knows where."

"That's devilish poor business!" cried Wicks in apparent exasperation.
"But you haven't said why you believe the man got the poison in any
such manner. On what do you base your conclusions?"

"Near where the man was found dead I discovered an unsmoked cigar,"
answered Garrison, watching the effect of his words. "It contained
what little of the powder the victim had not absorbed."

Wicks looked at him almost calmly.

"You've done good work," he said. "It's a pity you lost that second
cigar. And, by the way, where did you get it?"

Garrison realized that, despite his intended precautions, he had gone
irretrievably into disclosures that were fetching the case up to
Dorothy or young Foster Durgin. In his eagerness to pursue a new
theory, he had permitted Wicks to draw him farther than he had ever
intended to go. There was no escape. He decided to put it through.

"I got it from a box, at the coroner's office," he admitted.

"Mr. Garrison, what do you mean by withholding all these facts?"
demanded Wicks sharply. "Where did Hardy get the box of cigars?"

Garrison would gladly have evaded this question, but he was helpless.

"They were a birthday present from his niece."

"This Miss Booth-Fairfax?"

"Yes."

"And you're in love with her!--masquerading as her husband! What do
you mean by saying you've not attempted to shield her?"

"Now go slow, Mr. Wicks," cautioned Garrison. "I know what I'm doing
in this case. It was given to me to ferret out--and I'll go through it
to the end--no matter who is found guilty."

"That's better!" said Wicks. "You don't believe it's this young woman.
Who else could have as good a motive?"

Garrison was fighting for time. A sacrifice was necessary. He
utilized young Durgin, who might, after all, be guilty.

"Miss Booth, or Mrs. Fairfax, has a step-brother, by marriage," he
said. "He has worked at photography. He gambles in Wall Street. He
was desperate--but as yet I have no positive proof that he did this
crime. I am waiting for developments--and expecting things at any
moment."

"Where is the man?" said Wicks. "What's his name?"

"Foster Durgin. I'm waiting for him now. He's fifteen minutes
overdue."

"Arrest him when he comes!" commanded Wicks. "Take no chances on
letting him escape!"

"Perhaps that's good advice," said Garrison slowly. "I'll think it
over."

"He's the only one you suspect?"

"Well, there's one more element, som