ap."

"Where is Bronson?"

"At the hospital, unconscious."

"What from?"

"Shock, the doctors say."

"What--er--about the--er--shot?"

The manager looked startled. "Well, Bronson says that just as he opened
the door he saw a bullet cross the room and strike the wall above the
body."

"You can't see a bullet in flight."

"He saw this one," insisted the manager. "As soon as it struck it
exploded. Three other people heard it."

"What did Bronson do?"

"Lost his head and ran out. He hadn't got halfway to the elevator when
he fell, in a sort of fainting fit. He came to long enough to tell his
story. Then he got terribly nauseated and went off again."

"He's sure the man had fallen before the explosion?"

"Absolutely."

"And he got no answer to his knocking?"

"No. That's why he went in. He thought something might be wrong."

"Had anybody else been in the room or past it within a few minutes?"

"Absolutely no one. The floor girl's desk is just outside. She must have
seen anyone going in."

"Has she anything to add?"

"She heard the shot. And a minute or two before, she had heard and felt
a jar from the room."

"Corroborative of the man having fallen before the shot," commented
Jones.

"When I got here, five minutes later, he was quite dead," continued the
manager.

Evidence of the explosion was slight to the investigating eye of Average
Jones. The wall showed an abrasion, but, as the investigator expected,
no bullet hole. Against the leg of a desk he found a small metal shell,
which he laid on the table.

"There's your bullet," he observed with a smile.

"It's a cartridge, anyway," cried the hotel man. "He must have been
shot, after all."

"From inside the room? Hardly! And certainly not with that. It's a very
small fulminate of mercury shell, and never held lead. No. The man was
down, if not dead, before that went off."

Average Jones was now at the window. Taking a piece of paper from his
pocket he brushed the contents of the window-sill upon it. A dozen dead
flies rolled upon the paper. He examined them thoughtfully, cast them
aside and turned back to the manager.

"Who occupy the adjoining rooms?"

"Two maiden ladies did, on the east. They've left," said the manager
bitterly. "Been coming here for ten years, and now they've quit. If the
facts ever get in the newspapers--"

"What's on the west, adjoining?"

"Nothing. The corridor runs down there."

"Then it isn't probable that any