gun? What would that get us? She wasn't inside--therefore she couldn't
have killed the Bounder. And then, again, the man was killed by a blow
on the head. He wasn't shot."

Ashton-Kirk shrugged his shoulders with the air of one who had relieved
himself of a responsibility.

"I'm merely pointing out these facts to you," he said. "Of course you
can do with them what you like."

With a nod to Scanlon, he was ready to go. Osborne stopped them at the
door and asked a half dozen questions, all bearing pointedly upon what
the investigator had just told him.

"All right," said he. "Thanks. This looks as though it'd be of little
use; but then it doesn't do any harm to know all you can about a case."

Bat Scanlon heard the investigator chuckle as they got into the waiting
taxi.

"It would be a safe gamble that he will be out at Stanwick in the
morning looking over those places he has neglected heretofore," laughed
Ashton-Kirk, as the driver slammed the door shut after them and started
toward the destination given him.

Bat, anxious of eye, and with lips grimly pressed together, was silent
for a space, and then he said:

"What was the idea of telling the 'bulls' those things? You don't give
your clues away as a rule."

Again Ashton-Kirk laughed.

"I don't think headquarters will go very far on what indications they
get from the lawn at this stage," said he, drily. "So I don't anticipate
much interference from them. And," with a nod of the head which told
Scanlon everything and nothing, "I have a little theory which I desire
to try out. And I expect an answer within twenty-four hours."

CHAPTER XV

SCANLON STATES HIS POSITION

It was a fall Sunday, misty and with a fine rain falling; the mean
street in which Ashton-Kirk's house stood--once the street of the city's
aristocracy, but now crowded with the hordes of East Europe--looked
sodden and cheerless. Bat Scanlon, as he mounted the wide stone steps
and rang the bell, looked about and philosophized.

"Funny how things have their ups and downs--men as well as streets. And
this is one of my days for being down. Down at the bottom, too,"
disconsolately; "at the bottom, with all my vexations piled up on top of
me."

Stumph, grave of face, and altogether the very model of men-servants,
opened the door.

"Yes, sir," said he, in reply to Scanlon's question. "Mr. Ashton-Kirk is
at home. You are to go up, sir."

Scanlon made his way up the familiar staircase;