eryone present.

"Yes, all of us--except Mr. Sprague and--Penny, my dear, did you join us
at all?"

The girl who had once been in on every sport that this crowd of
Hamilton's socially elect indulged in, flushed a painful red.

"No, Hugo. I--I have to stay with Mother on Sunday mornings, you know."

"Your target practice was a Sunday morning diversion, then, Judge
Marshall?" Dundee asked.

"Yes. We usually have an hour of the sport--between eleven and noon, on
Sundays. We've been having a sort of tournament--quite sharply
competitive--"

"When did you and your friends practise last?" Dundee asked.

"Last Sunday. Tomorrow was to mark the end of the 'tournament'," the
Judge answered.

"And when did you last see your gun and silencer?" Dundee persisted.

"Last Sunday, of course.... Why, Good Lord!" Marshall ejaculated. _"It
was Nita herself who put the gun away!_"

There was a collective gasp of relief. Eyes could meet eyes--now. But it
was Flora Miles who voiced the thought or hope that seemed apparent on
every face.

"That's why I didn't hear anyone talking when I was in the closet!" she
cried, her voice almost hysterical in its vehemence. "_There wasn't
anybody but Nita in the room!_ She committed suicide! She stole poor
Hugo's gun and the silencer and committed suicide!"

"At a distance of from ten to fifteen feet?" Dundee asked with
ill-concealed sarcasm. "And when she was powdering her face? And just
after entering the room, blithely singing a Broadway hit?"

"Maybe the lady is right, boy," Captain Strawn interposed mildly. "I've
heard of people rigging up contrivances--"

"Which make the gun and the silencer disappear by magic?" Dundee
demanded. "No, folks, I'm afraid the suicide theory is no good.... Now,
Judge Marshall," and he turned again to the creator of the biggest
sensation since the investigation into Nita Selim's death had got under
way, "you say that Mrs. Selim herself put the gun away.... Will you
explain the circumstances?"

The elderly man's face had gone yellowish again. "Certainly! Nita Selim
and I were the last to leave the back garden. She was particularly poor
at the sport--never made a bull's eye during the four or five Sunday
mornings after Lois--Mrs. Dunlap--drew her into our set. She begged for
a few more shots, and I stayed with her, after the others had gone into
the house for--er--refreshment. She fired the last bullet in the chamber
of the Colt's, and together we walked t