."

"She did mention that," put in Braley; "it was unlocked."

"All the same," insisted Greenleaf, "Morley's got to come back here.
Wouldn't you say so?" This question was addressed to Bristow.

The telephone bell rang in the dining room. The chief went to answer it.

"What's that?" Those in the living room heard him. "You? I'm the chief of
police. Where are you now? Oh, I see. Come up here, will you? There's
been a murder here. Mrs. Withers. Right away? All right; I'll wait for
you."

He came back to the living room.

"That was Mr. Henry Morley," he said, "Didn't leave town last night. What
do you think of that?"

CHAPTER II

"SOMETHING BIG IN IT"

Before the question was answered the coroner arrived. While Chief
Greenleaf told him the circumstances confronting them, Dr. Braley
telephoned for a trained nurse for Miss Fulton. In the absence of anybody
else to perform the unpleasant task, the doctor went back to take up with
the bereaved girl the matter of telegraphing to her family and the
details of preparing the murdered woman's body for burial as soon as
would be compatible with the plans of the coroner.

"I wonder, Mr. Bristow," suggested Greenleaf, "if I couldn't walk up to
your place with you and talk this thing over."

"Glad to have you," agreed Bristow.

The crowd on the porch and in the street began to disperse slowly after
the chief had told them none of them could be admitted. In small groups,
they made their way to porches or into houses where they lingered,
speculating, wondering, advancing impossible theories.

Why had death singled _her_ out? Who would ever have suspected that there
had been in her life any foothold for tragedy? The secrecy with which she
had been struck down, the ease of the murderer's coming and going safely,
roused their resentment. They sympathized with themselves as well as with
the dead woman.

Confusedly, but at the same time with striking unanimity, they felt that
this was not merely a mystery, but a mystery made ugly and shocking by
base motives and despicable agents. In common with all mankind, they
resented mystery. It emphasized their own dependence on chance. They
began to guess at the best method for capturing the guilty.

The chief of police and the lame man had reached the porch of No. 9.
There Bristow picked up from a table a scrapbook and a bundle of
newspaper clippings. Following him into the living room, Greenleaf
brought a paste pot and a pa