roll knew
it--of an enormous number of convictions of innocent men. And Carroll
had no desire to injure Lawrence provided Lawrence was free of guilt in
this particular instance. He didn't like the man--in fact his feelings
toward him amounted to a positive aversion. But through it all he tried
to be fair-minded--and he could not quite rid himself of the picture of
Naomi Lawrence--Carroll was far from impervious to the appeal of a
beautiful woman.

So much for the probable truth of Lawrence's story. The reverse side
of the picture presented an entirely different set of facts. There was
not alone the strange procedure of checking out of the big hotel at
four o'clock in the afternoon when he intended catching an early
morning train: but there was the information so innocently dropped by
the loquacious Evelyn Rogers regarding Naomi's actions on the night of
the murder.

According to Evelyn, her sister was an intensely nervous woman: one who
stood in fear of being alone at night. And yet this sister had
volunteered the suggestion that Evelyn spend the night with Hazel Gresham
when her husband was supposed to be out of the city.

Carroll, well versed in applied psychology, knew that in such a
combination of facts there lay an important clue. He was well satisfied
that Naomi Lawrence had been satisfied that she was not to be alone
that night!

Arguing with himself from that premise, the conclusion was inevitable:
she knew that her husband would return from Nashville at midnight. She
did not wish anyone--even Evelyn, to learn that he had done so. Therefore
she got Evelyn out of the house!

The conclusion developed a further train of reasoning--one which Carroll
did not at all relish, but which he faced with frank honesty. If he was
right in his argument--then Naomi Lawrence had known of the murder before
it was committed!

He shrank from the idea, but it would not down. He was not ready to admit
its truth--but there was no denying its logic. There was something
inexpressibly repugnant in the thought. He infinitely preferred to
believe that Naomi hated her husband--was miserable with him--he
preferred that to the idea that they were accomplices in the murder of a
prominent young man.

Then, too, there were the strange visits of William Barker, former valet
to Warren, to the home of the Lawrences. There was no doubt remaining in
Carroll's mind that Barker knew a very great deal about Warren's murder.
That being the case