elbows propped on it, his cigarette still lighted, burning a
hole in the cloth. Partly under the table lay Mrs. Conway face down. The
dog stood over her and wagged his tail.

McKnight pointed silently to a large copper ashtray, filled with ashes
and charred bits of paper.

"The notes, probably," he said ruefully. "He got them after all, and
burned them before her. It was more than she could stand. Stabbed him
first and then herself."

Hotchkiss got up and took off his hat. "They are dead," he announced
solemnly, and took his note-book out of his hatband.

McKnight and I did the only thing we could think of--drove Hotchkiss and
the dog out of the room, and closed and locked the door. "It's a matter
for the police," McKnight asserted. "I suppose you've got an officer
tied to you somewhere, Lawrence? You usually have."

We left Hotchkiss in charge and went down-stairs. It was McKnight who
first saw Johnson, leaning against a park railing across the street, and
called him over. We told him in a few words what we had found, and he
grinned at me cheerfully.

"After while, in a few weeks or months, Mr. Blakeley," he said, "when
you get tired of monkeying around with the blood-stain and finger-print
specialist up-stairs, you come to me. I've had that fellow you want
under surveillance for ten days!"

CHAPTER XXX. FINER DETAILS

At ten minutes before two the following day, Monday, I arrived at my
office. I had spent the morning putting my affairs in shape, and in a
trip to the stable. The afternoon would see me either a free man or a
prisoner for an indefinite length of time, and, in spite of Johnson's
promise to produce Sullivan, I was more prepared for the latter than the
former.

Blobs was watching for me outside the door, and it was clear that he was
in a state of excitement bordering on delirium. He did nothing, however,
save to tip me a wink that meant "As man to man, I'm for you." I was too
much engrossed either to reprove him or return the courtesy, but I heard
him follow me down the hall to the small room where we keep outgrown
lawbooks, typewriter supplies and, incidentally, our wraps. I was
wondering vaguely if I would ever hang my hat on its nail again, when
the door closed behind me. It shut firmly, without any particular amount
of sound, and I was left in the dark. I groped my way to it, irritably,
to find it locked on the outside. I shook it frantically, and was
rewarded by a sibilant whisper thr