by James Cunningham, Junior.
Otherwise the room remained the same.

The air was close. Kirby stepped to the window and threw it up. He
looked out at the fire escape and at the wall of the rooming-house
across the alley. Denver is still young. It offers the incongruities
of the West. The Paradox Apartments had been remodeled and were modern
and up to date. Adjoining it was the Wyndham Hotel, a survival of
earlier days which could not long escape the march of progress.

Lane and his friend stepped out to the platform of the fire escape.
Below them was the narrow alleyway, directly in front the iron frame of
the Wyndham fire escape.

A discovery flashed across Kirby's brain and startled him. "See here,
Cole. If a man was standin' on that platform over there, an' if my
uncle had been facin' him in a chair, sittin' in front of the window,
he could 'a' rested his hand on that railin' to take aim an' made a
dead-center shot."

Cole thought it out. "Yes, he could, if yore uncle had been facin' the
window. But the chair wasn't turned that way, you told me."

"Not when I saw it. But some one might 'a' moved the chair afterward."

The champion of the world grinned. "Seems to me, old man, you're
travelin' a wide trail this trip. If some one tied up the old man an'
chloroformed him an' left him here convenient, then moved him back to
the wall after he'd been shot, then some one on the fire escape could
'a' done it. What's the need of all them _ifs_? Since some one in the
room had to be in the thing, we can figure he fired the shot, too,
whilst he was doin' the rest. Besides, yore uncle's face was
powder-marked, showin' he was shot from right close."

"Yes, that's so," agreed Lane, surrendering his brilliant idea
reluctantly. A moment, and his face brightened. "Look, Cole! The
corridor of that hotel runs back from the fire escape. If a fellow had
been standin' there he coul